Page 33 of All Your Pucking Secrets

“It was an excellent essay,” Mr. Harding says gruffly. “So much better than your previous one that I felt the need to make sure you hadn’t gotten someone else to do it for you.”

My eyes fly open. “You don’t think—”

He chuckles. “Relax, Tyler. I’m satisfied that the essay is your own work, and I appreciate you taking this opportunity seriously. I hope you know that it’s out of the ordinary for me to allow students to improve their grades and it won’t happen again, no matter who tries to pull strings on your behalf.”

I nod. “I understand, Mr. Harding. Thank you. And I swear, I did all the work myself. I had a tutor who helped, but she just walked me through it.”

“Ah, yes. Miss Dean.” His expression is almost fond. “You owe that young lady.”

“I know.” I clasp the file to my chest.

He shoos me. “Go on. Go home and break the news to your dad.”

“Yes, sir.” I hurry out, choosing not to mention the fact that I plan to inform Dad of my new grade by text message. It may be good news, but I find it’s best to avoid him whenever possible, and I have better things to do tonight.

I exit the school building and circle around to the parking lot, where I stop dead. Echo is sitting on the ground next to my car, enthralled by something on her phone. She glances up, catches my eye, and waves. My feet lurch into motion, carrying me toward her.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, inwardly wincing as I realize it sounds like an accusation.

She clambers to her feet and puts her phone in her pocket. “I wanted to be here when you got the news. How did it go?”

I scowl. “He made me do a pop quiz.”

“And…?”

I can’t hold back my smile. “I got an A minus on the essay and a 90 percent on the test.”

She high-fives me. “That’s great! I knew you’d do well.”

“Yeah, well.” I shuffle from one foot to the other, then run my fingers through my hair, remembering too late that it’s sweaty. “It’s all because of you.”

She shakes her head. “You did the work. You put in the time. It’s your grade.”

Warmth floods me and, before I have time to think it through, I’ve pulled her into a hug. I freeze, my face buried in her hair, and slowly let her go.

I clear my throat, my cheeks heating. “Sorry about that.”

She laughs. “I don’t mind random hugs. I’m glad you’re happy.”

I am, and despite what she claims, it is largely because of her. If I’d screwed this up a second time, I might be benched, or Dad would find a way to take it out on me. She seriously saved my ass.

“You wanna grab some takeout to celebrate?” I ask impulsively.

She studies me cautiously. I can tell she’s torn. She probably intended to go home as soon as she’d seen me and, considering how hot and cold I’ve been toward her, I can see why she might not want to spend more time with me. Especially if she’s not getting paid for it.

“My treat,” I add. “I was planning to get a burger and fries and watch the meteor shower.”

At the mention of the meteor shower, her face lights up, as I’d thought it might. I love watching the stars and don’t usually like having company while I lie on my back and study the heavens, but for some reason, I want her to come with me.

“Just the two of us?” she asks.

“Just us,” I agree.

She nibbles her lower lip. “Okay, then.”

Triumph rushes through me, much the same as if I’d just scored a goal on the ice. I grab the key fob from my pocket and unlock the Chevy before she changes her mind. I hold open the passenger door for her. She seems taken aback by the gesture, and honestly, so am I. I’ve never held a door for a girl before.

I head around the car and get into the driver’s seat. I breathe in as I buckle and turn the key in the ignition. Trapped inside the car with her, I realize for the first time that she smells faintly of lemon. It reminds me of the cleaning products Mom uses at home, but sweeter.

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