Page 17 of Eye of the Beholder

“The tutoring center?” He frowns. “Where Virginia volunteers so that she’ll manage to make colleges think she has some degree of humanity? I think not.”

I burst out laughing, so loudly and suddenly that Cohen jumps. He smiles uncertainly at me.

“Fine,” I say. “I’ll tutor you. Probably.Probably,” I say. “If I think you’re right. Let’s try this first. But I’m not putting on anything from that store. And I’m not wearing anything I’m uncomfortable with.”

He looks so happy that I actually feel guilty for holding out on him. “You don’t have to do the Jack thing at all if you don’t want to, Mina. I can pay you money. Just—thank you. For the ACT help. Thank you.” His arms twitch like he’s about to hug me, but he doesn’t. He shoves his hands into his pockets instead.

I take a deep breath and remember my mantra. This is my year. “No. If I tutor you, we’ll do the Jack thing too. This is my year.”

Cohen nods. “This is your year,” he says, although I’m not sure he quite knows what I mean. “I think—I mean, I’m glad.” He looks self-conscious all of a sudden, and though he shrugs like it’s not a big deal, I can tell he’s nervous. “Because I thought it would be kind of cool to see if I’m any good at the teaching thing. Like, I could teach you.”

Oh, Cohen. I sigh. “But I would need more than teaching, Cohen. I need a full-body, full-personality makeover.”

He grins and starts walking again, giving a little jerk of his head, indicating that I should follow him. “I don’t know about that. But…”

“But what?” I say, biting nervously on my lower lip.

“But Jack responds well to confidence. All guys do, in general. We’ll need to work on your confidence level. Looking at people when you talk to them. Stuff like that. I mean, look at me.” He gestures to his face. “There is a lot to be desired here. And yet…” He shrugs. “Women don’t flock to me, but I’ve rarely had a problem getting a date. It’s all in the confidence.”

“Fine. Confidence. What else?” I say.

“Well…” He trails off again, more hesitantly this time.

“Just say it,” I say, my voice small and flat. “I’m not hot enough for Jack.”

“I didn’t say that,” Cohen says, frowning.

“You didn’t have to,” I say, inspecting my shoes as I walk. I don’t even know where we’re going; I’m just following him now, because he seems to have a destination in mind.

“It’s not that, Mina,” he says, his voice quiet. “Jack likes attractive girls, obviously. But you’re not—” He breaks off again—it would be great if he could stop doing that, because it makes me anxious when people don’t finish their sentences—and he clears his throat awkwardly.

“Finish your sentences,” I say, looking over at him. I’m surprised to see that beneath his tanned skin, a faint blush is rising on his cheeks. This just makes my anxiety worse.

“You’re not unattractive. Which I just say as your newly appointed mentor,” he says, hurrying through the words. “I mean, it’s hard to tell under all the baggy gray and white and the severe hairstyles, but—”

“It’s not severe,” I say, touching my hair self-consciously. Okay, so it’s coiled into a bun at the base of my neck, kind of like a ballerina’s. And I never wear it down. But sometimes I wear ponytails, don’t I?

Not to school, really. I hate that he’s right.

“You just don’t put any effort into how you look,” Cohen says, still rushing through his speech. “But I think it’s there. Which is why I think it would be good for you to try on clothes that actually fit you. Just for you to see. Not for me. Just for you to see if you like it.”

“I don’t want to pretend to be someone I’m not,” I say firmly.

“I don’t want that either,” he says, his voice calm. “Think of this as”—he thinks for a second—“as polishing what’s already there. Not changing you. Just refining you.”

Huh. Refining me. I think for a second, biting my lip.

Imightbe able to get behind that. “Okay,” I say. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

He points to a little boutique all the way at the end of the row, and I’m surprised he’s even heard of it before. It’s much more my style—even if I don’t wear anything from there. My dream closet, if I just didn’t worry about anyone else, would have a lot of pieces I see here.

“There’s always a lot of floral stuff in the window when I pass by,” he says by way of explanation when I look at him. “You like floral.”

I frown, surprised. “I do. How did you know that?”

Now he frowns at me. “I don’t actually know. I just sort of associate that with you, I guess.”

I shrug. “I like this place,” I say. “But I’m not showing you anything I try on.”

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