Page 37 of My (Not So) Perfect Plan

The venue is booked, the caterers booked, and the meeting with the DJ to work out the play list for the evening is set up as well, along with the entertainment – tango dancers hired from a local dance studio, a comedian and magician duo that have recently started gaining popularity in Dallas.

Starting next week, we’ll be getting the entire senior and junior class helping sell a limited number of 300 tickets for the gala. At $100 a ticket, the seats aren’t cheap, but considering the cause and what they are getting out of it, we hope attendees will consider it worthwhile.

On Friday morning, Evan’s first day back, I rip open a large envelope as I hang out near the parking lot, watching for Evan’s truck. Even though I hate the thought that he despises me now, my heart still wants to know that he’s okay. Thick packets of tickets held together with rubber bands slide into my lap. I squeal with excitement. They look as amazing as I had hoped they would. I would have to give a shout out to Raven for the graphics when I did my thank you speech.

The deep growl of Evan’s truck has me slouching while trying to see at the same time, like a turtle with part of its head out of its shell. Turns out, he’s not in my line of sight at allbecause Josh Hinsley’s stupid hippie van is blocking my view. When I do finally see him, he’s using his crutches and a smile touches my mouth as I see that the toes on his hurt leg are just barely taking some body weight.

“Good job, Evan,” I whisper, though there is no one there but me to hear it.

The only class Evan and I share is trigonometry. I am already close to failing that class, so I really, really have to try and focus, which will be all the more difficult with the guy I’ve been crushing on for so long (and who apparently thought I was lust-worthy?) is in the same room with me. I feel so self-conscious and all thumbs, and that all increases by about a thousand times when he swings in on his crutches and deposits himself in an out of the way desk Mr. Henderson must have moved there just for him.

I feel like a Charlie Brown character with the teacher making all these sounds that kind of sound similar to words but actually are only so much gibberish. I just can’t think. I really hope whoever Mr. Henderson picked to tutor me, he ends up being a good tutor.

Right as the bell rings Mr. Henderson asks both Evan and I to stay. My heart sinks and my eyes involuntarily dart over to the corner where Evan rises to his feet and gets his crutches figured out. My fingers itch to hold his bag while he does so, but I keep my hands by my side as I go up to Mr. Henderson’s desk.

“Ah, Miss Brown. You requested a tutor change.” My cheeks blaze red. Why couldn’t he have mentioned this to Evan when I’m not standing right here? My eyes dart over to him, but his face is still this impassive mask. Out of nowhere the thoughtoccurs to me that I should poke him in the face and see if he’s an android or a robot because he’s so clinical, and unfeeling. “Unfortunately I don’t have anyone else qualified to tutor you. I thought we might perhaps get together and work out why you feel Mr. Carmichael is unsuitable to tutor you.”

“Yes, I, too, would be interested to hear what Miss Brown finds unsuitable in my tutoring methods.” Evan’s words seem all polite and soft spoken interest, a genuine hope for self-improvement, but I’m not fooled. Leveled as they are at me, with a challenge and defiance in his eyes that has me thinking we aren’t just talking about tutoring, I don’t know what to say.

“He’s fine,” I say. “I – I just have a lot going on right now. I thought maybe if we could find a tutor that wasn’t quite so handsy – I mean, hands on, that might work as a compromise.”

Mr. Henderson furls his brow and looks down at his desk as if the answer is in the wood grains. Above his head, Evan sends me a look of disbelief and disgust that tells me just what he thought of my request.

“I’m afraid Mr. Carmichael here is all we have who is willing to commit tutoring hours,” Mr. Henderson says. “You’ll need to catch up on understanding the notes for this past chapter relatively quickly. You have a big test on Friday. Can you make it work, Miss Brown?”

Since Mr. Henderson isn’t leaving me a choice, I have no option but to give in. I nod my head and send an apologetic glance toward Evan, but he ignores it. After we get our tardy notes from Mr. Henderson, Evan precedes me out the door. He’s surprisingly fast on his crutches now and I have to speed-walk up to him to tug on his elbow. He stops, but doesn’t turn around, making it very clear that he doesn’t want to speak to me.

“Look, I asked to switch tutors because I figured it would be easier on the both of us. You aren’t very happy with me and I… well, whatever.”

He doesn’t say anything, just lifts an eyebrow at me. “That all?”

“And I’m sorry,” I blurt out. The other eyebrow shoots up. My heart is pounding in my chest, not only from my proximity to him, but also because I’m admitting I screwed up. There’s not a whole lot of times in my life where I’ve been in a position to do that. “It was really bad timing with the, um, whatever you want to call it. I should have waited until you were in a better place before leaving you in the lurch.”

“Look, Claire, I don’tneedyou, okay? You don’t need to handle me with kid gloves.” With every point he makes he’s leaning closer and closer to me. “I’m not some little boy who needed someone’s hand to hold.” The lockers are at my back and I have nowhere else to go. “You could have saved your pity, because that’s all it was, right?” A wicked grin turns the corners of his lips up and I swallow in trepidation. The smell of him is turbulent and overpowering, raw, piney, and masculine.

“In fact, if I wanted to,” he steps closer, crowding me even more. His head comes down until his lips hover right above mine, “I’m pretty sure I could make you beg to take me back as atutor.”

My lips ache for his kiss and I shut my eyes, shame and confusion and need all swirling around inside me. I tremble and open my eyes again. The same desire is reflected in his darkened gaze.

“Please,” I whisper without thought.

“That’s what I thought,” he says, his voice low and husky. He turns away from me and swings down the hall on hiscrutches. I sag back and use the lockers to hold me up. I shake my head, trying to clear away the stupor he just put me in. This was just terrible. My plan was going up in smoke.

I slide onto my seat at the lunch table I share with Raven and Tamara. Rachel has a different lunch and usually spends her time writing poetry out by the bleachers. I’m still freaking out inside at whatever it was that happened with Evan in the hallway, but I’m trying to play it down so I don’t seem like a total spaz.

“How did Trig go with Evan there?” Tamara asks.

“Why do we care that Evan was there again?” Raven asks, brushing a shock of black hair out of his eye. I don’t think he actually wants it out of his eyes, it’s just an emo thing to do.

“Don’t worry. Girl drama,” Tamara says, pulling the lid off the salad she bought. “Spill, honey.”

“It sucked. I couldn’t keep my mind on anything and I don’t understand it. I am going to fail that class. I just know it,” I grumble.

“I thought you have a tutor,” Raven says. He finishes peeling his orange and tosses a slice in his mouth.

I get to work eating my basket of chicken strips and fries. It’s not healthy, but I felt the need for comfort food today. “I do. Evan. Hence, drama.”

“Um, okaaay….?” Raven says.

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