She was reluctant to answer because she knew how much he liked the book, but if he was going to help her she had to be honest. She took a breath. “Okay, well…I think Holden’s just…so self-absorbed. He doesn’t appreciate the good stuff in his life, except for his sister.” She waited for him to flip out, but he said nothing, just watched her, taking another drink from his coffee.
She cleared her throat. “I mean, I know he’s supposed to be the poster boy for teenage angst and all that. But he’s just not likable, not to me anyway.” She grabbed a napkin and started shredding it. The more anxious she got, the more she needed to fidget with stuff. Stupid ADHD.
“I don’t like reading about characters I dislike.” She glared at him, knowing he wouldn’t agree. “I get that I’m supposed to read about unlikable characters, that sometimes that’s the point of books, especially famous ones like this, but…I just don’t like it…it’s unlikable.” She shredded the napkin into even smaller pieces.
Caleb set his mug on the table, watching her napkin destruction. “Okay,” he said, raising his gaze from the mess, “maybe that’s what you should write about—why you don’t like Holden, and how it’s hard as a reader to connect with an unlikable protagonist.”
Mandy leaned back in her chair, surprised he wasn’t arguing with what she’d said. “You think that’s okay? What about Spriggs?”
Caleb shrugged. “It’s a reader response question, so technically he shouldn’t penalize you for not agreeing with him…or with me.” He jokingly kicked her under the table. “Besides, it was obvious that you didn’t believe anything you wrote in that draft I read.”
Mandy felt heat flood her face. “It was?”
Caleb nodded. “I could tell you wrote what he wanted to hear. There wasn’t any…passion.”
Something in his eyes flickered, and Mandy’s stomach flipped over. This was not supposed to happen with him, but he’d started it during the baking craziness when he’d almost kissed her, and turned on that protective act to deflect Kay.
She reached for another napkin and started to shred it, but his hands reached across the table, closing over hers and stilling her nervous movements. “Don’t freak out,” he said. “We can fix this.”
His hands felt warm and soothing. She let her own hands relax in his and searched his expression, hoping he was sincere and that she could trust him.
“You promised no shenanigans,” she said, glancing pointedly at their hands.
He cocked an eyebrow. “Technically this”—he gestured to their now-entwined hands—“is not really shenanigans. I mean, we never did set our terms, so how am I supposed to know what is and isn’t shenanigans?” She glowered at him, and he raised his free hand in surrender. “I am a victim of circumstance, Disco. You can’t punish me for not knowing the rules.”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” She tried to glare, but it was impossible, not with him looking at her like…like he wasn’t going to keep his promise. She extricated her hand from his and grabbed another napkin to demolish. “We need to focus.”
“I’m focused.” His lips curved dangerously. “Just not on your essay.”
Flustered, she grabbed her notebook. She flipped through the pages, not sure what she was looking for, and noticed her mood ring was turning greenish blue…for romance and passion, which made her swallow nervously.
“Sorry,” he said, raising his shoulders in the air innocently. “Won’t happen again. Swear.” He drew an X over his heart with his finger. “Let’s get serious.” He reached for her notebook, spinning it so he could look at her notes. “Topic sentence, lay out your argument, then wrap it up with a conclusion even Spriggs can’t argue with.”
Mandy blinked at him. How could he switch gears so fast?
He frowned as he stared at her messy scrawl, and Mandy’s anxiety intensified. She had dysgraphia, which sometimes coincided with ADHD. She’d always struggled with penmanship; in elementary school other kids had made fun of her, especially when she wasn’t able to earn her stupid “cursive license” in the third grade. Even worse, getting the thoughts in her head to match what she wrote on paper seemed impossible because her thoughts spun so fast and her printing was so slow.
“I know it’s hard to read,” she muttered. “Sorry.” She hesitated, then decided if she was going to trust him and get his help, he might as well know. “I have this thing called dysgraphia.” She shrugged. “It’s…well, you can see what it’s like. My thoughts go faster than I can write, and it’s just…a mess.” She reached for another napkin to destroy as heat flooded through her. She knew her face was as red as her hair.
Caleb studied her closely, glanced at her notebook again, then returned his dark gaze to hers. “Maybe you’re going to end up being a doctor.” His smile took her breath away, and she actually laughed.
“What? No way. I mean, I know that’s the joke about doctors having awful handwriting, but doctors are scary smart. Med school, science geniuses…totally not me.”
His smile disappeared. “You shouldn’t talk about yourself like that. You’re smart, Mandy.” He hesitated, then spoke again. “You’re really good at motivating people. Bossing them around, like during the baking insanity today.”
Her heart fluttered dangerously. “You think so?”
He nodded. “Yeah. When Kay tries to tell people what to do, it pisses them off, but when you do it…” He shrugged. “People want to help. And you make it fun.”
That was quite possibly the best compliment anyone had ever given her. And it had come from His Broodiness, of all people.
“Thanks, Caleb.” She smiled at him, hoping he could see the sincerity she felt.
The universe surprises us with just what we need, sometimes when we least expect it.
…
Caleb leaned back in his chair, hoping his face wasn’t betraying his feelings. He could handle Mandy when they were joking around and arguing…and the shenanigans…but the way she was looking at him right now?
That wasn’t part of the plan, because it sure as hell didn’t look fake.
He cleared his throat and pretended to study her notes, which he could barely read. Dysgraphia? He’d have to research that. He wasn’t kidding when he said she was smart, because she was, in ways that continued to surprise him, in ways he was just starting to acknowledge. But she was battling more issues than he realized. He wanted to help but wondered how much he could.
He’d have to be careful, because he knew if she thought for even one second that he was condescending to her, she’d be out of there.
And that was the last thing he wanted.
He tore a fresh piece of paper from her notebook and drew a circle in the middle.
“What are you doing?” Mandy asked.
He drew lines shooting out from the circle, then glanced up at her. “Mind-mapping. It’s a way to visually outline.”
A heavy sigh escaped her. He stopped drawing to look at her. “What?”
“My fifth-grade teacher tried this with me.”
“And?”
She frowned. “And I’m not ten years old anymore.” She moved restlessly, her hands messing with the wild tangle of red curls, distracting him. Focus, he told himself.
“Lots of people use this method. It doesn’t matter how old you are.”
Her frown deepened. “I bet you don’t use it.”
He dropped the pencil and leaned back in his chair. “No, but I’m not you. My brain works…differently than yours.”
As soon as he saw the shock on her face, he knew he’d said the wrong thing.
“Wait.” He leaned across the table, putting his hand on hers again, screw the no-shenanigans rule. “That’s not an insult. I’m trying to say not everybody tackles writing the same way.”
She narrowed her eyes, but didn’t move her hand out from underneath his. “For you it’s easy.”
He waited a beat, reminding himself they had a deal about the tutoring—all real, no fake. “Yeah, it is. B
ut everybody has stuff they’re good at, and stuff they suck at.” He exhaled. Might as well go for broke. “I suck at calc, for instance, and my dad’s an engineer so he thinks I’m an idiot.”
Her eyes widened in surprise, and he could tell he’d cracked a little bit of her defensive facade.
“J.T. says you ace all your classes. Even when you ditch all the time.”
He sighed. “I don’t ditch all the time. And I’m not acing everything. Lit, history, Spanish, I’m good. Calc? Physics? Not so much.” He squeezed her hand, watching her blush, then released it to grab his coffee cup. No more shenanigans. Not right now.
“So why do you? Ditch?”
He blew out a long sigh. “Let’s work on your essay before we do any more bonding, Disco.”
That spark he liked so much flickered in her eyes. “Okay. But if we make progress, you have to tell me why you cut classes.” She frowned. “Unless it’s something illegal or X-rated. Then I don’t want to know.”
He smirked. “You wish.” He grabbed her pencil. “Let’s get to work, Disco.”
Half an hour later, they’d completed a mind map outline in a mix of Caleb’s precise printing and Mandy’s messy scrawl. Two hours and four cookies later, they’d finished a rough draft.
“Cheers,” Caleb said, raising his coffee mug, surprised at how relieved he felt. And proud. “You did it.” It had been painful for both of them, but somehow he’d helped her tease out the major points she wanted to cover. When she stuck to those and didn’t wander the way her conversations did, she might have a shot at a decent grade from Spriggs.
She tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear and gave him a tentative smile that threatened to melt him.
“We did it.” She took a deep breath. “Thank you, Caleb.” Her smile deepened. She didn’t look like an electrocuted disco hippie right now. Or maybe she did, but something had shifted in the way he saw her, because now she looked…amazing. Vulnerable. Sweet. Tempting.
She leaned across the table, and he caught a whiff of her perfume. It reminded him of how close they kept coming to kissing. Real kissing, not fake. He squeezed his coffee mug harder, wishing it were still hot enough to burn his hands.
“You were awesome today,” she said. “I’m sorry I got so defensive earlier. It’s just…” She shrugged. “I’m used to people making fun of me. But you didn’t. So, thank you.” Her eyes drew him in like green whirlpools.
No shenanigans.
“You’re welcome.” This afternoon had been good. Really good. Just the two of them. If they could just do this, without pretending for Elle or Gus, or fending off cock-block Cammie or the suspicious Blue Ranger, maybe they could actually…be together. For real.
But that wasn’t possible. This had been a weird window in time.
“So are you going to be a famous writer someday?” she asked, jolting him back to the present. “Since words are your superpower?”
He hesitated, then found himself telling her something he never told anyone. “Uh…I hope so. Someday.”
She nodded. “That’s great. I can say, ‘Hey, I know that famous best-selling author! He helped me not fail American Lit!’”
She grinned at him and he grinned back, aware that he’d smiled more with her than with anyone else, ever. And then he remembered that all of this would probably end soon, because she wanted the Octo-Gus, not him.
He scraped his chair away from the table and stood up. “Come on, I’ll drive you home.”
She stared up at him, and he hoped it wasn’t a flash of hurt he saw in her eyes. But then it was gone, and she gathered her stuff to follow him to his car.
They’d only driven a couple of blocks before she piped up. “You have to pay up on your end of the deal, Caleb. Tell me why you cut classes.”
He glanced at her, debating how much to say to this girl…this weird, funny girl who might only be his fake girlfriend, but was someone he could almost see turning into a real friend. And more, if he had any say in how things went.
He sped up, accelerating through a yellow light.
“Ooh, four points off your license.”
“It wasn’t red.” He side-eyed her, smirking. “You really need to get a life, Disco.”
“So do you. Demon.”
He rolled his eyes. “Can’t you come up with something more creative? Demon’s…so obvious. Also, it’s not accurate.”
“And Disco is?”
They stopped at a red light and he turned to face her. “Yes. Accurate. Ironic. Funny. Exactly what a nickname should be.”
She shrugged, brushing hair off her cheeks. “Whatever, smarty-pants.”
He laughed as the light turned green. “Smarty-Pants is a crappy nickname. Try again.”
She sighed next to him. “Red Ranger?”
He shot her a scowl. “That’s just between J.T. and me.”
She grinned. “Aw, that’s so cute. You two could totally do an epic bromance. You guys have backstory and everything.”
He snorted. “Now that was funny.” He reached over and squeezed her knee through her jeans. “Keep working on it, Disco. You’ll come up with something.”
He was pretty sure he heard her growl in frustration before she laughed, which made something heat up inside his chest.
The sun was low in the sky, and he felt the familiar Sunday night blues he always felt, only this time it was worse because he didn’t want to take her home, not yet. He turned off the main road.
“Where are you going?” She sounded anxious, reminding him of that first night he’d driven her home and stopped for a Red Bull.
“Just a park.” He side-eyed her. “No shenanigans, I promise.”
“You swear?”
“Demons don’t swear.”
“You’re right. I definitely need to come up with something better.”
He laughed softly as he parked the car close to a small pond surrounded by trees. “Come on.” He opened his door and walked around the car to open hers.
They walked in silence toward the path surrounding the pond. He kicked at fallen leaves, wondering why he was doing this, what he was hoping for.
“Okay, I’m ready,” she said as they stepped onto the gravel walking path. “Tell me your dirty ditching secret.”
He wanted to hold her hand. It would make it easier, somehow, to tell her. And he just…wanted to feel her hand in his.
Damn. He closed his eyes in frustration. This was a mistake. He was falling under some freaky hippie spell, and he shouldn’t. Couldn’t. Because this isn’t real, he told himself, even though it felt more real than anything he’d ever had with a girl.
“Hey.” Her voice was soft as she stopped and turned to look up at him, her nose crinkled with worry. “Caleb, we can drop the whole thing. I don’t mean to upset you or pry or—”
“You’re not. It’s just…I don’t usually talk about it.”
She nodded, her wide green gaze locked on his. “So, it’s not a fun reason?”
He shook his head.
She did that thing he was starting to recognize, straightening her shoulders and sticking out her chin, gathering her courage to say something important. “Okay, then, I’ll go first. I’ll tell you the worst thing that ever happened to me. Then maybe yours won’t be so hard.”
“Mandy, you don’t have to—”
“My mom died three years ago. Cancer.”
Fuuckk.
Why hadn’t J.T. warned him? But why would he? It’s not like they were friends and J.T. was his wingman.
“I’m sorry, Mandy. I had no idea…”
She swallowed and her eyes brightened with tears, but she blinked them away.
“It’s okay. Really, it is.” She tilted her head toward a bench. “Let’s go sit down.”
He followed her to the faded wooden bench, desperately wanting to touch her…hold her hand, brush his fingers through her hair, something to let her know how sorry he was.
They settled on the bench, their legs just millimeter
s apart. He sighed and finally spoke. “My mom left. When I was eight.” He swallowed, remembering the day Helen had come to pick him up from school instead of his mom. The worst day of his life.
Mandy’s face did that crumply thing girls did when they felt sorry for you. He did his best to avoid girls like that, but he’d observed it often enough from a distance so he steeled himself.
However, Mandy surprised him. She didn’t spout any mantras or move to hug him. Her eyes were full of sympathy, but for once she was quiet, which somehow felt just right.
“My brother was a senior in high school,” he said, surprised at how easily the words spilled out. His hand moved to his jacket pocket, fingering his notebook, and she watched him, almost looking guilty. What was that about?
“I guess…I don’t know. Maybe she figured she’d stuck with my dad long enough to raise my brother, but she couldn’t stick around for me.” He clutched the notebook in his pocket, his fingers brushing the Pop Rocks candy packet.
It was the question that would never be answered, the why of her leaving. When he was little, he’d begged his dad for answers, and his brother, and Helen. But nobody had answers for why she’d left to start over with a new husband. And become a mom again, this time to a daughter.
“Do you ever see her? Talk to her?” Mandy asked.
His gut tightened. She couldn’t know her question cut like a knife. He shook his head. “Not since I was eleven. I’ve tried. Letters. Emails. She doesn’t reply. Never calls. I don’t even know if she gets them.” He stared at the geese flying over the pond, his gaze unfocused. “It would almost be easier if she’d died.” He regretted the words as soon as he’d said them. Embarrassed, he turned to face her. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean—what you went through was worse, so much worse—”
“No.” Mandy’s voice was soft when she interrupted him. “I think maybe you’re right.” She hesitated. “Not hearing from her…that’s awful.”
They stared at each other, and Caleb wondered how they’d ended up like this and why he’d chosen to confide in her, of all people.
“Sometimes shit just happens, Mandy,” he said, his voice rough with frustration. “Not everything happens for a reason, like your mantras. Sometimes life just sucks.”
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