couldn’t help but notice her the first time I saw her. Her arms cross one over the other, her hip jutting out at an indignant angle. “Do you realize what everyone thought you were implying?”
I hear the daggers behind her words. I shift back in my seat despite myself. She strikes terror into my soul and drives me crazy all at the same time. I can’t decide if it’s the good kind of crazy or the annoying kind.
I slide a deliberate glance from her lips back to her blue eyes and raise a half smile. “I don’t mind one bit.”
Her eyelids fly wide open. “Ugh.” She utters a disgusted sound and makes as if to storm off again. “Just-just leave me alone.”
She’s a piece of work, that’s for sure, with more attitude than a bull in an arena. And I’m obviously the red cape.
I recall the scar down the side of my face and this stupid wheelchair, realizing that sweet-talking probably isn’t my best-played move. I don’t look like the guy in the photo booth pictures: the guy she laughed with, smiled at. I don’t feel like the same person either.
To say that I slept most of the summer away wouldn’t be an exaggeration. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not proud of it. My accident made the local newspaper. Sports section. On one hand, I was glad to be viewed as a key player, enough for people to take note. On the other, it was depressing to realize that would be the last sports article I’d be in.
The week I was scheduled to be in Philly for the Reebok Classic Breakout was the worst. Didn’t want to look at the cast on my leg. Didn’t want to do anything. Slept through the first few days of school, too.
“I was referring to the tutoring,” I lie before I lose her. “I will pay you.”
Not that I was even planning on her tutoring me at all; it was just the quickest way of getting to her. I’m seriously starting to wonder what I could possibly have seen in her at the mall. She’s a fireball. Nothing but trouble. In fact, once she answers my questions, I don’t care if I ever see her again.
She pauses, her irritated façade wavering. Could she be considering it?
“Why do you want me to be your tutor anyway?” she asks.
Maybe I should have gone about this differently, shouldn’t have played the tutor angle. But Mom was right: walking through the front doors this morning felt like a fresh start. Okay, so I was wheeling myself in and I had to use the automatic handicap door, but the fresh-start effect was still there.
I saw Julianna’s ad on the bulletin board and couldn’t resist. I was more than ready for answers. Like what’s up with Vic? He didn’t call or text all summer. Julianna and the photo-booth pictures seemed like the best place to start.
“I need answers,” I say.
“Answers?”
“ Help . I meant help.”
She tucks her lower lip between her teeth, looking anywhere but at me.
“Listen,” I say, genuine concern kicking in now, my voice dipping lower as I remember her mom, “I’m sorry. For everything.”
Her gaze meets mine with the first hint of something besides distaste, a shadow of the look in her eyes I see in that picture. I wait for more. She turns to the locker beside her with a huff instead and starts spinning the combo.
She’s like Mentos in an overshaken liter of Coke: the last girl I want to get anywhere near, but I have no choice. She has the answers I want and I plan on getting them. Since I’m stuck with her, I figure I might as well enjoy the view unnoticed while she’s opening her locker: her proud posture, nice curves, and the strand of hair teasing her jawline.
I look from her locker to mine and smile, amused.
I wheel myself around and use the combination they gave me this morning: 36, 15, 04. Right, left, right. Open. The textbooks I placed there this morning rest where I left them.
I turn to Julianna and find her eyes on me, her fingers hovering over her combination in midspin. Her dropped jaw snaps shut and she rolls her eyes. “Of course,” she
I hear the daggers behind her words. I shift back in my seat despite myself. She strikes terror into my soul and drives me crazy all at the same time. I can’t decide if it’s the good kind of crazy or the annoying kind.
I slide a deliberate glance from her lips back to her blue eyes and raise a half smile. “I don’t mind one bit.”
Her eyelids fly wide open. “Ugh.” She utters a disgusted sound and makes as if to storm off again. “Just-just leave me alone.”
She’s a piece of work, that’s for sure, with more attitude than a bull in an arena. And I’m obviously the red cape.
I recall the scar down the side of my face and this stupid wheelchair, realizing that sweet-talking probably isn’t my best-played move. I don’t look like the guy in the photo booth pictures: the guy she laughed with, smiled at. I don’t feel like the same person either.
To say that I slept most of the summer away wouldn’t be an exaggeration. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not proud of it. My accident made the local newspaper. Sports section. On one hand, I was glad to be viewed as a key player, enough for people to take note. On the other, it was depressing to realize that would be the last sports article I’d be in.
The week I was scheduled to be in Philly for the Reebok Classic Breakout was the worst. Didn’t want to look at the cast on my leg. Didn’t want to do anything. Slept through the first few days of school, too.
“I was referring to the tutoring,” I lie before I lose her. “I will pay you.”
Not that I was even planning on her tutoring me at all; it was just the quickest way of getting to her. I’m seriously starting to wonder what I could possibly have seen in her at the mall. She’s a fireball. Nothing but trouble. In fact, once she answers my questions, I don’t care if I ever see her again.
She pauses, her irritated façade wavering. Could she be considering it?
“Why do you want me to be your tutor anyway?” she asks.
Maybe I should have gone about this differently, shouldn’t have played the tutor angle. But Mom was right: walking through the front doors this morning felt like a fresh start. Okay, so I was wheeling myself in and I had to use the automatic handicap door, but the fresh-start effect was still there.
I saw Julianna’s ad on the bulletin board and couldn’t resist. I was more than ready for answers. Like what’s up with Vic? He didn’t call or text all summer. Julianna and the photo-booth pictures seemed like the best place to start.
“I need answers,” I say.
“Answers?”
“ Help . I meant help.”
She tucks her lower lip between her teeth, looking anywhere but at me.
“Listen,” I say, genuine concern kicking in now, my voice dipping lower as I remember her mom, “I’m sorry. For everything.”
Her gaze meets mine with the first hint of something besides distaste, a shadow of the look in her eyes I see in that picture. I wait for more. She turns to the locker beside her with a huff instead and starts spinning the combo.
She’s like Mentos in an overshaken liter of Coke: the last girl I want to get anywhere near, but I have no choice. She has the answers I want and I plan on getting them. Since I’m stuck with her, I figure I might as well enjoy the view unnoticed while she’s opening her locker: her proud posture, nice curves, and the strand of hair teasing her jawline.
I look from her locker to mine and smile, amused.
I wheel myself around and use the combination they gave me this morning: 36, 15, 04. Right, left, right. Open. The textbooks I placed there this morning rest where I left them.
I turn to Julianna and find her eyes on me, her fingers hovering over her combination in midspin. Her dropped jaw snaps shut and she rolls her eyes. “Of course,” she
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