#GoodGirlBadBoy

by Yesenia Vargas

  Once she got started talking, I couldn’t get Ms. Ellie to stop. By the time the craft of the day was done, I had a few pages of notes down, and she said she had more for me when it came time to do our puzzle.

  During their movie time, I sat at a table in the back and looked over my notes, drawing little stars over quotes I wanted to write out in big letters on my poster.

  Emerson sat down beside me. “No math homework today?”

  I shook my head. “Didn’t you hear Mr. Nguyen today? We just have to study for that quiz tomorrow.”

  “There’s a quiz tomorrow? Hmm, I was wondering if tomorrow would be a good day to skip class or not, and I think I just made up my mind,” he whispered.

  “Yeah, it definitely wouldn’t be a good idea to skip. Quizzes makeup 15 percent of our grade,” I reminded him, getting back to my notes. “I’m going to go over my math notes as soon as I’m done with this. I can quiz you if you want.”

  Emerson leaned in just a tad. “I think you misunderstood. I’m thinking because there’s a quiz tomorrow, I probably won’t go to class.”

  I looked up at him, and he was right there. “Wait. You’re skipping because there’s a quiz? That doesn’t make sense.”

  The sound of soft snores and the movie reached my ears as I waited for Emerson’s response.

  He shrugged. “What’s the point of showing up if I’m just gonna flunk it? May as well hang out somewhere not surrounded by four blank cement walls.”

  Huh? I closed my notebook. “Why do you think you’ll flunk it? You’ve been doing great on the homework.”

  Emerson leaned back in his seat, his gaze on the movie. “Quizzes and tests aren’t really my thing.”

  Not sure what to say to that, I exhaled. Finally, I said, “I bet you could pass that quiz if you really tried. You’re smarter than you think.”

  Then I opened my notebook again, but it was impossible for me to concentrate. I turned back to Emerson, who was still watching the movie. “So are you just not going to do the social studies project either? I mean, no offense, but…” I searched for the way to say what I was thinking, but they all sounded wrong.

  He looked at me. “What?”

  Now it was my turn to shrug. “It’s just—I know you can do this.” You just don’t want to. But no way would I say that part out loud.

  Maybe it was enough to make Emerson mad, but I was glad I had said something, even if he hardly looked at me the rest of the afternoon.

  Emerson didn’t show up for class the next day or the day after that. He didn’t show up to the nursing home either.

  Becca was sure he was gone for good. “Just like last year,” she said. “Watch, I bet he won’t graduate with us. He wouldn’t be the first. His brothers didn’t graduate either.”

  I didn’t like that she always had something negative to say about someone, and I was glad when Becca and her friends went off to their electives that afternoon.

  Arts and crafts time was almost over when the front door opened, and in came Emerson. His eyes met mine for a second before he made his way to the front desk to sign in.

  He was back to his brooding quiet self, because he didn’t say a word to me.

  At least, not until the last few minutes of the movie.

  Abandoning his chair in the corner of the room, he came over and sat at my table. “Hey,” he said.

  I glanced at him and tried to figure out the next step on the math problem in front of me. “Hey.”

  Even though there was a movie playing, the silence between us felt huge.

  I shifted in my seat, trying to think of something to say. “Haven’t seen you in a few days.”

  He nodded.

  Again, more silence.

  I tucked my hair behind my ear. “What made you decide to come back?”

  He glanced away, and I wondered if I had said the wrong thing.

  Just as I opened my mouth to change the subject, he said, “I really need to graduate.”

  I nodded.

  “Which means I need to pass these summer classes.”

  Offering a small smile, I said, “I can help you if you want.”

  His eyes met mine, full of surprise. “You’d do that?”

  Wait, what was I signing up for? Hadn’t I told my friends—and myself—that I’d stay away from the school’s resident bad boy? And now I was volunteering to be his tutor?

  But the hopeful expression on his face—and the leap my heart did because of it—meant it was impossible for me to say no. “Of course. We’re in the same classes anyway. Doing the homework, studying for the quizzes, and getting those projects done really won’t take as long as you think.” I thought of that last day of school at the drugstore when he’d glided on his skateboard down the sidewalk like it was a part of him. “I promise you’ll still have plenty of time to skate around or whatever.”

  Emerson’s smile was back, and this time, it reached his eyes. “Skate around?”

  I felt my face turn pink. “Isn’t that what it’s called?”

  He laughed, the low sound penetrating through my chest. “How about you help me study for that math quiz I missed?”

  “I thought Mr. Nguyen didn’t do make-up quizzes and tests?” I said, pulling out my math notebook.

  He sighed. “I have Ms. Moreau to thank for that. I think she baked him cookies.”

  “Sneaky,” I said, opening my notebook to the right page. “So let’s start with polynomials.”

  Emerson scooted in close again, and I tried to focus on the math problem at hand, not how close he was, his shoulder almost touching mine.

  I took a deep breath. “And after this, we’ll get started on your social studies project. I bet you could interview Mr. Roberts. I heard he’s a vet. I bet he’d have plenty of really cool stuff to tell you—”

  Emerson waved his hand at me. “Uh, Harper? Can I borrow a pencil first?”

  “Emerson!” I whisper shouted. I pulled out my handy bag of pre-sharpened pencils and handed him one. “Here. Maybe that’s the first thing we need to master. Showing up to class prepared.”

  He took the pencil, but his eyes didn’t go back to the math notes in front of us. Instead, his eyes stayed on mine for a second too long, which had my stomach feeling kind of funny again.

  I shoved that feeling down, down, down. This was strictly a peer-to-peer tutoring relationship.

  Nothing more.

  Nine

  Mr. Roberts did have lots to share with Emerson.

  Emerson and I looked over the project rubric at lunch a few days later. We sat outside at some picnic tables, my lunch bag containing a turkey sandwich forgotten beside us.

  I pointed to the requirements on the rubric with my pencil. “Okay, so we have to write down the definitions of primary source and secondary source and give an example of each,” I said, looking up at him for a response.

  The cool breeze made the sun bearable, and I liked the way it made Emerson’s dark curls dance slightly.

  “Where’s your project?” he asked.

  I opened my mouth, then spoke quickly. “Uh, I don’t have it with me.”

  Emerson pressed his lips into a smile. “You already turned it in, didn’t you?”

  I scoffed. “No…” Even though I totally had.

  Emerson covered his mouth, but the sound of his laugh reached me loud and clear.

  I shoved him playfully and said, “You’re the worst!”

  My phone buzzed with a social media notification, and I noticed the time. “Time to focus. We only have a few minutes left before lunch is over.”

  He settled down.

  “Definition of primary and secondary sources,” I asked.

  Emerson gave me a blank stare.

  I gave him another second but nothing. “Mrs. Lee was just talking about this yesterday.”

  He crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I got nothin’.”

  I turned to him, swinging my leg outside the wooden bench. “Like Mr. Roberts’ interv
iew. Would you say that’s a primary source or a secondary source?”

  He shrugged, fidgeting with his pencil on the table. “Primary?”

  I smiled. “Good. Yeah, it’s primary. Do you know why, though?”

  Another blank stare.

  Once I explained the difference, he got it. “You understand this stuff,” I said. “You just don’t pay attention in class.”

  He finished writing his answers down. “I like the way you explain it. In class, I can’t help but fall asleep. It’s like the teachers drone on and on forever on purpose.”

  I grabbed his notes on his interview with Mr. Roberts. “This is so cool. Mr. Roberts fought in Vietnam? I think Ms. Ellie was hardly a teenager at this time.”

  I kept on reading. “He saw his friend die in battle? That’s so sad,” I said, tearing up.

  Glancing at Emerson for his reaction, I put the notes down. But all Emerson did was keep writing.

  Ms. Ellie had told me all about watching the first moon landing on TV as a kid, but Mr. Roberts’ story sounded intense.

  I kept on reading. We were supposed to write a reflection about the interview and what we had learned from the experience.

  Emerson’s short paragraph was on the back. His handwriting was small but legible. So different from my large cursive lettering.

  He’d written about what it must have been like to fight in a real war, how lucky we had it today, and what it meant that good people like Mr. Roberts had given so much.

  I looked at Emerson, who was still writing about primary and secondary sources. “This is really good.”

  He hardly met my eyes before looking away. Then he shrugged. “I need at least a B on this dumb project.”

  I put the paper down and slid it toward him, wishing I could take a peek at what was really going on behind those dark eyes.

  The sound of keys turning the lock on the front door woke me from my latest Netflix binge. I opened my eyes to find my mom closing the door behind her and locking it again.

  She faced me, purse hanging from her shoulder, eyes tired, and wisps of hair falling around her face. “Honey, I told you not to wait up for me. It’s almost two in the morning.”

  I stretched and yawned. “I fell asleep hours ago. I promise. How was work?” I asked.

  She landed on the couch beside me. Her purse fell to the floor, and she leaned back and closed her eyes. Twelve-hour shifts were our normal, but that didn’t mean she didn’t come home exhausted. “Brutal. Saturday nights always are, especially after the urgent care closes for the evening.”

  I gave her a hug as best as I could.

  She put her arms around me. “But I’m glad to be home. Hey, you want some French toast in the morning? I think we have some strawberries. And then maybe a little shopping?”

  I shrieked in excitement and clapped my hands to my mouth. “Really?” I tried to tone it down a notch. Maybe she meant window shopping, although any girl time together would be fun.

  She smiled, the lines around her eyes creasing. They were my favorite thing about her. “Really. I think we have a little extra money left over this week, and I thought maybe we could buy a little something.”

  I screamed again and gave her another hug. I pulled away, too excited to sleep. She looked the same. “You want some ice cream?”

  But I was already off the couch and headed toward the kitchen. I brought back two spoons and our favorite pint: mint chocolate chip.

  I let her take the first bite. “Hmm,” she said. “I needed that after the kind of day I had today.”

  She handed the little container over to me, and I took a big spoonful, savoring the mint chocolatey goodness.

  Mom looked at me. “So how’s school been going? I feel like I’ve hardly been around this week. I’m kind of glad you’re not just home alone all day.”

  I exhaled. “It’s good. I’m really enjoying the elective I have in the afternoon.”

  She nodded. “At the nursing home?”

  “Yep,” I replied. “I made a new friend. Her name is Ms. Ellie, and you’d love her. She’s a hoot, Mom.”

  I told her about Ms. Ellie and everything she’d told me about growing up in the ’60s and ’70s. “And you know she went and saw Jaws, like, when it first came out? Isn’t that crazy?”

  Mom nodded slowly, a weird glaze in her eyes. Maybe it was time for bed. She took my hand. “I’m so proud of you, Harper. You’re an amazing kid. You’ve handled the past year like a pro, with moving here, my new job, the long hours, and now summer school. So many kids would have pitched a fit about having to go, especially because of something silly like credits not transferring.”

  I blinked, pressing my lips into a smile. “Thanks, Mom,” I said softly.

  She brushed a strand of hair away from my eye. “So tell me more about summer school. Have you made any other friends? Maybe someone your age?” she teased.

  I thought about that, giving her the pint of ice cream back. “Well, there are these three girls in my classes, but they’re not really my friends…”

  She dug around for some ice cream. “Are they not nice?”

  I shook my head. “Not always.”

  “That’s too bad. I know how hard it must be for you now that your friends are gone for the summer.”

  Emerson came to mind, and I spoke before really thinking. “Well, there is someone.” I stopped, meeting her eyes for a second and then looking down. “I mean, he’s not really a friend, I guess—”

  My mom’s crinkly smile eyes were back. “Is that so?”

  I fidgeted with the blanket around my legs, shaking my head. “He’s not really a friend. But he’s in my classes, too, and he’s the only other person assigned at the nursing home.”

  My mom set the ice cream container aside. “Does this boy have a name maybe?”

  I fought the urge to giggle and look away. “Emerson. He’s making up some classes too.”

  My mom nodded, and I could tell she wanted more details.

  “I offered to help him with his homework and stuff. During our free time at the nursing home,” I said. “He’s smart. He just doesn’t always apply himself. If he could, he’d just skateboard around all day, I’m sure.”

  My mom raised her eyebrows. “Skateboard, huh? Sounds like a bad boy,” she teased.

  “Kind of,” I confessed. “But he has this other side too.”

  My mom got the same far-off look Ms. Ellie got when she remembered her younger years. Like she was looking at the ceiling but was actually replaying memories in her mind. “Goodness, bad boys were my weakness when I was your age.” She looked at me. “How do you think I met your father? He wore this black leather jacket, rode around in a motorcycle. He got into a fight every other week.” She seemed to come back down to earth. “It sure was fun while it lasted, even if he never did grow out of it.”

  Her phone buzzed, and she picked it up.

  Meanwhile, I blinked several times and thought about everything she’d just said.

  I tried to imagine what my mom and dad must have been like when they were my age. My mom had only been a few years older when she’d had me. They’d been together for a few years, but always on and off. Up until I was about ten.

  She thought I didn’t really know, but I remembered every single time my dad broke her heart. She’d say she was sick and lay in bed for a few days, hardly eating. I’d lay in bed with her, and we’d watch movies and order in.

  My mom’s voice jarred me out of my thoughts. “Goodness, it’s super late. We should get to bed. Or we’ll be having French toast for lunch.”

  She kissed me on the forehead.

  “Yeah,” I said, standing up.

  A few minutes later, I lay in bed, still processing everything my mom had said earlier. As tired as I’d been just a few minutes ago, I just couldn’t sleep.

  My mom was right. Bad boys like Emerson were fun and cute, but they were far from the kind of guy I should be with. Not unless I wanted to end up heartbroken like h
er.

  Ten

  I continued helping Emerson with his homework and upcoming tests. But I closed off my heart to him.

  When he asked me if I wanted to grab a bite after we finished our homework early during lunch, I held up my turkey sandwich and said no thanks.

  “You’ve gotta have fun sometime, you know,” he said, standing up and picking up his skateboard.

  For me, fun was limited to eating popcorn on the couch and watching movies, shopping with my mom if I was lucky, or hanging out with my friends. It definitely couldn’t include hanging out with Emerson.

  Or letting my gaze linger on his mouth, his eyes, or his hands. Thinking about his slightly husky voice. Nope, nope, nope.

  I pressed my lips into a half-hearted smile. “I’d hate to be late for class. It starts in twenty minutes.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know if I feel like sitting in a hard plastic chair for forty-five minutes today.” He pretended to think really hard. “Yeah, no. I’m out.” He hopped on his skateboard and rode a couple feet, leaning back and then forward. Letting his foot hit the pavement, he looked back at me. “You sure you don’t want to come? I know this place with the best nachos.”

  I bit my lip, not daring to meet his eyes. “No, I can’t. Thanks, though. Maybe some other time. ” Like when it didn’t mean skipping class, which I was physically incapable of doing. The school building pulled me in like a magnet during school hours, and there was nothing I could do about it. “Besides, how many times have you skipped? You’re gonna risk not getting credit due to unexcused absences.”

  Emerson put his hands on his hips. “I’ll be fine. I’ve only missed class a few times.”

  He looked like he wanted to say something else, but he didn’t. Instead, he gave me a wave and rode away. When he got to the steps leading down to the parking lot, he jumped, his board landing on the thin metal rail. Then he hopped off at the bottom, still in one piece.

  In no time at all, he was long gone.

  I texted my friends, wondering what they were up to and missing them more than ever. Talking to them in the hallways in between classes or at lunch felt like forever ago, and all I wanted was to see them again.