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I slam my science textbook closed, swipe the study guide off the table, along with the terminology cheat-sheet I made for him and snap them back in the binder. It shouldn’t surprise me he’s a total no-show, but honestly, it does. I figured he’d be late, but I didn’t think he’d completely ditch our first session. Clearly, even my low expectations for Sebastian Murdoch were overly optimistic.
I text his father, because he’s the one who’s been communicating with me about the tutoring. I was going to get Sebastian’s info during today’s session. Graham calls me back two seconds later, and I can tell he’s fuming. He says he just texted and left a voicemail for Sebastian and asks if I’m willing to wait five more minutes. I reluctantly agree. But I’m annoyed, because I’m pretty sure this is a big part of the reason Sebastian is like this in the first place. Everyone always accommodates him. He can do what he wants, when he wants, and the most people do is get annoyed. But they still let him do it. They still adapt to his sudden whims or work around whatever distraction interferes with a previous commitment.
Still, I wait the five minutes and, shocker: there’s still no word from Sebastian. He didn’t even respond to his dad. Andstill, Graham pleads with me not to give up yet. To think about it for another couple of days before quitting and give Sebastian one more shot. He even promises to increase my rate by ten dollars an hour and personally make sure his son shows up at the session we’d already scheduled for Thursday after his football practice.
See? Unbelievable.
I stick to my guns and tell him, kindly, that this obviously isn’t going to work out. And by the time we end the call, I’m disappointed more than mad, because I really needed the money from this tutoring gig. But I had to walk away, on principle alone. The whole reason I want the money is to get away from jerks like Sebastian Murdoch and the SH Prep cool kids who treat me like dirt every day. No way am I going to subject myself to even more humiliation from them to make that happen.
Whatever. It’s fine. I will find another way.
Chapter Six
Seb
So.Icompletelyforgotabout my first tutoring session after school today. I didn’t even remember we’d set the thing up, if I’m being honest. And it’s not like I bailed for some epic last-minute plans, either. I just tagged along with Xave to some girl’s house whose name I can’t even remember, and a bunch of us competed doing backflips on the huge in-ground trampoline in her backyard while a few of the girls practiced cheers on the beach.
My folks are pissed. I apologize about twenty times, and I think they believe I didn’t intentionally bail. But they’re both getting more and more frustrated with my scatterbrain screw-ups and constant forgetting.
“Are you definitely taking your meds?” Graham asks. He means for my ADHD.
“Yeah, I’m taking my meds.”
God knows what a shitshow I’d be if I wasn’t.
I’m sort of freaking out when they inform me that unless I can convince this girl to reconsider giving me a second shot by Thursday, they’re going to enroll me at some fancy tutoring agency. They think it’s a threat because it would mean sitting for hours every week with some old, stuck-up, strict ex-teacher. Which, yeah, would suck big time, but it’s really the fact that it would mean game over for me that has me crapping my pants. Whoever they have working at this bougie agency would definitely figure out I’ve got more issues going on than a serious dislike of schoolwork. So yeah, safe to say I’m motivated to get the SH Prep girl back onside.
Her name is Caroline Heinz, but other than that, I know nothing about her. But I tell them to leave it with me and promise them I’ll have her back on board by Thursday. I know they’re not totally convinced, but I guess they figure there’s at least a chance I might redeem myself on this one—because while reliability may not be my strong point, charming the ladies definitely is.
The first thing I do is text Scarlett since she’ll know who this Caroline girl is. She knows everyone. Not just the kids that go to SH Prep, but a bunch of the kids who go to Ocean Heights, too.
Caroline’s house is in the same subdivision as my friend Jackie Delaney’s, right at the end of a tree-lined street on the other side of the town center from the gated peninsula where Scarr, Xave, and I live. Her house is still right on the ocean though, only not on a cliff like the peninsula houses are. I can see her backyard from the road, and the narrow gap between the tall grasses that separate the lawn from the wide length of sandy beach.
I climb out of the Jeep, grabbing the gift bag off the passenger seat before closing the door, then head up the front walkway. Her house is one of those classic New England homes with about five different roof shapes and elevations, and I’m kinda glad I won’t be scaling any of them today. It’s a small house by Sandy Haven standards, especially compared to the monster houses on the peninsula, but it would probably be considered swank in pretty much any other neighborhood in North America. Sandy Haven is a little skewed when it comes to stuff like average house size and household income.
I jog up three long steps crammed with an entire extended family of jack-o’-lanterns and autumn flowers in clay pots, onto a large covered porch. Which is also decked out in fall decorations.
Her mom answers the door. A smiley woman with blond curly hair and a high forehead. She looks sorta stunned when I tell her I’m here to see Caroline, even when I explain that she’s tutoring me. So maybe she doesn’t know her daughter does tutoring? She invites me to come wait in the entrance while she goes upstairs to let Caroline know I’m here, eyeing the gift bag in my hand and offering me a smile that doesn’t hide her confusion at my impromptu visit. I’m thinking Scarr is right about this girl’s non-existent social life.
I wait in the front entrance for a good five minutes before Caroline finally makes her way down the white staircase, past the wall of black and white family photos. She’s wearing gray sweats, a T-shirt, and a pink oversized chunky knit cardigan. Her hair is down and it’s sorta wild how curly and huge it is. Like, her hair must be three times the size of her face. The kind of curls your hand would probably get tangled in if you tried to run your fingers through them. Untamed and thick and hella cool. Totally unlike the straightened, silky hair of most of the girls at SH Prep.
Caroline looks even more confused by my visit than her mother did. Only, unlike her mom, she doesn’t offer even a hint of a smile. In fact, on second thought, I decide her expression is annoyance more than confusion. And maybe weariness? She looks me up and down and it weirds me the hell out, because I’ve never had a girl assess me the way she just did; like what she sees leaves me coming up short. Then her eyes stray to the gift bag for what feels like a long few seconds, before returning to my face.
“What are you here for?” she asks, keeping a five-foot distance between us like she’s worried my stupidity will rub off on her or something. Or like I’m a threat standing here in her doorway holding a navy gift bag with gold ribbon.
Man, this girl is odd.
I attempt to thaw her guarded expression with a smile, but if anything, it makes her flinch away even more.
“Uh, I was hoping maybe we could chat? Like, for five minutes?”
There’s a long pause. Then: “About what?”
“Caroline?” Her mother calls from somewhere down the hall. “Your friend is welcome to come in… I just took brownies out of the oven!”
“He’s not my friend,” Caroline says over her shoulder. Then to me, she says, “Let’s talk outside.”
Okay, then. Guess there will be no brownies for me today.
