As I’m storming away, he bellows, “No need to be a sore loser.”
Ignoring this, I storm inside. I’m so not in the mood for his schtick. As if today wasn’t already the worst, it’s not even over. Because I have stupid tutoring.
I hang my head as I wander to the library, pausing just outside the door. Why do I always take Patrick’s bait? Now I’m stuck doing his homework too—and Oliver’s probably going to assign me extra tutoring homework. I’m so mad. Maybe it’s unfair to take this out on Patrick, but he’s the reason I’m in this mess in the first place, including the ongoing mess with Subwayboy.
A lick of fire lights up inside me. Maybe I wasn’t brave enough to talk to Joe today, but somethingmustchange.
I’m digging through my shoulder bag, my fingers closing around my glasses, when I pause. Yes, I could put on my disguise again, but today’s already proven I’m a major failure. Do I really need to chicken out with this? Shouldn’t I take a risk? If I don’t, I’m going to have to keep hiding forever. That’s not what I want.
Come on, Sara. Do something brave, for once.
Taking a deep breath, I stride into the library as myself—no disguises.
My heartbeat increases with each step I take. When I gather the nerve to look at Oliver, I find him staring at me with his usualI’m way too cool for this and also I’m so boredexpression. Well, okay, then. That’s good? Or maybe not? I have no idea.
I pull out the chair across from him and sit, palms sweating. He’s studying me now, eyebrows raised, but his expression is still inscrutable. Does he recognize me? Is he going to call me out as Subwaygirl? Hash everything out—here—in public? What if he stomps out and refuses to tutor me? What on earth will I tell Dad?
But, no. Instead, he says, “What happened to your glasses?”
“Uh”—I grasp for an excuse—“they broke.”
He’s already flipping through his textbook, unbothered. Like it doesn’t matter if I have glasses or not. “Oh. Well, let’s start.”
Okay? So why ask me in the first place? I swear, rocks are easier to read than this guy.
I heave a dramatic sigh, leaning back. “Fine.”
Ugh, Ireallydon’t want to do this. If there was any justice in this world, a light catastrophe would occur at this very moment. Nothing deadly or life altering, but maybe a rumbling thunderstorm that knocks out the electricity, forcing us to go home for the day.
His eyes leap to mine. “Did you do your homework?”
Okay, what is with this guy? Really? He doesn’t even sayhellolike a normal, friendly human. No, he just sits there judging me, looking like he’s permanently sucking on a lemon. Zero pleasantries. Has he never heard of small talk? Or is he allergic to the concept? Straight to business, as always. Math, math,math—that’s it. Nothing else. It drives me bonkers. Hasn’t anyone taught him kindness goes a long way?
If Joe was my tutor, everything would be perfect. We’d be a scene straight from a rom-com. I’d compliment his hair; he’d compliment my smile. I’d understand calculus in two seconds, then he’d say I was the smartest girl in the entire universe and ask me out for ice cream. And then we’d walk around the park until the sun set, just talking and getting to know each other. Maybe I’d even make him laugh.
But no. My life isn’t a movie, and I’m stuck here with Scrooge’s great-great-grandnephew, who clearly hates my guts.
I drop my forehead onto the table and circle my arms around my head, groaning. (Because—yes—I forgot to do my homework. Is that really a surprise?)
“Today sucks,” I moan, miserable.
Oliver sighs. “Guess that’s a no, then.”
“Have you ever had an opportunity right in the palm of your hands,” I hear myself say, “but because you’re an idiot, you just . . . let it go?”
“No,” Oliver says, dryer than an unused sponge. “Because I’m not an idiot.”
I choose to ignore this, popping my head up. “What is wrong with me? I could’ve just talked to him today. It would have been so easy! But now I have to dodoublethe homework, and—worst of all—it’s my fault.Mine. I’m the one getting myself into these situations! There’s no one else to blame.” I drop my head again, speaking straight to the table. “My life sucks.”
Oops. Maybe I overshared. Typical me. Whatever; he already thinks I’m weird. It’s not like I can do anything to change that now. Though, in hindsight, I should have saved the venting for my blog.
He’s quiet. Seconds tick by. The silence widens, only growing more awkward.
And then—
“Are you done?”
I jerk my head up and glare at him. “Why are you so rude? Honestly.” Then I push myself into a seated position and fold my arms across my chest. “Are you a robot? All you want to talk about is calculus. I mean, you don’t even sayhi. Just—derivates! series! sequences!And, okay, yeah, I know you don’t like me. That’s very clear. I’m not exactly a fan of you either—”
