I clear my throat and blink several times before answering. “Yeah. Thanks.”
An alarm on her phone goes off and she digs around in her backpack to silence it while I hand back her notebook. A piece of paper falls out as I do, and I pick it up. Like her math notes, it’s organized and neat, but this paper has a bulleted list of things like “learn the ‘Thriller’ dance” and “watch the sunrise from the football field” written in blue and silver ink. And there are hearts and other doodles around the edge of the paper.
She stops the alarm and then looks over at me.
“You dropped this,” I say as I hand it over. My gaze is caught on one bullet item: Go skinny-dipping.
“Oh.” She snatches it from me quickly. Her cheeks flush as she tucks it into the back of the notebook.
“Are you making some sort of to-do list?” I ask.
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” She looks at me with a sheepish smile. “I found this bucket list my mom made when she was my age, and I’m thinking about completing it.” She waves it off but won’t meet my eye. “I guess I thoughtit’d make me feel closer to her or something, but it’s a little embarrassing.”
“Why?”
“She died when I was a baby, so I didn’t know her. I’ve heard stories and seen pictures, but something about being in the same place doing the same things feels like I’m seeing the world in the same way. That probably doesn’t make sense.”
It did make sense. A lot of sense, actually. I feel that way about my mom sometimes, and she isn’t dead, just across the world.
“I meant why is it embarrassing?”
“Oh.” Her cheeks turn redder. “I added a few of my own things to the list.”
“Okay.” I’m still not following why that would be embarrassing. Though I’m curious if she added skinny-dipping or her mom did.
“Something about putting an item on the list gives it weight.”
“Like you wouldn’t put it on the list if it weren’t important to you?” I ask.
“Exactly.”
“So skinny-dipping is important to you?”
“Like I said, it’s embarrassing.”
Interesting. Maybe she did add that one herself.
I still don’t completely understand why she’s embarrassed, but as I fight off thoughts of Lacey skinny-dipping, she starts to pack up her stuff.
“I have to get home,” she says as she zips up her backpack. My gaze snags on that blue and silver pom-pom again. “Do you want to get together again tomorrow? I’m free during lunch and after cheer practice.”
I stare at her, waiting for the sincerity in her expression to shift. I can’t believe she’s offering up her time forme.
She’s a good tutor, whip smart, and if I weren’t so embarrassed at needing her help, I think I might have enjoyed hanging out with her more.
One thing is certain. If Lacey can’t help me, no one can.
“Yeah. Either time would be great.”
“Perfect. Let’s do both so we can get through everything and then focus on where you’re struggling.”
I’m struggling with everything, so that won’t be hard to pinpoint.
She beams at me, and I find my lips curving in response. For as shitty of a day as it was, that’s a pretty big accomplishment.
It’s easy to see why people like her so much. When she turns all that attention on you, it’s like stepping into the sun.
“That’s great. Thank you. I really appreciate it.”
