Secret Life (RVHS Secrets) (2 page)

Fine, he wanted a tutor? He’d have to get interviewed for
the privilege. I leaned back in my chair and crossed my legs, surprised when
his gaze dropped there and jerked away before I could glare.

Redirect.
“Can you?” I asked. “Can you
do it all?”

His head dropped against the chair back and he crossed his
ankle over his knee. I couldn’t believe he was actually taking the question
seriously. Maybe he was serious. Stranger things have happened.

Okay, no they haven’t.

When he finally lifted his head to meet my gaze, I couldn’t
help but lean forward until he said, “I don’t know.”

Wow.

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

He shrugged. Well, he shrugged as much as a guy lounging
around trying not to look serious could. “I’ve never really tried in school. I
mean I’ve had to carry my Cs for soccer, but nothing beyond that. I know that
sometimes Cs
are
work and sometimes they’re a piece of
cake. But I don’t know if I can get my grades up much higher.” There went that
hand running through his hair again. “Like you said, I’m not exactly smart.”

Dear Lord. How did I end up feeling like the ass in this
conversation?

“I meant—”

“Don’t worry about it. You meant I’m not smart. Trust me. I
know that. I’ve been told I’m only good for scoring goals my whole life. I’m
not expecting you to get me into Harvard, just Monroe.”

I was
not
going to
feel bad for pretty-boy-soccer-god. He was still ahead in the game of life with
Cs.

“Is History the only thing you’re worried about?” Was I
seriously considering this? Plus, I couldn’t help myself. I really did want to
know how deep the ditch he’d dug himself was. I had a hard time believing after
all his previous planning he’d ended up here.

As much as I was telling him he wasn’t bright, I knew he was
smarter than that.

His head dropped back again. “I think we can safely add
about half my classes to that list.”

“Who else are you talking to?” I ran through our other
classes. We had Calc together and I think he had English a couple periods
before me. I had no idea how he was doing in math, but Mrs. Lester the English
teacher was tougher than overcooked chicken.

“I’m not sure.”

Lost
.
I have no idea how that word snuck into my mind, but I was sitting there looking
at the guy all the boys wanted to be and all the girls wanted to do—I mean be
with—and all I could think was how lost he looked.

“I’m pretty good at English, too.” I honestly couldn’t
believe those words were coming out of my mouth. I didn’t even want to spend
enough time with him to do History.

His head came up and there it was again. That lost look. But
now it looked as if I’d thrown him a rope. I knew that feeling. I knew that
rope. Ropes save lives.

“Yeah?”

Now it was my turn to try out that whole honesty thing. “But
Calc is out of my league. I’m the definition of average.”

For the first time he cracked a grin. “Actually, math is
kind of easy for me. It’s just a big puzzle.”

“Really?”

I felt bad as soon as his grin slipped a little.

“Yeah.
You know.” He shrugged as if
I hadn’t just called him stupid again. “It’s like soccer in a lot of ways.
Logical.
You just have to know how to read it.”

I wasn’t going to bother asking how a ball bouncing all over
a huge field was logical—I mean
,
he’d just compared it
to math, so I probably wouldn’t have gotten it anyway.

“Alright.”
I couldn’t believe I was
even considering what I was trying not to consider considering.
But, if he wasn’t kidding about Calc being easy…“What about
science?”

“I’m in Mr.
Stevens’s
class. I’ve
already arranged with my lab partner to help me out with that. You
know,
win-win situation and all.” He pushed himself forward
to the edge of his seat and leaned over the table toward me. “Is math out of
your league as in a B or are you struggling with it? You know, maybe I could
help you out with Calc if you wanted, or something.”

“Are you that good?” As soon as the words fell off my lips
that cocky grin of his came back.

Okay, now who felt stupid?

But it also reminded me of just who I was dealing with.

I shook my head. “This isn’t going to work.” I kept going,
talking over him when he started to argue. “It’s not the math thing. It’s the
Amy thing.”

I reached for my bag and stood as I slung it over my
shoulder, ready to make my escape. Amy was already watching me like a hawk. If
she knew I’d agreed to this insane plan, she’d be watching me like a hawk with
binoculars. Closer scrutiny and suddenly I’d have to explain a lot of things
better left unsaid. Panic attacks, obscure diagnoses, therapy…my entire summer.
You name it.

“Plus, I don’t like you.”

“You will.” He fell back in the chair again. “Girls like
me.”

I rolled my eyes and moved in for the verbal smack down, but
then I noticed he wasn’t grinning. He wasn’t even looking cocky. He almost
looked…resigned.

And, I hated to admit I was still thinking about Calc. If
there was a way I could get it back under control that would be one less stress
factor going on.

Chris rose and hefted his own bag. “Why don’t you give me a
chance? You don’t have to like me. You just have to get me into college. The
scout comes next week, but I need to deal with the school end too.”

Which oddly sounded like the easier thing
to do.
Through twelve years of forced co-mingling in the public
education system, I’d never seen Chris look this serious without a ball
involved.

His hand wrapped around my arm again, heating my skin
through the new
Anthropologie
layered T-shirt I wore.

“A week.
Give me a week. Hate me.
Don’t hate me.
Doesn’t matter.
You get me through
History and English. I get you through Math. No one needs to know. It’s all
good.”

“No one needs to know?” Could we really pull that off?
Honestly, I needed the help with Calc. And, for some odd reason, his
resignation that girls liked him made me feel guiltier than all the other
stuff.
“Promise?”

He nodded as the late bell sounded.
 

“If no one will know—especially Amy—and you’re sure you can
help me with the math stuff?”

At the thought of Amy, my mind flipped again. Maybe it was
the scene earlier. Maybe it was the lack of meds in my system. But, making a
decision about something this big was epic. There was no way this could be a
good idea. Not for her and not for me…probably not for Chris either, but who
cares about Mr. I’m-Too-Sexy-For-My-History-Class.

“You know…” How could I get out of this?

“Don’t even think about it. You already said yes and I’ll
pay you back with math help.” He headed toward the doors, ignoring my
sputtering.

Before I could take it all back and not add
sneaking-around-tutoring-
bff’s
-evil-ex to the list of
things I was already dealing with this fall, he glanced over his shoulder and
winked. “And yes. I am that good.”

Chapter
3

Can you give me a ride
home?
The note slipped to me from behind, ending my Avoid Amy At All Costs
Plan.

Crap.

You’re not going with
Luke?
I scribbled with my signature green gel-pen.

I waited for Mrs. Lester to turn away and tossed it back to
Amy. This would be so much easier if Amy’s phone didn’t beep as loud as a Mack
truck’s horn.

And she would get a
freakin
’
QWERTY keyboard.

Scratch
scratch
scratch
from behind me and then under my elbow.

No. He and Ben are
doing some guy thing before the game.

Again with the crap.
This was going
to get sticky fast.

Sure. Meet me at my
locker?

Wait and slide.

Scratch
scratch
and over the shoulder.

Cool. Thanks.

She was going to ask. Of course she was going to ask. It was
just a sign of how different we were that she hadn’t jumped me in the hall
outside the library and demanded to know what Chris had wanted. I really didn’t
want to lie to her about this. I needed to work that into the Chris Bargain
some how
. That if it came down to it, Amy was going to find
out I was tutoring him.

Then I’d have to deal with the fall out on my end and he’d
deal with his ego. There were a few more periods until the end of the day.
Maybe I could cough up a kidney or something fairly vital and be rushed to the
hospital.

Another note slid over my shoulder.

Are you going to the
game tonight?

The game.
I’d gone from being sick
of Chris Kent to tutoring him and being amazingly sick of him, and I hadn’t
even seen him in a few hours. But Amy hated sitting at the stats table by
herself, the only girl besides the Rah-
Rahs
in front
of the crowd. She felt very visible.

Which of course she was, but Amy had this theory for years
that she’d been pretty much
in
visible.
Until Luke.
Then she just decided that Luke had
superpowers and could see invisible objects.

I thought they were both nuts, but who was I to knock true
love.

Of course,
I
scribbled back.
Want to ride there with
me?

I knew she’d let Luke drive her home, but she’d been really
careful about girlfriend-time since they’d started dating.
Especially
after Jared dumped me.

And, I don’t get dumped.
Ever.

Okay, I guess now I do.

Absolutely.
I’m not sure what we’re doing afterwards.
Do you want to hang out?

I love her to death.
But, no.
I did
not want to hang out with Super Couple.

As if you could say that straight to them.

Maybe.

Mrs. Lester glared at us and
maybe
was going to have to be the end of the discussion.
Fine by me.

We typically flew under the radar in the far back corner of
the room. It was one of the few great things about having last names that
started with W. In elementary school, there might never have been any dessert
left by the time we got to the front of the lunch line, but we pretty much got
away with anything else. No one looked at the back of the room.

Well, until the giggling started. Then we were screwed.

When the bell finally rang, Amy scooted around to my desk
and waited while I packed up my stuff. “So, I’ll see you after seventh period?”

“Absolutely.”

And then she was gone, leaving me to wander to class on my
own.

I scooted across the back of the math room hoping to avoid
Chris at all costs. I couldn’t believe I admitted to him I struggled with Calc.
I wasn’t failing or anything. But a C was way lower than the rest of my grades
and it was only getting harder. I felt like I was trying to build a skyscraper
with tree house tools the further we got and it was really ticking me off.

I knew what everyone thought of me.
Different
boyfriend every few weeks.
Fun.
Flirty.

Flaky.

But that wasn’t true and that C was killing me. It was also
going to keep me off the Dean’s List. I was carrying three
As
and a B besides the Calc-C-of-Annoyance. I knew if I focused I could bring it
up. Focus was the key to way too many things, and mine was spread pretty thin
already. I wanted at least a B+ by the end of the semester, and tutoring Chris
was not the distraction I needed.

I must have been the stupid one in this scenario because I’m
pretty sure there was nothing that blond ball-juggler could do to help me with
my grades.

Dropping into my desk-slash-seat-welded-together-thing and
propping my feet on the bookrack below the chair in front of me, I pulled out
my notes from the previous day and studied them like it was finals week. Mrs.
Wolfson
was famous school-wide for her pop quizzes.

She was famous Rachel-wide for confiscating my
Berrylicious
lip gloss. I still think she just wanted to
know what color it was.

From the middle of the room, a high-pitched giggle stretched
over the conversations. Don’t ask me why I looked. I knew what I’d see. But the
odd thing was
,
it wasn’t what I expected.

Yeah, she was blonde. Yeah, she was pretty and skinny and
had the breasts—although, come to think of it, she didn’t have them last
spring—but the odd thing was, she was working it hard for Chris’s attention.
She leaned against his desk and did every hair-flip-eye-bat move she had and he
seemed…I don’t know what he seemed like, but he certainly didn’t seem like he
was getting digits.

When Mrs.
Wolfson
came in at the
bell, Chris almost looked relieved. Maybe he’d already hooked up with Math
Girl. That’s the only explanation I could come up with.

Class got started.
Lots of examples on the
board.
Lots of theories that almost made perfect
sense.
No pop quiz, which just plain ticked me off because I was
prepared. And through it all, Chris sat in the middle of the room watching the
board as if it were the latest Ridley Scott flick. I half-expected something to
blow up or a battle scene to break out.

He paid attention. He took notes. He
raised his hand.
Mrs.
Wolfson
never
called on him, but still, I highly doubted a guy with Chris’s ego would raise
his hand in class if he was not 117% sure he knew the answer.

Or thought he did.

Either way, I was remarkably happy when math was over.
Slinking out the back door, I managed to make it to my locker—thankfully
avoiding Chris—when I realized he hadn’t looked back at me. Not one time. Maybe
I wasn’t the only one doing the avoiding.

~*~

The parking lot was packed. My plan for a quick escape,
destroyed. Not only was there a game tonight so the cheer squad and soccer
teams were taking off, but it was Friday. That could only mean a huge rush to
get off campus.
To escape the pressures of that building and
every person in it for a few days.

Amy chatted about her latest road race while we waited to
get through the line of cars ignoring the stop sign at the edge of campus. It
was one of the friend concessions. She talked about running—I worked really
hard at listening. She was passionate about it so I tried to figure out the
allure of sweating, panting, and pounding the pavement. I even tried running
one summer. I was a complete failure at it. But, if there was a race, I was
there.

With all our chatter, I’d begun to think her second period
of Art had cleared her brain of my run-in with Chris. Oh yeah, and the small
matter of the breakdown in the bathroom. Can’t forget that now, can we?
Breakdowns were usually hard to overlook. Trust me.

“So…”

And, here it comes.

“What’s going on with you?” Amy asked. “Today in the
bathroom was a little intense.”

Amy had known me seven years and had never seen my version
of intense. And I planned on keeping it that way.

The worst part was
,
I thought I’d
been holding it together then. No sobbing. Vomiting done by the time she’d
gotten there. I knew I’d been making enough sense that she wouldn’t realize a
minor snap was happening. I was able to get myself out…out of the black hole in
my mind.
Out of the girl’s room, for crying out loud.

The panic attacks had become moments in time instead of
days—or weeks—of life brought to the lowest common denominator. They’d become
like boxes of bad I just needed to climb out of to go on with my day. If I
could get out of it, I could go
on,
I could put it
behind me and go on with my day. It was like a really bad headache to normal
people. Nothing was going to be great, but if you could just get rid of that
headache you could bounce back to what looked like a normal day.

Compartmentalizing
,
as Dr. Meadows called it. I’d gotten really good at compartmentalizing. If I
wasn’t good at it, life would be one long panic-attack-recover-panic-attack
cycle.

“Just, you know, stuff.” I gave her my most reassuring
smile.
“Senior year stuff.
And Jared
and the blonde.
Nothing to worry about.
Just a
little stressed, you know?”

More lies. I was living off lies. If lies were food, I’d
qualify for
The Biggest Loser
by the
end of the weekend.

I kept my eyes on the road, perfect excuse not to meet hers.
I mean, that stuff was all true, but it didn’t answer the real question she was
asking. There was no way I
was owning
up to that
stuff. She’d end up hating or pitying me, and I couldn’t stand either of those.
Amy
was
my normal.

“Okay.” You don’t get to be someone’s best friend for that
long without knowing when they’re lying to you. I guess that goes both ways.
But she let me do it, only giving a slight questioning tilt to the word and
letting it drop. I wondered how long she’d let me get away with it if things
didn’t get smoother fast.

I crossed the little bridge that led to the dirt lane she
and her dad lived on. Her cottage was something out of Snow White—cute, sweet,
lovable
. It fit her. If I lived there, I’d constantly feel
like I wasn’t living up to the cottage’s expectations.

What else was new?