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“Hmm. That’s tragic because I was about to give you some good news.”
My head lifts off my hands.
“But first you have to give me the undramatized version of events. That’s terrible about Lupe’s brother. Did she really go back to Peru? And she found you another tutor?”
I sit up and resist the urge to sigh again. “Yes and yes. I felt terrible when he told me about her brother, but he didn’t offer any details. There was a mix-up at first, so it was kind of confusing. He had my name all garbled because she gave it to him over the phone, but we got that figured out, and then we sat down at a table and he helped me get caught up.”
“Wait. I thought he was sadistic.”
“He is.”
“But... he helped you?”
“Oh yeah. He’s really good at it—using terms I understand and making sense of all the stupid jargon.”
“And that’s somehow sadistic?”
I get up from the table and open the freezer, pulling out some taquitos and preheating the oven. “It was weird, Ivy. I swear he was a complete social idiot when we were sorting out the mix-up, but when we were working on my math, he seemed pretty normal.”
She folds her arms and squints at me. “So normal is sadistic?”
“No, it’s just... the whole time he was helping me, I felt like he was really irritated about something, or maybe derisive.”
“Did he laugh at you?” Her eyebrows shoot up like a dog’s hackles.
“No,” I say with a shake of my head to diffuse her protective instincts. Not even when he found out my backpack is named. “And he never said or did anything demeaning—you know I wouldn’t have been able to concentrate if he had—but there was something in his eyes at times that made me wonder.”
“Well, whatever it was, hopefully it’s harmless enough to ignore through December.” Ivy gives me a pointed look. “You are going to keep seeing him, right?”
“You make it sound like we’re dating. But yes, we finalized everything.”
“Longest relationship you’ve had in ages.”
“Yeah. Too bad I have to pay him to stay in it.”
Ivy’s cheeks dimple beautifully as she smiles around her food, making me marvel for not the first time that no man has yet convinced her to take pity on him and settle down. Not that they haven’t tried.
The oven beeps its readiness, so I pop my taquitos in, set a timer on my phone, and change the subject. “So,” I say, “what’s your good news?”
She swallows her mouthful of greens, and the dimples deepen along with her smile. “Guess who has a date for Friday night?”
“That’s your good news?” First week of the semester, second week in our latest apartment, and already the vultures are circling. This is no surprise to me. If anything, it’s a little late. “You always have a date.”
“Not always! Besides, it isn’t so much that I have a date butwhoit’s with.” She pokes at her salad for a few seconds before she continues. “Also, I askedhim.”
Nowthatis news. Between the dimples and the flowy hair and the elfin physique, Ivy is one of the lucky few girls who never has to beg for a date.
“You? Asked a guy out?”
“Yep.”
“Who?”
“Remember the guy that led Bible study last week?”
My brain flips through faces from the Christian singles group the local pastor has organized and comes up with a fuzzy picture of a fairly nerdy, stocky guy. Sort of cute, but Ivy typically scores dates with the super attractive guys all the other girls—myself, I reluctantly admit, occasionally included—are unsuccessfully chasing. This guy is seriously average-looking.
“Uh, yeah. Blond?”
