Page 25

“I’m failing math. If I don’t pass, I won’t be able to run. I won’t get into college, and my life will be ruined. Maybe you could help me, and I can keep bringing you food?”

I can’t keep my eyes off that sandwich. “Fine. Give it to me.”

He smirks as if he’s won some prize and hands me the other half. It looks good—turkey and bacon. I suppose that’s a fair trade off. He wanted something from me. No one actually likes me.

“It better not be poison,” I quip before taking a bite, and he chuckles. I moan at how good it tastes. He watches me with a grin on his face that turns serious.

“Why do you think I’d ever poison you, firefly?” He brushes a piece of my hair with his fingers.

I flinch as he makes contact, suddenly feeling very trapped under these bleachers. Firefly…why does he call me that? Mama would hate it if she knew. Mama would also hate that I’m alone with him in a kissable distance.

The nickname makes me uncomfortable.

My heart rate becomes too much for me to handle, and my hands shake.

He must sense my discomfort, because he moves his hand down my cheek before he pulls away. His fingers are soft, hands slightly callused.

“Sorry,” he whispers. “I forgot, no touching.”

I bring my hand to my cheek, the warmth of his touch lingering. I can’t help but compare it to the way Remy touched my face in the library. Both touches affect me in ways I can’t describe.

Finally, after a few tense moments, he says, “Don’t be scared of me, Didi. I’m a good one.”

I fold my arms and sigh. “I’m not scared of you, Tommy. I just…rarely talk this much to anyone.”

He leans back on his elbows. “Alright. If that makes you more comfortable with me, we can sit in silence. Then tomorrow you can start helping me?”

It does make me feel better. I don’t know how to talk to him—I’m not even comfortable in my own skin. I take another bite of my food, which brings instant comfort, filling my otherwise empty stomach. If Tommy’s watching me, which I’m sure he is, he doesn’t say a word, and as he promised, we sit in silence.

I keep my eyes lowered because part of me is afraid that if I lift them, then this moment will be over, and Tommy and his sandwich will be gone.

He hums something. I’m not sure if he even realizes he’s doing it, but he starts to tap his hand, too. I watch him, and he seems to have forgotten I’m even here.

Whatever song is playing out in his head, he’s completely lost in it.

“What are you singing?” I ask.

He leans back relaxed. Almost embarrassed. “Nothing, it’s stupid…”

“I want to know.”

“Just a song I’ve been practicing at home.”

I lean closer to him. “What kind of song?”

He squirms a little, almost like the music in his head is a dirty little secret. “It’s just a few lyrics. I’ve been strumming it on my guitar.”

My lips part. “You’re a musician?”

His face drops slightly. “No. I wish. I’m an athlete. My old man would hate it if he knew about it. He says rock n’ roll is a waste of time. Plus, it’s not like I have a ton of time to work on it. I only practice when he’s not home.”

I open my textbook and pretend to read it, pretend not to care. “Well, don’t let me stop you. You can keep practicing if you want.”

I glance at my book as he closes his eyes, working on the song he’s composing in his head. He even starts singing.

His voice is nice and soothing, and I get lost in it. He catches me looking and smiles at me when he finishes.

“Was that, okay?”