How to Hook a Bookworm (How To #3)

by Cassie Mae

  His arms loosen. He steps back to look at me. Blue eyes penetrate through that wall I’ve put up like he has laser vision, and before I know what’s happening, he pulls me down the hall, out to the parking lot, helps me into the backseat of his BMW and holds me.

  My eyes sting. My chest aches. He runs soothing circles over my back, asking me if someone hurt me, or if I’m sick, or I hurt myself, or what. He’s so confused, and I feel like breaking. I don’t want to. It’s so hard to open up. So hard to unlock that part of me who wants to spout off what I feel when I feel it. And I’m afraid opening the door just a little will let everything burst out onto this guy I barely know.

  The thing is… he’s my boyfriend. On some level, I care for him, and he cares for me. It can’t be all about distraction because he’s holding me. He’s concerned about me. He wants to spend time with me. Maybe he needs me somehow. And I could possibly need him. Usually it’s to help bury my problems, but maybe I need him to help me express them.

  “You’re kind of scaring the shit out of me,” he says. I lean up, kiss his lips softly, and he looks a bit surprised by it. Have I ever kissed him like that? I’m really not sure.

  “I’m failing.”

  “Huh?” he breathes, his eyes blinking real fast like he’s trying to catch up to my brain.

  “I just got my grades. I’m under a C in four of the required classes to graduate. I can’t afford summer school. Adam’s been helping me study, and I did so well on the practice test at your house, but when I’m in school… I just can’t. I’m going to flunk out of everything. I won’t be able to graduate. Or get a job. Or go to college. Or…” anything.

  He blinks again. Licks his lips. Runs a shaking hand over mine and doesn’t look me in the eyes. I thought I’d feel better. I finally opened the door. But I suddenly feel like eating all the words I just let out—gobble them up and keep them inside till my body absorbs them into nothing.

  “Are you actually studying?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “When you’re with Adam. Are you studying?”

  My eyes narrow. I push away from him. “I’m not cheating on you.”

  He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t say that.”

  “Sure you didn’t.”

  “Okay, well, if you’re studying as much as you say you are, then…”

  “Why am I failing?” I fold my arms and scoot farther away from him. “I’m not doing it on purpose. It’s not like I’m trying to come up with excuses to keep hanging out with Adam. I don’t need excuses. He’s my best friend, and I’ll hang out with him whenever the hell I want to.”

  “Well, what’s the use of studying if it’s not going to do any good?”

  “Oh, I suppose I just fail and let my life fall apart. That’s your solution?”

  He shakes his head. “I was thinking I could help out.” His voice softens, and he reaches a tentative hand to me. “Let me help you.”

  The car is hot. Or maybe it’s me because he doesn’t look flushed at all. I close the gap between our fingers, tingles racing over my knuckles and up my forearm. Friends help each other. Friends talk. They know about their lives, and they want what’s best. Jay can be my friend, too. He should be my friend.

  And I should let him.

  “How?” I ask, looking at the rough patches of his hands. He’s got a mole near his wrist.

  “What classes are you failing?”

  “Geometry and English are my Fs.” I reach for my backpack. “But I need to pull the other ones up too.”

  He takes the packet from my hands when I get it out, strong jaw twitching as he clucks his tongue. My heart won’t stop pounding. I’ve only willingly showed my grades to Adam. He’s been the only person I can trust not to make me feel like the complete moron that I am.

  Jay flips to the Geometry test, raises his eyebrows as his gaze drifts over all my wrong answers.

  “What chapters does this test cover?”

  I lift a shoulder. “Nine through thirteen, I think.”

  He nods. “Yeah, I took Geometry last year. I’m glad I’m not in it now. That shit was hard.”

  Um… “Then no offense, but how are you planning on helping?”

  He leans to get the phone from his pocket, and he sends out a text.

  “I’m going to help you get at least a B.”

  My eyebrows pull in, and his phone buzzes. I lean over to look at the messages.

  Jay: how much $ for class finals?

  Josh: 50 a pop. Crazy busy now w/grades getting out. So if u want it done fast, I need payment upfront.

  All my breath whooshes from my lungs. “What the hell is this?”

  “Josh is an office aide. The school board loves him… has no clue that he’s a tech genius and can go in and change grades.”

  “What?”

  “Relax. I know it’s a lot of money, but I’ll take care of it.”

  Hot flames lick my ears, sting my eyes, crash in my gut. He cups my cheek, kisses my forehead, and pulls me into his arms again. As if this whole thing is what I need, what I want, and will solve everything.

  I shove from his grasp, and his eyebrows pull down like he has no clue why I’m reacting the way I am.

  “I can’t,” I force out through tremors. “I won’t do that.”

  “You won’t. I will. I’ll pay for it. I can make it go away.”

  “No.”

  “Brea, come on. What else are you gonna do?”

  I have no idea. Study more? Talk with my teachers? Find a damn job to help pay for summer school? I don’t know.

  But I’m not doing this.

  I rip the tests from his hands, shove them into my backpack, and try to get my fingers to stop shaking enough to pull up the zipper.

  “Keep your damn money,” I say through clenched teeth. The fire behind my ears takes a dangerous turn to my eyes. “I have to get to class.”

  I get the door open, but he clasps a gentle hand on my wrist. I’m ready to rip my arm away from him, but I take a look at his face… that strong jaw, those blue eyes, the furrowed brow. He’s sweating slightly, shaking a little. He gulps and slides across the seat.

  “I-I’m sorry, Brea. Please… please don’t be mad. I was just trying to help. T-this is the only way I know how.”

  I’m so confused about this guy. I feel something different every time I’m around him. And this person he is now… the guy who would cheat, who would use his money to get ahead… I don’t like it. If it was someone else, like Adam or Jolie or Sierra, I would’ve known they were joking. I would’ve known they’d never even think of going through with something like that. But Jay… I don’t know him enough to know how he thinks, what his background is, who he hangs out with, what he does with his time other than spend it with me. I have no clue who this boy is.

  Thing is, that’s not his fault. It’s totally mine. I didn’t want him to know who I was either.

  “I gotta get to class,” I whisper, dropping my gaze to the hand he has on my wrist.

  He loosens his fingers. “Okay.”

  He hangs back in his car, and the minute bell rings just as I get into the main hallway. Great. I’m going to be late. I trudge to my locker while people bump into me, shove past me, and I don’t really feel it. My eyes are blurry, and I know they’re filling up. I have no idea how to push the tears back anymore. I think my whole body is full to the brim. My mom. My grades. My friends graduating. No job. Levi moving out. Jay. Everything I refused to cry over is now piling and piling, and when the first tear runs over my cheek, I collapse against a locker. I yank my tests from my backpack.

  I stare at the papers in front of me. Word after word, problem after problem, and I can’t focus. There are red marks all over the first pages alone. My already blurry vision clouds. My neck flames, and all I hear echoing in my head are Jay’s words.

  Pay for it.

  Make it go away.

  What else are you gonna do?

  It was there in his eyes. Pay
to fix me. What the worst part about everything is… what if he’s right? What if I’m incapable of doing this on my own? What if I really am just… stupid?

  Without thinking about anyone around me, without worrying over whether or not this makes me look vulnerable and weak, I tear the papers in my hands. Test after test I shred and crumple and chuck across the hall letting sobs rip in my throat and my hair unwind from my impromptu braid. I let it fall in front of my face, covering my weakness, covering my tear-stroked cheeks and wrapping me in my own world. I can’t hear anyone’s reactions, only my own bubbling disappointment and failure pounding in my skull. One giant sob and cry croaks from my throat as the last bit of D- work falls from my fingers. I bury my face in my now empty hands and slide down my locker to the floor.

  “Brea?” a voice floats overhead. “Oh my gosh, are you okay?”

  Jolie. I don’t answer her. I don’t move. I keep my hands and my hair hiding my face, hoping she’ll go away.

  “Is it Jay?”

  Yes. No. Yes and no. I have no clue. It’s mostly me. I’m a total lost cause. I want to drop out of school, but I’m not bright enough to get a job. I’m useless. There’s no hope in helping my family, and there’s no effing way I’ll be able to graduate with how stupid I am.

  Jay knows it, and he’s trying to help me find a way around it.

  So I shake my head and bury my face into my knees.

  “Do you want me to get him?” she offers. Her fingers are already clacking away on her cell. I shake my head again. I don’t need him. And that truth sinks into me like everything else—with gut-wrenching realization.

  I don’t need him. Not even to forget.

  “What happened?” Sierra’s voice joins the conversation after a few minutes, and I feel her butt slide against the floor and her hip it mine. I don’t see it, but I know she’s mouthing something to Jolie over my head.

  Hands rub my back, brush back my hair, squeeze my shoulders… and I can’t do anything but press my face farther into the comfort of my knees and pray for a different brain.

  “I can call Levi,” Sierra suggests after who knows how long. The bell for the next class rang what seems like hours ago.

  I shake my head, thinking maybe that’s the only thing it’s capable of doing. With that thought another wave of tears propels to the back of my eyes, and my breath hitches as I bite on my jeans to keep it locked in. But it’s no use. I feel like there is no way out of this. Except for the way Jay gave me.

  I can’t do that.

  Jolie’s fingers tap her phone again. I barely register the sound through my choking. If I tell them I’m this upset over my grades, I bet they’ll think I’m being incredibly wimpish. But it’s not just my grades. I feel like it’s everything. I. Fail. At. Everything.

  After what I hope is the last wave, I take a few shaky breaths and lean back, letting my friends see my face. Both squeeze me in their arms without saying anything, and I squeeze back because despite the weird angle of the hug, I appreciate it.

  Jolie is the first to say something. “You’re scaring me, girl.”

  Sierra nods against my forehead and they both pull away, brows furrowed and eyes locked on mine in anticipation for an explanation I’m not ready to give. I bite my tongue, wishing I had some gum on me to chew.

  A squeak from down the hall jolts us all, pulling our attention to the sound. Adam’s sneakers chirp again as he skids around the corner, glasses slightly tilted on his face and backpack gripped in his fist. He spots us sitting on the ground, and I don’t know what possesses my limbs to move, but move they do. And fast.

  I stumble to my feet and speed walk to meet him halfway down the hall. My arms don’t wrap around him, but curl into myself as I smack into his chest and let him wrap around me. The cotton on his shirt is soaked in seconds, and I’m not even sorry or embarrassed about it. Because I realize something else as his cheek comes down to rest on the top of my head and he grips his wrist behind my back to lock me against him… He’s the one I need.

  “You’re supposed to be in class,” I breathe out between stifled sobs.

  His arms tighten around me. “When your friend texts you that someone very important is having a rough day, you drop everything that is less important.”

  I nod into his chest, not even caring about Jolie texting him. I’m actually happy she did. “Can you take me…?” I was going to say home, but I can’t. My house won’t help. Seeing Levi or my mom… I can’t go to Jay’s, and Sierra and Jolie are both sitting up against my locker. Where can he take me that will make this better?

  He shifts, his backpack hitting the back of my knees. “Yes,” he answers without hearing where, and I guess it doesn’t matter to him anyway. He loosens his grip on me, but doesn’t let go. It’s now just one arm around me and not two. I see him nod over my head to the girls behind us, and before we can walk farther I stop him. I tell him with my eyes to give me just a sec.

  Sierra and Jolie are both standing, looking just as scared as they did two minutes ago before Adam got here. I’m not much for the touchy feely, but today I’m doing a whole lotta things I’m not much for.

  I walk back to give them both airtight hugs and say, “I’ll be okay, really. Thank you.”

  “Please call us or text or anything if you want to talk or hang or forget or whatever, okay?”

  I nod and my eyes drop to all the torn tests I threw at the ground. I vow to let them in about Jay, about Mom, and everything else later. Right now, I’m grateful they aren’t pulling it out of me, and they’re letting me seek comfort in the friend who I really need. They get it, and I love them for it.

  Adam’s arm goes back around my shoulders when I step up to him. His lips somewhat press the top of my head, and he doesn’t ask if I’m okay. He doesn’t ask me where I want to go. He squeezes me tight to his side and leads me to his Geo.

  With a light smile, he sets his iPod to my playlist, and then he just drives.

  Chapter 22

  Maybe I’m not too young to be in love.

  My nose is raw. I’ve sniffled so many times in just the past hour, I’m sure I’m driving Adam nuts. But he hasn’t said anything about it. He’s claimed my hand in his, running soothing circles over my knuckles as I cuddle with him on his living room couch.

  “I did something stupid yesterday,” he says, staring at the ceiling. I don’t answer. I do stupid things constantly because I am stupid.

  He spreads my fingers out to play with the ring on my pointer. “You warned me about Paranormal Activity, and I watched it anyway.”

  My mouth twitches at the corners, almost as if it knows it wants to smile, but not sure if it remembers how.

  “You were up all night, weren’t you?”

  His hand moves to my chin, tilting my face up. I see his eyebrows pull together under his glasses as he taps against my cheek. When he examines his thumb, it’s wet.

  “Brea, what happened?”

  My stomach hollows. Jay asked me the same thing, and I opened up. For the first time, I really opened up to my boyfriend and he… he agreed with me. It hurt having it confirmed. But I know if I heard the same thing from Adam, it’d be devastating. I’d be beyond repair. Which maybe, I already am.

  I shut my eyes, feeling small tears slide from my lashes down my cheeks. I shake my head. I can’t talk about it. If I say the words out loud too many times, it solidifies them.

  Adam adjusts again, sitting upright and forcing me to do the same. He squeezes my knee. “Please?” he says. “I can’t help you feel better if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

  “My… my grades.”

  He doesn’t make me say it. I slap my hands over my face and choke on my sobs. I hate my brain. I hate my incompetence. I can’t fix it, and he can’t either. He’s tried.

  “It’s not test anxiety, Adam,” I say through my fingers. “I’m stupid. I’m a flat-out airhead. I’m the stereotypical dumb blonde who can’t solve a math problem, or string two sentences together corre
ctly. I can’t pull out facts about something that happened a billion years ago. My brain is defective. I can’t get a job. I can’t pass my classes. I never have any brilliant ideas or advice. No wonder things go to hell around me. I’m too stupid to realize what I’m doing is a bad decision or the wrong decision. I’m completely brainless—”

  “Stop.” Adam presses a hand to my mouth, his eyes pinched. He looks downright pissed. “Stop, please. You are not stupid, brainless, or an airhead. You are strong, tenacious, and smart.”

  “No I’m not,” I muffle into his hand, but he pushes it harder against my mouth.

  “There are different ways of being smart. Millions of ways.”

  “I’m not any of them.”

  He growls and pushes from the couch. My hair pops with static as I sit up. I get it; I’m being a pain in the butt. But does he get it? I can’t do this. My brain won’t work that way.

  After tugging on the collar of his shirt, he presses his eyes closed and says, “There’s this book called Multiple Intelligences. You heard of it?”

  I shake my head, and even though he doesn’t see me answer, he continues anyway.

  “You’re an artist, right?”

  My shoulders lift. “I guess… I don’t know.”

  “You are. You’re good.” He turns into a crouch in front of me, resting his elbows on his knees. “Did you know that’s a type of intelligence? There’s something in your brain that tells your hand to move a certain way. It sends signals indicating how to hold the pencil, how to stroke the page, how to transfer the picture from your mind to the paper. And not many people have it. But you do.”

  He knocks my knees with his knuckles. I’m ready to argue with him. That doesn’t count. Being an artist has nothing to do with being smart, but he holds up a finger.

  “People think that you have to be book smart to be smart at all. That’s not true. Not in the slightest. The smartest people I know are smart because of other things. And because you’re being stubborn, I’m going to use you as an example.”

  My whole body goes on the fritz when he falls from his crouch to his knees, putting our faces closer. He’s not about to tell me to cheat. He’s not going to feed me some bullshit to make me feel better. He’s about to say something he absolutely means. I hope I can hear it over my thundering heart.