It’s Ms. Mallory, the English teacher. Mid-thirties, wears sharp suits, with kind eyes. She has an aura about her, like she knows her stuff without needing to say it.
She steps out of her office, mug in hand. “I was just thinking about you.”
My brain fires off panic signals. What did I do? What assignment did I forget? Am I failing? But she waves me off.
“It’s nothing bad,” she says with a small smile. “Come in for a sec?”
I nod because saying no feels strange, so I follow her inside.
“Take a seat,” she says, motioning to the chair across from her desk.
I sit, hands fidgeting in my lap.
“I wanted to ask a favor. A small one,” says Ms. Mallory.
“Okay.”
She leans forward, resting her elbows on the desk, fingers intertwined. “You’re one of the top students in my class. Organized. Focused. You actually turn things in on time.”
“Uh… thank you?” My voice comes out unsure, like I’m waiting for the catch.
“There’s someone who needs help,” she continues. “He’s struggling. Academically, yes. But also…” She hesitates, choosing her words carefully. “Life hasn’t exactly handed him a fair deal.”
That gets my attention.
“He’s got potential,” she says. “I see it. But if something doesn’t change soon, he won’t graduate.”
I nod slowly, hands folded in my lap, stomach tightening as I wait for the part where she tells me what this has to do with me.
“I’d like you to tutor him,” she says. “Once or twice a week. After school.”
I wet my lips, my brain scrambling for a response. A hundred thoughts collide at once. Me sitting across from some boy I don’t know. Explaining homework. Filling silence. Being responsible for whether someone passes or fails.
I don’t know what to say.
But another thought slips in quietly. At least it will give me something to do in the afternoons now. Something other than going home to a house that feels too quiet, where the hours stretch on longer than they should and the absence of my friends sits heavier than I care to admit.
“Sure,” I hear myself say. “Why not.”
A small smile forms on her lips. “Thank you, Lola. I think this could really make a difference.”
I nod again, still not sure what I’ve just agreed to. Still not sure who this boy is. Only that my afternoons are about to change.
“It’s Jace Cooper.”
My stomach fucking drops.
I blink at her. “Jace?”
She nods, her expression soft but steady. “I know he can be a handful.”
That’s one word for it. There are others. Messy. Fire. Flirty in a way that leaves scorch marks. The kind of boy who takes up space whether you invite him to or not.
We haven’t spoken since that day, when Sam broke down in front of all of us and Reece almost broke Jace’s jaw right afterward.
Ms. Mallory studies me.
“You don’t have to say yes,” she says gently, giving me an out I’m not sure I want.
