“Get it together, Fuller.” My voice sounded hoarse.
Clearing my throat, I got up, pulled the locker room door open, and was met with a rush of cool air.
“Feeling better, son?” Coach stood with a basketball tucked under his arm. His eyes were full of concern, and a deep line had formed across his forehead.
Before I could respond, my stomach clenched. I raised my hand to my mouth, but it was too late. My partially digested lunch splashed all over Coach’s shoes.
Chapter Nine
Wren
“Remember, your papers are due on Wednesday. That’s two days from now.” Mrs. Brewster pointed to a reminder she’d written in red marker in the corner of the whiteboard.
The bell rang.
Mrs. Brewster frowned and looked up at the clock. “Wren and Fuller, I need to speak to both of you before you leave.”
“Ooh,” someone from behind me cooed.
I spun around in my seat and stared down Lyla. “Seriously? You’re going to be that immature?” My classmate immediately looked down at her desk, her cheeks turning dark pink.
Another classmate made kissy sounds.
“Shut up, Eric. Wren and I are friends. Nothing more and nothing less.” Fuller said it loud enough for everyone in the room to hear, including Mrs. Brewster.
Did he really stand up and justify himself? And call me his friend? It was about the most un-Fuller-like thing I’d ever seen him do. He actually stood up for the right reason and didn’t go along with it for a stupid laugh.
Whatever. One time doesn’t make F.B.M. a hero. Before I could second-guess myself or my feelings about this new hero Fuller, Mrs. Brewster cleared her throat.
“Class is dismissed.” Mrs. Brewster shook her head and pressed her thin lips together in disappointment. They were coated in dark burgundy lipstick that matched her ill-fitting blazer.
Tapping my fingers on the desk, I ignored the snickers from the kids in my class. Fuller would probably receive some heat from his teammates, minus Brandon, for his declaration that we were friends. But everyone in the room, including me, knew that he was lying. Fuller James and I would never be friends.
That didn’t stop me from thinking about him though… My mind kept jumping back to our conversation about Gramps and Fuller’s little brother, Hudson. He’d been so genuine and real during that moment. Nothing like the cocky show-off he portrayed himself to be on the court and in the hallways. If he was like that all the time, I actually could picture us being friends.
A tight feeling clenched at my chest, making it difficult to take a deep breath. Too bad he’d never be that person. A few glimpses here and there would never be enough.
I waited for everyone to leave before getting up. A few people gave me looks as they walked by, but I ignored them. I assumed that everyone had seen the post on the gossip account. Over three thousand people followed the account, and most of the Magnolia Valley High School population checked it for news at least once a day. It was all the underclass students talked about. The photo of Fuller and me had popped up a few more places over the weekend, but all of them had been taken down by this morning.
“Miss Carter, you did an excellent job.” Mrs. Brewster handed me my paper with a bright red A+ marked at the top. I’d earned 100 percent on the paper, but that had been bumped up to 110 percent, thanks to the extra credit points I earned for agreeing to tutor Fuller.
Speaking of whom, Fuller stood next to me. I caught him tensing up as Mrs. Brewster praised me. Turning in my assignments early felt good. I loved crossing them off in my planner.
“I’m checking in to see how your paper is coming along, Mr. James.” Mrs. Brewster pushed up her black-rimmed glasses with her pointer finger. She must have left her contacts at home today. She didn’t usually wear glasses.
I hadn’t spoken to Fuller since Friday. Mrs. Brewster had been impressed with his hypothesis, but I didn’t have any idea if he worked on his paper over the weekend. All I knew was that he’d texted me seven times, but I hadn’t responded. Somehow, he’d managed to get the picture down from the gossip account, but he didn’t elaborate as to how in his messages. I didn’t care, either. I just wanted to be done with my tutoring duty as soon as possible.
Fuller reached into his backpack and pulled out a stack of papers clipped together in the left-hand corner. “Yes, ma’am. I’ve written the first draft. I planned on going over it with Wren today in study hall—I want to make sure I’m on the right track before I go through and add a few more details and fully edit it.”
Mrs. Brewster accepted the papers from Fuller’s outstretched hand. She took a few minutes to read over what he’d written. “Miss Carter, Mr. James did this work himself, yes?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Like I’d ever do his work for him.
With a nod of approval, she handed the assignment back to Fuller. “Very nice, Mr. James. Your citations need a bit of work, but that’s easy. Overall, I’m impressed. It seems that Miss Carter has had a very good effect on you. Maybe you two should continue your study hall sessions together for the rest of the year.”
Neither Fuller nor I responded, but my insides screamed “NO!”
“Is there something wrong?” Mrs. Brewster raised an eyebrow.
“No, ma’am,” I responded. “Anxious to get to study hall, that’s all.”
Her gaze passed from Fuller’s face to mine. “All right then. Well, I don’t want to keep the two of you any longer.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Brewster.” Fuller placed his paper back into his backpack.
“See you tomorrow, Mrs. Brewster.” My heart started racing in my chest. I was hoping to pop out of class ahead of Fuller and meet him in the library moments before the bell rang. Instead, I’d have to walk down the hallway with him now. Not only would it be awkward and uncomfortable, it would surely elicit comments from our classmates.
I’d prepared myself for this moment, though. Well, standing up for myself, not walking down the hall with Fuller. I’d practiced walking more confidently and I’d even thought up a few comebacks if anyone gave me crap. If I could work up the courage to use them, I’d be golden.
Earlier today, a freshman I stood next to in the lunch line flat out asked me why I was embarrassed to be seen with Fuller James. Her eyes wide in disbelief, she went on to tell me that he was the cutest guy in school and that, if he were to show up on her doorstep, she’d invite him in for a make-out session.
The old me would have ignored her, but the new me, the me who stood up for herself, told the random freshman who’d butted her head into my business that Fuller was the last guy on the planet I’d ever want to make out with. The expression on her face was priceless. It was like I’d told her that the Tooth Fairy wasn’t real.
She didn’t say anything to me the rest of the time we were in line together.
Now, as Fuller and I entered the hallway, people’s eyes were immediately on us. As I predicted, I could hear them whispering. A few even pointed. Instead of letting my head hang down, though, I pushed my shoulders back and held my chin high as I made my way to the library.
Fuller walked alongside me but remained silent.
Once we finally reached the library and sat down at our regular table, Fuller opened his mouth. “Wren, listen. I’m really sorry about last week.”
“Are you?” My tone was sharp, and the library was quieter than usual. I looked over my shoulder, expecting to see Mrs. Parsons with a scowl on her face. Strangely enough, she was nowhere to be seen. The two sophomore girls who helped her put away books on Monday afternoons weren’t around either. Weird.
Fuller pushed his hair back and straightened out his retro Magnolia Valley basketball shirt. “I swear, I had no idea that someone took that picture of us.”
“How did you get them to take it down?” That question had been bugging me all weekend. Obviously, Fuller was par
t of the popular crowd, but I always assumed whoever posted on the anonymous Instagram account wasn’t part of his crew. I’d always secretly thought it was someone like Charlie, a junior who was kind of a sleaze but somehow maintained connections with all the major cliques on campus. I could be wrong, though.
“I’d rather not say.”
“You’d rather not say? What’s that supposed to mean? Who are you protecting? TyShaun? Marissa?” I could feel my cheeks getting hot.
Instead of the bemused look Fuller typically sported, his eyebrows knit together in concern. “No. Why? Did someone tell you that?”
I shook my head. “Why don’t you admit what actually happened?”
Fuller’s blue eyes met mine. He placed both his hands on the table, fingers splayed. “I can’t, and even though it’s probably the last thing you want to hear from me, trust me, I handled it. And it won’t happen again.”
Leaning back in my chair, I held his gaze. I could see how girls would get lost in his blue orbs. They were like the sea on a calm day. “You know what? Fine. I don’t care. Not about that stupid photo or you. Let’s go over your paper and get this stupid tutoring session done with.”
Fuller flinched. “Tell you what. Don’t worry about the paper. I’ll ask someone else to look it over. You don’t need to waste any more time working with me.”
He stood up and pushed in his chair.
“Oh, I got this for you.” He slid a box of grape and strawberry Nerds across the table. “And this is for your grandpa.” Fuller tossed a plastic-wrapped DVD on the table in front of me. “It’s one of the best NBA games ever played. Game seven. Boston Celtics versus the St. Louis Hawks. It went into double overtime.” Fuller zipped up his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. “I thought he’d enjoy watching it.”
Temporarily forgetting my anger, I reached forward and picked up the box of my favorite candy and the DVD case. “Where did you find this?” I asked in awe.
“The Nerds? At Walmart.”
“No, the DVD. I’ve only ever seen clips of this game online. I’ve never been able to watch the whole thing with the original commentary.”
Fuller shifted his weight. “Oh, I found it on eBay. I ordered it the night I met your grandpa. It came in the mail on Saturday.”
Tingles shot from my core to my fingertips. Fuller was right. This was easily one of the top NBA games of all time.
“Thanks for helping me, Wren.” Fuller tapped the chair with his hand. “It might not seem like it, but I really do appreciate it.”
I picked up the DVD case and turned it over. My grandpa would love it.
“Fuller. Wait.”
He paused as he reached for the door.
“Come back. Sit.”
Fuller hesitated.
“I’m sorry I was so rough on you. If you say you didn’t have anything to do with the picture, I believe you.” I turned the DVD over in my hands. “Can I see your paper?”
His eyes lit up. “Really?”
“Yeah, really.” I gave him a small smile.
Fuller grinned as he pulled the chair out and sat next to me. I caught a whiff of his cologne. Since when did he wear cologne to school? He smelled like the forest after it rained. Fresh and enticing. Shaking my head, I pushed how good he smelled to the back of my mind and focused on the task at hand—serving as his tutor.
He riffled through his backpack and pulled out the same paper he’d given to Mrs. Brewster. “I worked on it all day on Saturday.” He handed me the paper. “It might be complete garbage.”
“Mrs. Brewster didn’t think it was.” I accepted the paper and, for the next several minutes, I read every word Fuller had written. His thesis and introduction were solid. The body of his paper needed a little tightening up and his citations definitely could use some help, but otherwise, he’d done a good job.
“What do you think?” Fuller’s voice was full of doubt.
“It’s solid.” I set the paper down but kept my hand on it. “In fact, I’m impressed.”
Fuller exhaled, his shoulders finding their way back to a relaxed position. “You’ve got no idea how much of a relief that is to hear. That website you sent me last week helped a lot. The organizational tips are key. I think that’s been a big part of why I’ve struggled in Mrs. Brewster’s class this year. I’ve been writing papers without any sense of organization. That…and I hadn’t been reading the books.” The corners of his lips quirked into a coy smile.
Fuller pulled his chair closer to the table. “I know there’s definitely some room for improvement. I don’t think I did the citations right, but I’m hoping I’m close?”
After opening my laptop, I grabbed a note card and permanent marker. “You can use this website as a guide to everything APA. But, for quick reference, these are the three citations I use the most.” I scribbled down sample one-, two-, and three- author citations. “Here.”
“Wow. How did you memorize all of those?”
I tapped my temple with my pointer finger. “Good memory.”
Fuller’s lips curved into a small smile as he looked over the note card. “Did you use your last name for all the examples?”
“Yup.” I cocked my head to the side and held the card out in my hand. “Look, it’s my citation cheat sheet. Use it or lose it.” He was definitely giving me a hard time, but he wasn’t being arrogant. The genuine Fuller had reemerged.
He snatched the card from my grasp and chuckled as he held it against his chest. “It’s mine now. All mine.”
I found myself smiling for the first time in days.
“Be honest, what else needs work?” Fuller asked, pointing to his paper.
“You get a bit wordy in some of your sentences.” I admitted. “Like this one for example. ‘Angie Thomas does a brilliant job of using Khalil’s hairbrush as a symbol throughout The Hate U Give, for example, it is used to represent the mindset that police believe all black teenagers pose a threat and have guns in their vehicles, if it were a white teen in the same circumstances, it’s doubtful the police officer would have pulled his gun, let alone discharged it.’”
Fuller clenched his teeth. “Yeah. That is kind of a long sentence.”
“Break it up a bit and make each point clear. ‘Angie Thomas does a brilliant job using symbolism throughout her debut novel, The Hate U Give.’ That reinforces your thesis. Then you could say something like, ‘She uses Khalil’s hairbrush to prove that the police have a distrust of Khalil and young black men. The police officer automatically assumes that Khalil has a gun and is willing to use it. It is doubtful that the same police officer would have pulled his gun, let alone discharged it, if he’d stopped a white teenager.’ Then, I’d add in a line about Angie Thomas demonstrating how racism and police brutality are inevitably linked.’”
“Wow. You’re really good at this. Do you care if I write that down?”
“Not at all.”
Fuller grabbed a pen from his backpack and began scribbling notes into a notebook.
It was the first time he’d come to study hall with more than his laptop.
“I need to go through my paper and do this to, like, all of it.” Fuller inhaled slowly and ran a hand through his hair. “Do you think I’ll be able to fix all these issues and the citations in two days?”
“Definitely.”
Fuller exhaled. “For real?”
“For real.”
“I have a favor to ask.” Fuller tapped his pen against his open palm. “Do you think you could circle some of the run-on sentences and other issues? That way, after I get home from practice, I’ll know what to work on.”
“Sure.” I accepted the red pen and began circling.
Several minutes later, I set the pen down and handed Fuller his paper. It looked like it was bleeding. But if he fixed all the errors, he’d totally impress Mrs. Brewster and earn
a great grade. That, plus a few solid homework assignments, would all but secure his spot on the team.
“Oomph,” he said, his eyes going wide. “That bad, huh?”
“I may have gone a little overboard, but if you get an A on this paper and do a good job on a homework assignment or two, it will definitely bring your grade up to a C or B. I figured you’d want to aim for that.”
“You really think I could get an A on this paper?” Fuller’s voice lacked confidence.
“I do.” I wanted to reach out and give his hand a reassuring squeeze, but I stopped myself. “Writing a paper is like shooting a free throw. Sure, a big chunk of it is preparation and skill, but you know as well as I do, confidence plays an equal, if not bigger, part in nailing the end result.”
Fuller smiled. “Thanks, Wren.”
“You’re the one who did the work. Be proud of yourself.” I felt like I’d entered an alternate universe. One where at the drop of a DVD case, Fuller and I were getting along. I was even giving him compliments. I brought my hand to my forehead—nope, no fever. This was definitely happening.
Leafing through the pages, Fuller nodded. “Reading, well, listening to the entire book helps a lot, too.” He chuckled. “It’s just so hard to make time for anything other than basketball.”
“At least you figured it out now and not next year,” I offered.
As soon as I’d mentioned the future, Fuller’s shoulders drooped and his jaw twitched.
“Did I say something wrong?”
Fuller ran his hands through his hair. When he pulled them away, his wavy locks stood up at a funny angle.
Pressing my lips together, I stifled a chuckle.
“Are you laughing at me?” Fuller’s eyes crinkled in the corners.
I Hate You, Fuller James Page 9