Page 42 of Tutoring the Bad Boy
We scramble from the table, my dad grabbing his briefcase and me snatching my bag off the hook on the wall and my skateboard. It’s a mad dash to the car to make sure I’m not late, because that’s the last thing either of us need.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out. Ginny? This early?
Ginny: Hey.
Me: Uh, hey. Everything okay?
Ginny: We need to talk.
Me: Um…okay? Is this a good talk or a bad talk?
Three little dots pop up on my display and disappear. They do that a few times before she finally responds.
Ginny: I don’t know. We just need to talk. Maybe during lunch?
Me: Okay, sure.
Me: Meet me at the football field?
Ginny: Too public. Don’t want my mom to get wind, and she has eyes all over the school. Meet me at the quad for lunch. Ronnie will be there, so Mom can’t say a thing.
Me: Deal.
I don’t mind that Ronnie chick. I mean, I don’t know her very well, but she’s Ginny’s best friend. But I understand Ginny’s reasoning. If someone does happen to see anything, it’s better for both of us if we’ve got a third party so no one can claim anything other than talking was going down.
By the time my dad and I hit the donut shop and zip over to the school, we’ve got minutes to spare. I hit the ground running the second he skids to a stop and slide into my desk in my Economics class just as the bell rings.
Chris throws a head nod, and then my phone chimes.
Chris: Dude, nice timing.
I smile and look up at Mrs. Preston who’s frowning at me deeply. “Please put the phones away.”
“Sure.”
For the next few hours, I literally look up at the clock every few seconds and stare, watching the minutes drag. By the time it hits lunch hour, every scenario I could imagine has passed through my brain. Is Ginny calling the fake dating off? Did her mom ground her after dinner? Or worse, did her mom figure out I spilled about our deal? Is Ginny giving me a heads-up?
Of course, that last one is the least likely since I wasn’t hauled into the principal’s office the very moment I stepped foot on campus. Knowing Ginny’s mom, I would have been, and by now I’d be staring down the firing squad.
Before I hit the quad, I realize I’m running and force myself to slow down. I don’t want to come across as desperate, because I also realize the reason I’m hurrying is because I want to see Ginny. Like, a lot.
Off in the distance, I see her sitting with Ronnie. The sunshine reflects off Ginny’s blonde hair, and I feel like I’m stepping into one of those hair commercials. All I can think about is running my hands through it to verify if it feels as silky as it looks. I can’t help but think that Ginny looks more beautiful every time I see her. Time to play it cool again.
As I approach their table, the girls look up at me, and I give my twisted smile. Ronnie’s indifferent, but I see Ginny’s cheeks flush. I wish I could say it wasn’t satisfying. I push my hair back from in front of my eyes and sit, straddling the bench.
Ginny is smiling. “Hey.”
“Sorry to have to be the babysitter,” Ronnie says, picking up a slice of pizza from a paper plate and taking a bite.
The whole time, I haven’t taken my eyes off of Ginny. “What’s up?”
Ginny huffs. “I’m grounded. Home. School. Tutoring you.”
“What?” I direct the question toward Ginny and look from her to Ronnie and back. “Why?”
“Being rude to the coach. Inviting you without telling her.” She rolls her eyes. “As if grounding me is any different than what I’m normally allowed to do.”
“How long?” I ask.
