How to Get Ainsley Bishop to Fall in Love With You by T. M. Franklin Page B

might be a good idea?”
    Ainsley flicked a glance at me before focusing back on my hair. “College.”
    “You need a favor from me about college?”
    “I was hoping—and you can totally say no, if you want to. I mean, I know you’re busy. But you’re so good at this stuff, and you’re such a good teacher. I mean, you’ve helped me so much already—”
    I shook my head, dislodging Ainsley’s hands. “I don’t get it. What do you need my help with?”
    Her cheeks were pink as she let out a heavy breath, but her shoulders straightened as she looked me in the eye. “The SATs.”
    “The SATs.”
    Ainsley rolled her eyes. “Yeah, it’s this test—”
    “I know what the SATs are,” I said, a quiver of excitement tingling in my stomach. “Are you saying? Do you think you want to go to college after all?”
    “Of course she does,” a gravelly voice said off to my right. A woman appeared through a cloud of cigarette smoke, pale pink-tinted hair teased to within an inch of its life. She wore pink from head to toe—tight, hot pink pants, a paler shirt tied at her midriff, and the highest, pointiest high-heeled shoes I’d ever seen in my life. Pink lips wrapped around the cigarette one more time before she stubbed it out in an ashtray near the sink and blew smoke over her shoulder as she walked toward us.
    “Oliver, meet my aunt Dora,” Ainsley said.
    The woman snorted. “Yeah, like the explorer, but I don’t speak Spanish, I wouldn’t be caught dead in that haircut, and I can’t find my way around town without a GPS, so that’s where the resemblance ends.” She leaned against the wall next to the mirror and looked me up and down. “So you’re the genius my niece is always going on about.”
    “I am not!” Ainsley shrieked, before meeting my eyes in the mirror and lowering her voice. “I am not . I just told her what you said about college, and she agreed. That’s why she thinks you’re a genius. She thinks anyone who agrees with her is a genius.”
    Dora grinned. “And rightly so.”
    “Anyway, as I was saying ”—Ainsley glared at her aunt, who ignored her to examine her bright pink fingernails—“I’m rethinking the college issue, and I figure I should at least take the SATs. It doesn’t mean I’m going, but I guess I’m not ruling it out?”
    “That’s . . . that’s really great. What changed your mind?”
    She shrugged. “I’m not saying I’m going for sure. At least not anyplace too far away.”
    Dora huffed in frustration. “You need to go live your life and quit letting you father and that boyfriend of yours guilt you into everything.”
    Ainsley groaned. “Aunt Dora isn’t my dad’s biggest fan. Or Ian’s.”
    “That boy will hold you back,” Dora said, reaching out to flip Ainsley’s hair over her shoulder. “And you’ve got more potential than to stay in this town and marry some car salesman and have a houseful of babies.”
    “There’s nothing wrong with car salesmen. Or babies.”
    “But that’s not what you really want!” Dora threw her hands in the air and turned to me. “You talk to her. You seem to be the only one she listens to!” She flounced off to the back room, pointy heels clicking against the linoleum. I noticed she’d taken Ainsley’s coffee with her.
    “Sorry about that,” Ainsley said, getting back to my haircut.
    “It’s fine.” I swallowed, searching for the right words in the glut of them clogging my throat. “She really doesn’t like your dad?”
    Ainsley snorted out a laugh. “That’s putting it mildly.” She snipped a little more. “My parents didn’t have the best marriage. My dad wasn’t exactly faithful, and Aunt Dora is my mom’s sister, so . . .”
    “Ah.”
    “Yeah. And then she died in a car accident. Aunt Dora blames him, I think,” she said quietly. “It wasn’t really his fault, but she wouldn’t have been there if my parents were still together.”
    “I’m . . . sorry.”
    Ainsley shrugged