"Missed you in the shop today," he said, and his gaze slid to the source of the reason. Luke shifted and shoved his hands into his pockets.
I stepped forward. "Luke was helping me with my trigonometry." It sounded like I was trying to cover something up, which I wasn't because that was the God's honest truth. Luke had been helping me with my trigonometry.
My dad just nodded and stared.
Luke closed his notebook and shoved it into his bag. "Hi, Mr. Paxton," he said in a friendly fashion, but the speed with which he packed his things made us look just as guilty. And there was nothing for us to be guilty about. So I said, "Mr. Underhill said I had to have a tutor. So..." I glanced at Luke.
Dad nodded again and rocked back on his heels, remaining on the safety of the floor mat. Luke glanced from him to me 82
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and, for a moment, we all three just kind of stood there. Only my dad, I thought, would know how to show up at the worst possible time and ruin a great moment I was having. Luke hiked his bag onto his shoulder and said to me, "I better get going."
I nodded. "OK."
He started for the living room and I followed. Finally, my father began to thaw. He waved at Luke and smiled, saying,
"Thanks for giving Carrie a hand with her homework." I wanted to growl at him for being too late with his friendliness, but Luke returned the smile and said, "No problem."
In the living room, it was just the two of us. He turned back before leaving. "Same time tomorrow?" I nodded. I knew if I said yes it would sound way too enthusiastic. So I just swallowed my excitement and smiled at him demurely even though I'm sure my eyes were sparkling and my lips were drawn thin from the grin I was repressing.
He nodded too and turned away. At that moment, he looked like the great football player he was. Even though the season was over, he still had those stiff, jerky movements like he was carrying heavy pads on his shoulders. The book bag bunched the muscles across his back, and since his shirt was stretched tight from the weight straining against it, I could see every detail. I was transfixed. He reached for the door handle and I wanted to grab his hand, come up with some excuse to waylay him a few seconds longer. But my mind was blank.
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Suddenly, the knob turned in his hand and the door flew inward. In swept my mother, her arms full of sacks. Luke, with his quick reflexes, jumped back. When Mom saw him, she skidded to a halt, barely avoiding a collision.
"Oh," she said, breathless. "I'm sorry. Did I hit you?" Luke shook his head. "No. You're fine. I was just leaving."
"Oh," Mom repeated and slid out of his way. "Goodbye, then."
"Bye." He glanced at me one more time before closing the door.
When it shut, the room seemed to suck in around me. I noticed Dad had come to the living room doorway and was leaning against it. Mom, with her arms filled, blinked at me.
"He was tutoring me for trigonometry class," I said. Mom smiled politely but her eyes said she knew better.
"Well, that was nice of him."
I didn't like her tone of voice at all. So I lied. "Mr. Underhill asked him to," I added. "He said I needed a tutor and he asked Luke."
I could tell she didn't believe me. "Why didn't he ask your friend, Elmer?"
"Because Elmer sucks at tutoring," I shot back, a bit too loudly. "He couldn't teach a bee to buzz. And since Luke gets good grades too, Mr. Underhill asked him." Mom and Dad continued to watch me with that funny Whatever you say, Honey expression.
I had to come to my own defense. "We were doing homework," I said heavily. "That's all." 84
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"I wasn't asking," she answered, unable to hide the mischievous gleam in her eye.
"I'm not kidding," I insisted. "That's all there is to it. Nothing else is going on. So don't think there is, OK?"
"Fine," she said. But when she looked at Dad, they shared a grin that seemed to say, Our baby girl's growing up. I muttered that my parents were ridiculous. They laughed. Balling my hands into fists, I stomped off to the sanity of my room.
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85
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Chapter Seven
"You know what I don't understand?" E.T. said.
"What's that?" I asked before taking a bite of my salad. It was hot dog day in the lunchroom and I couldn't stand hot dogs. I'd opted to buy a salad, but they'd run out of my favorite dressing by the time I'd made it to the front of the line. Go figure. So there I was, stuck eating a plain-Jane salad with my dorky friend.
Across from me, E.T. took a bite of his hot dog. Ketchup squirted out the end and sprayed in my direction.
"Hey," I yelped. "Watch where you're aiming that thing." I found a napkin and wiped the red blob on the tabletop between us.
"Sorry." E.T. flipped his dog around to mop up the drip from the end of his bun, but sent another glob of ketchup flying. This time it landed on his white button-up shirt. I groaned and cradled my forehead in my hand, shaking my face from side to side. "It's hopeless," I murmured to myself. When I looked up, he'd managed to get some on his thick glasses as well. "Just stop now," I said, holding up my hands for him to halt. He'd started to dab at his shirt but only succeeded in smearing it pathetically. "E.T., stop!" He paused and lifted his head.
I held out my hand, palm up. "Give me your glasses."
"Why?"
"Because you have ketchup all over them. And quit wiping your shirt. You're making it worse." E.T. glanced down like he 86
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was tempted to ignore me. "Trust me," I said. "A napkin's not going to get that stain out."
He sighed. His shoulders sank in defeat and he let his wadded napkin fall on the table. He ripped off his glasses and tossed them at me. "Why does this always happen to me?"
"Quit complaining." I wiped one lens clean and started on the other. "It could be worse."
E.T. used both hands to point at the front of his shirt.
"How could this be any worse?"
I glanced up and grinned. "It could've happened to me."
"Funny," he said dryly.
"I thought so." I handed the clean lenses back and watched him slip them on. "You were saying?"
"I was?" He glanced at his hot dog as if it possessed all the answers. "Oh yeah. I don't understand why Mr. Underhill asked Luke Carter to tutor you and he didn't ask me." My fork slipped out of my hand and clattered to the tabletop. "Say what?"
But E.T. didn't answer. Brenda Newell just had to walk into the cafeteria at that exact moment. She was strolling handin-hand with Rick Getty. But that didn't stop E.T. from pausing everything he was doing to gawk at her. The year before, he and I had been quite the pair. He'd had a crush on Brenda, and I had one on Rick. E.T. had fallen for Brenda in the first grade when she sang "Silent Night" in the Christmas program. Since then, he went to every music concert the school put on and stopped whatever he was doing just to watch her walk by. I hadn't been that crazy about Rick. I just thought he was cute. He used to sit next to me in 87