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“If you’re too busy, or think it’s a stupid idea, just say no.” He sticks his hands into his pockets. “I’m a horrible test-taker. I just suck at school, really.”
“SAT prep is hard,” I tell him. And it is hard. Ever since my first day studying, I’ve had to do extra work for it, from practice quizzes (with and without Aprilette) to flashcards.
“True, but you and everyone else are way smarter than me. I can never get anything right.”
My mind flashes back to Grace handing me a water cup, assigning me the easiest job because I can’t direct a family member to a room, and I’m too slow in cleaning the cuffs and monitors. Jase must feel alienated too.
He lowers his head again, this time scratching hard enough that I can hear every itch. “Think you can help me out?”
“You want me to tutor you.”
“Yeah, that.”
Is a cute guy actually asking me to help him study?
She needs to think carefully before she answers. There goes Aprilette’s words again. Helping out Jase means I lose time studying for myself. I’ll be too busy tutoring him at his pace, and with the competition, I’ll be too overwhelmed and exhausted with work. Besides, I’ve never tutored anyone. I might confuse him.
“I might not be any good at it,” I say, feeling bad that I’ve pretty much said that I can’t help him.
“Please?” The way he says it, emphasized with desperation, only makes me feel guiltier. “I hate coming in there and embarrassing myself. I’d quit by now, but my mom said she’ll only let me continue my band’s coffee shop gigs if I went through with this.”
My eyes soften. I feel his pain. Anyone can see his talent, feel his passion, when he plays his guitar. I feel horrible thinking I could potentially derail his musical showcase at Blossoms. Still, I just shrug.
“How about this? You help me out with SAT stuff, and I help you out with your competition.”
“Jase, you don’t have to help. It’s too much work.”
“It’s not a problem. What you’re doing is cool, and I want to help.”
“How much do you know about photography?”
He opens his mouth but says nothing. After a second, he says, “Okay, maybe I can’t help with your pictures. But I can help with anything else.”
I almost tell him that it’s okay, there’s nothing else I need help with besides my photographs. Then I have a flash of the other day at Star Lakes. How I just stood there frozen, letting Sandra and Aaliyah overtake the spot I wanted for my photo. And here’s Jase, who can hype up a crowd and speak up to the AP couple.
“Actually, I know one way you can help.”
Jase takes a step forward and pulls his hands out of his pockets. “Please.”
“I suck at speaking in front of people. That’s obvious, I know.”
“You’re just shy.”
He doesn’t say this as an insult, nor is he pointing this out as a flaw. Just an observation to a fact that’s as obvious as me having black hair and him having blue eyes.
“Can’t really blame you with that crowd.” He glances back at the building, the block letters of SMARTake Test Prep brightened by the sunlight, the white paint popping against the brown background. “It’s like they don’t do anything else but study and work.”
“For some, that’s probably true. Here’s the thing ... I get scared. But you never seem scared.” It takes me a second to realize I might be reminding him of our first real encounter, when my ice cream dropped in front of him, so I add, “Remember that time you spoke up to Chloe and Klyde? They commented on the hole in your shirt, and you countered them so easily.”
“Of course. I didn’t want to let them win or make fun of my clothes.” He tugs on his shirt, the hole there widening. “Look at this. Isn’t it a fashion statement?”
A laugh bubbles out of me. A car zooms past us in a blur of red, “No Judgement” by Niall Horan blasting through the window. “See? I wouldn’t be able to say anything. They scare me.”
“Chloe and Klyde? Really?” Jase furrows his eyebrows. “Please—they just think they’re better than everyone else because they’re smart.”
“Wow, good to know I’m not the only one with that opinion.” I’ve thought this about Chloe and Klyde ever since I took English with them freshman year. But I just thought I was being too sensitive.
“Yeah, they think they know it all, but here’s something they don’t know—just because you’re smart doesn’t mean you can be an asshole.”
