Page 12 of Tutoring the Bad Boy
“Shut up. My tutor is playing. I have a real vested interest in her being able to help me with my grades. Better grades mean a better college.”
He holds up his hands up in surrender. “Okay.” His hands drop to his sides. “Think your dad will get on board if you get accepted to a really good school?”
“No.” Even as the word drops out of my mouth, I know that answer isn’t true. I want to get into the best school possible. Maybe it will help my dad accept that I don’t want to be a lawyer. Based on the way he’s reacted, being an architectural engineer is equated with being an artist or musician—not that I think anything is wrong with either of those—but it’s not like I’m looking to head out to Hollywood and try acting.
Whatever. I’m over it. I’ll go watch the volleyball game and support my tutor. If she wins, it’s good for me. Or that’s what I’m telling myself.
Chapter Seven
Ginny
Rolling my neck,I lean my shoulder against the wall just outside the locker room and let out a long breath of air. I’ve played three games, allowed the yearbook committee photographer to take loads of photographs with the team, and talked with recruiters. It’s seven in the evening, and I wish I could crawl into bed and not wake up until Monday. I can’t, of course, because I’ve got homework to finish.
Volleyball used to be fun. I loved practicing, playing, all of it. Now it’s a chore, and I think taking out the trash would be more fun. Closing my eyes, I wish I knew how to love it again. I think the worst part is knowing that it doesn’t end with high school. If I get a scholarship, I’ll have to play in college too. Maybe it’ll be better if my mom isn’t around and I don’t feel smothered. Like all I can do is volleyball and school and nothing else.
“That was a good game.” A familiar voice pulls me from my thoughts, and I open my eyes.
“Kaleb?” He was in the stands?
I recognize the guy with him. His name is Chris, and we had a class together last year. The teacher was weird, too. We had to take photos at the beginning of the school year, and then at the end we took another. Then we had to find ten differences between the two photos. Although, the one at the end was kinda cool. I’d never realized how much things could change from one year to the next.
“Hi.” I smile and look at Kaleb. “You came to my game?” For whatever reason, the thought that he was in the stands makes the exhaustion I feel bearable.
“Just the last one.” Kaleb mirrors me by leaning his shoulder against the wall a few feet from me. “I figured your game was directly tied to your ability to tutor me. It was completely selfish.” The lopsided grin he gives me makes the butterflies in my stomach jittery.
“You haven’t texted me any questions. Have you even looked at the homework yet?”
With a groan, he shakes his head. “No, not yet.”
I straighten and cross my arms over my chest. “You can’t wait until the last minute. What if you have a question and I don’t know the answer?”
He rolls his eyes. “I knew you were busy, so I figured I’d work on it tomorrow.”
He has a point. Even if he had questions, I wasn’t available. “I’ll admit there’s truth to that.”
“Exactly.”
His gaze locks with mine, and I swear it’s like walls slamming down, separating us from the rest of the world. The smart thing would be to get his grades up as quickly as I can so I’m no longer tutoring him. That way my mom won’t be flipping out and things can go back to normal. Only, there’s something magnetic about him. Something I can’t define or pinpoint. It’s just there. It’s been there since the first day we met in fifth grade.
We stand there moment after moment, and I’m positive his friend Chris says something. By the time I break eye contact, he’s gone. “Your friend left.”
Kaleb jerks his attention to where Chris was standing a few moments before. “Yeah, I guess he did.” He steps closer. “You played a really good game today. I’d heard about you, but seeing you play in person was…different.”
Chuckling, I say, “Different?”
He shoots me a half-smile. “It’s one thing to hear something and another to witness it. You’re pretty amazing.”
I lower my gaze to the floor, hiding the smile on my lips. The compliment travels from my brain, through my core, and warms my skin. Why it would matter what he thinks makes no sense to me, but it does. There’s a good chance I would’ve played even better if I’d known he was in the stands. “Thanks.”
“Those recruiters sure seem interested in you.” Kaleb pokes me in the stomach. “That’s good, right?”
Shrugging, I lift my gaze to his. “I guess.”
He tilts his head. “You guess?”
“It’s—”
“What’s going on here?” My mom’s voice booms from behind me. She glares at Kaleb. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you at a game before.”
