Page 85 of The Cheerleader

“Thank you for getting me the grade I need.” Any sense of pride is buried beneath the debt I owe her, the leg up, the advantage she gave me.

“Why don’t you seem happy? Or are you hiding it?”

I snort because she’s too quick, already knows me.

“I’m happy I got the grade. I needed it.”

“But?”

“I’m not proud. I don’t have a sense of accomplishment because I didn’t earn it.”

“Of course you⁠—”

“You earned it. I leaned too heavily on you for this one.” I don’t tell her that it won’t happen again, but she gets it.

She nods and Yardley gets our attention. “If you have any questions about your grades, set up an appointment.” She looks around and her eyes drift to me. She doesn’t smile or acknowledge my improvement. Because she knows.

I’m a fucking cheater.

“Your next assignment will be a persuasive essay. Let’s talk about what that means.”

She drones on while I listen, stiff and uncomfortable sitting next to Susie, until the end of class. Yardley gives us five possible topics for our essay, and none of them are football or farming, so I’ll need to make a trip to the library to do some research.

Susie stands and smiles down at me. “I’m going to the library to work on this one. Want to come with me?”

“I’ll go later. On my own.”

Her brow furrows. “What’s the matter, Bryan? Something’s bothering you. Is it… about your question?”

I snort, and my heart beats overreacts to her question. Of course, it’s about my question. And it’s damn telling that that’s how she describes my flat-out statement that I want to sleep with her.

Unfolding myself from the chair because I’m still working out the kinks of sore muscles, I stand, and she follows me to the door. “I don’t think you tutoring me is a good idea. Feels like cheating.” Fuck. Why am I telling her that, making up excuses? If I can’t be honest with her, I should just walk away. “I have to go⁠—”

The wind blows as we step outside. She reaches for my arm when I turn to go, and I feel like a fucking idiot, a coward.

She jumps in front of me. “You’re not cheating. Tutoring is not cheating.” She rushes her words as if she expects me to bolt. Smart girl. “Okay, sure, I helped you revise your paper, but all the thoughts were yours. What I did is help you to learn.”

I lock eyes with her. “Don’t give me that shit. You rewrote my paper, and that’s why I got the grade. If I’d handed it in the way it was when I wrote it, I would have failed.”

“No, you wouldn’t have. Besides, Yardley wanted you to get a tutor. Next time you’ll do your own revision, looking for the same things I did⁠—”

“No. I won’t.”

“Does this mean you’re quitting? Giving up?” Her voice is angry, and her free hand is on her hip like she’s talking to a belligerent child.

And that child would be me.

“Fuck.” I swipe a hand through my hair, pushing it off my forehead. Fuck. She hit a bull’s-eye. “No. I’m not quitting. But I need to do it myself. No redlining my paper. You can tell me what needs improvement, and I’ll do it myself. Your pencil can’t come near my paper.” She’s smiling, and I want more of it. “You’ll need to stay so far away from my paper that you’ll need to read it from across the room.”

She laughs. My chest constricts and my Adam’s apple scrapes up and down my throat like a jagged rock.

Her laugh stops abruptly because I’m not joining her. I’m not even smirking, and I’m aware that my gaze is too intense, too interested for all the wrong reasons. She looks away.

“Good. Our next paper will be more challenging. We’ll do more prep work so you can do a better first draft.”

I grunt in response.

When we get to the turnoff to the library, I walk faster in that direction, pulling ahead. She follows. I don’t try to stop her.