I blink at him. “A tutor? For what?”
“Maybe tutor isn’t the right word—I need someone to . . . assist me. At the time of the accident, I was about halfway through my fall semester at community college and I didn’t get to finish my classes. I want to complete the course work, but I’m going to need someone to help me.”
“Okay,” I say slowly. “So, what exactly would you need me to do?”
“Mostly it would be as a liaison between me and the college. I don’t want the doctors to know I’m doing this. My plan is to finish the classes by the end of the summer and prove to them that my brain is perfectly capable of completing college courses, so it can do the daily tasks required if I were living on my own.”
“So, I’d need to go see your professors, get the course work, that kind of stuff?”
He nods. “Right. Then, I’d need you to help me with some of the logistics. Submitting assignments, but also typing them. My typing is still shaky and I hate those dictation programs—saying words like ‘comma’ and ‘space’ out loud is just fucking weird.”
I grin at that—I hate those programs, too.
“Listen, I’ll pay you if you can do this for me. I just need your help. I don’t know who else I can ask.”
I bite my lip. “When would you want this started? It sort of sounds like you’re on a deadline.”
“Immediately. Well, actually, yesterday—or last week—or a month ago, depending on when you ask me.”
I shake my head. “Shit. I’d like to help, but I have the end of my student teaching and my portfolio presentation to put together. Not to mention, I’ve got to write a twenty-five-page thesis paper before graduation to finish off my spring credits.”
Wyatt nods, but he looks completely crestfallen. “I understand—don’t worry about it.”
“Wait.” I sit upright, then smile. “Carson.”
“Who?”
“Carson—my best friend. She’s a private tutor—for high school kids, mostly, but some college students now, too. I’ll bet she could help you. She . . . pushed graduation back a semester, so I think she’ll be able to start right away. I’ll have to talk to her about it, obviously, but it should work out.”
Wyatt’s eyes light up.
“You think she’d be up for it?”
“Yeah. I really do. I’ll talk to her tonight and have her give you a call.”
“That would be great, Cyn. Thank you—so much. Seriously.”
I squeeze his hand before letting go. “I want to see you happy, Wyatt.”
“I want to be happy, Cyn,” he says softly.
I give him a rueful smile.
“Don’t we all.”
Chapter Fifteen
Eyes Wide Shut
On a regular day, the gymnasium at the Franklin School smells a little like rubber and a lot like sweat. Tonight, there isn’t even a hint of the rubber scent—there are far too many bodies packed into this place, and I’m feeling claustrophobic already.
All around me, fans are stomping their feet on the old wooden bleachers and sending out brief but horrifyingly loud air-horn blasts—all of it reminders of why I don’t go to sporting events.
“Having fun?”
Jeremy grins over at me and I force myself to smile back. I don’t know what I was thinking coming here tonight. Sure, I got out of the house. Sure, I’m being social with my colleagues. Sure, I ate some pretty decent brick-oven pizza.
But the noise in here is deafening and it’s bothering me a lot more than I thought it would. I need a break. I consider making an excuse to go out to the car, then I remember Jeremy drove me here.
“I’m going to run back to my classroom,” I sort of yell into his ear. “I left my flash drive and I need it for this weekend.”
I wind my way down the over-full bleachers and make it to the floor, where there are dozens of people pressed up along the sides of the gym. I hurry past the opposing school’s marching band, which is just beginning to cue up their version of “Crazy Train.” Once I make it out into the hall and beyond the locker rooms, the pounding in my head begins to lessen a bit. The dim lighting helps a little, too.
I unlock my classroom door and slip inside. I’m probably not supposed to be here when school is technically closed, but I can’t help but revel a little in the complete quiet. At least until my gaze falls on Smith’s empty desk in the back of the room.
I could have asked Officer Rains about him—it wouldn’t be unheard of, considering he’s on my class roster. I just couldn’t muster up the courage. Besides, it isn’t really shocking news when a kid from Franklin stopped attending. If anything, it’s routine.
For a few minutes, I just sit at my desk, thinking about Smith and wishing I wasn’t. I should probably head back to the gym, but the silence is so much better than the din and discord of the game.
I feel bad that I told Jeremy I’d come at all. Because he’s still clearly interested in dating me.
But the truth is that I came to the game hoping that Smith might show up.
And the truth is that I’m disappointed that he hasn’t.
Which is the exact moment when I glance out the window and see Smith’s truck parked in the faculty parking lot.
He came for me. I just know it.
I don’t put a lot of thought into my next actions because, really, I haven’t exactly been putting a lot of thought into anything lately. In fact, it isn’t until I’ve made it out of my classroom and to the closest exit and out into the crisp night that I realize I’ve probably locked myself out of the school. I hesitate for half a second, then look out at Smith’s truck.
Fuck it.
As I get closer, I can see that the truck is parked next to a familiar-looking red Mustang. I see the driver’s side door of the truck pop open, and Smith climbs out. This is the first time I’ve seen him since our night together last weekend and I feel my heart sort of seize up as he shuts the door, then turns to lean against it. A part of me—a really big part of me—wants to run toward him. Instead, I watch from the darkness as the driver climbs out of the Mustang.
And then everything inside me—my breath, my blood, my heart—freezes.
J. D. Fenton seems even bigger and broader than I remember. Now, he walks toward Smith and they bump fists. J. D. is grinning and I feel a slimy sensation travel through me.
“You got what I asked for?” Smith is asking.
J. D. digs a plastic bag out of his back pocket and hands it to him.
“Told you I’d come through, man. You need more, you know where to find me.”
Smith nods, then unrolls the bag and examines the contents. From the little I can see at this distance, I know for sure it’s not pot—not unless they’re growing marijuana in the shape of little white pills.
A wave of fury washes over me, hot and thick—less like water and more like lava. Before I can fully consider my actions, I stomp out onto the asphalt. They both look up at me with identical expressions of surprise. Then J. D.’s morphs into a sneer.
“What the fuck is she doing here?” he snarls at Smith.
As I approach, I realize that J. D. is intoxicated or high or both. He’s sort of stumbling as he sidles closer, and his eyes are bloodshot. Smith glares at me and I steel myself for his irritation, prepared to hand it right back to him on a fucking silver platter. What I’m not prepared for is the look in his eyes—the dark blue is as piercing as always, but this time his gaze is filled less with anger and more with something else. Something like panic.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I snap at him. I motion to J. D. with one hand. “You think buying drugs is a good choice for you?”
Smith takes a step closer to me. His teeth are clenched together in a tight smile.
“Go the fuck back inside,” he growls. “Now.”
I glance over at J. D., who is swaying a bit, but still half smirking at me. I can feel my anger flare up, and I take a few steps toward him.