Monica Murphy: Four Years Later

Never knew I had a thing for freckles, but I’ve come to realize I might.

You don’t even know this girl. What gives?

When did knowing a girl ever matter to me before?

Sunday I didn’t do shit. Slept in, lay around in bed until finally Wade asked if I wanted to order a pizza for dinner. I agreed and pulled out the assignment sheet Chelsea gave me while we waited for the delivery guy. What I needed to do to catch up and get my grade out of the gutter wasn’t that bad. Answer short essay questions about books we were supposed to have read that I haven’t yet. Or questions asking for our opinion on a certain topic—simple stuff that I could handle. I found one of the assigned books for cheap and downloaded it on my phone.

After I wolfed down half the damn pizza I worked on a few of my assignments, feeling like I’d actually accomplished something when I finished two of them. I thought of how much that might please Chelsea and that spurred me on, making me finish another assignment after I skimmed the other assigned book, which I finally found under my bed.

Now here I am moving down the crowded hall, pushing through the throng of students, anxious to reach the room where I know Chelsea’s waiting for me. I’d put on jeans and a brand-new black T-shirt I picked up in a pack at Walmart, throwing one of my favorite old flannel shirts over it because it got damn cold outside. The sky is gloomy and gray; I think it might rain, and I wonder how long the decent weather will last before summer leaves us for good.

I finally find the room and see that the door is closed. Approaching it, trepidation fills me. What am I doing? Why do I look forward to seeing her? She’s nothing. Nobody. She’s not even that attractive.

Liar.

Fine. She’s cute. But nothing special. I don’t understand why I feel this way.

Clutching the door handle, I push it open and walk inside. She’s sitting at the same table, hunched over her cell phone and tapping away at the screen. Texting someone, no doubt. I wonder who.

A friend, a family member, a … boyfriend?

I don’t like the idea of her having a guy and I sort of find it hard to imagine, too, though that makes me sound like a dick. But she gives off that untouchable vibe. Chicks like that normally don’t interest me whatsoever. Fine, you don’t want me to touch you, let alone look at you? No problem.

So why does seeing Chelsea make me want to touch her all over?

Focus, asshole.

“Hey.” Her soft voice breaks through my thoughts and I glance up, meet her gaze to see she’s smiling at me. Seeing that smile shoots a zing straight through my heart, but I ignore it. “You made it.”

Flicking my chin at her in greeting, I settle in the chair across from her, not right next to her like last time. I’d done that to rattle her before. It had worked. But not today. Today I’m thinking we need to act like she’s my tutor and I’m her student.

“I completed a few assignments,” I tell her as I unzip my backpack and dig through it, pulling out the three assignments I worked on last night. “Here you go.” I hand them to her.

Chelsea’s entire face brightens as she takes the papers from me, our fingers grazing, her gaze roving over each page as she looks through them. “I’m so glad you did this. Did you go to class?”

I nod. It had been kind of hard, because I was behind in assignments and it was difficult to keep pace, but I pretended to keep up as well as I could. “Went to my Creative Writing class, too.”

“That’s the one class I’m looking forward to working on with you. I’ve heard it’s your secret talent,” she says, grabbing her phone so she can shove it into her backpack before she opens up my academic file.

“I have lots of special talents.” When she glances up to look at me with a frown, I raise my brows at her, trying to look like an egotistical ass.

She rolls her eyes. “I’m sure,” she says sarcastically, but her cheeks are tinged with pink, giving away her discomfort at my dirty joke. Cute . Most girls would flirt right back or call me out on it.

“So what do I have due in the Creative Writing class?” I may as well get it out in the open and make it happen. The faster I can get through this, the faster I can get rid of her and get on with my life.

“You could start on these shorter assignments. They’re quick and should be easy for you.” She hands me a sheet of paper and I take it, glancing over the missing assignments and the requirements they have before I turn them in.

Great . I need to actually create and keep a portfolio of my writing for the entire semester. Considering I’m already about six weeks behind, I have a lot of catching up to do. At this rate, I’m never going to get back on the football team.

Fuck that .

“Can I ask you a question?”

She glances up at me with startled wide eyes, her lips parted. “Um, sure.”

“Do you really think I can catch up on all of these assignments quick enough so I can get back on the field and play the rest of the season?” My heart feels like it’s nearly stopped as I wait for her answer.

Chelsea sinks her teeth in her lower lip, flicking her gaze away from mine. “I … don’t know. You have a lot of missing assignments.”

“Will you help me?” I clear my throat, hating how hopeful and pleading I sound. I don’t beg. If shit doesn’t go my way, I let it go.

But I can’t let this go. School, football, my sister’s approval … I need it. I want it.

“I am helping you.” Chelsea smiles, her voice soft, her eyes filled with this sparkly glow that’s pretty damn mesmerizing.

“I know. You are. Can you help me more, though? Like with the portfolio and stuff? Maybe I can see you more than just twice a week?”

She blinks, looking at me as though I’ve lost my mind for making the suggestion. “I don’t know …”

“I’ll pay you,” I interrupt.

“Of course you’ll pay me,” she retorts, making me smile. Okay, my tutor is a little feisty. Good. I was hoping she had a backbone. “It’s just that I have a pretty packed schedule.”

“Tutoring around the clock, huh?” I lean back in my chair, curious to hear what’s keeping her so busy.

“Well, no. Not exactly.”

“Heavy class load?” I suggest.

“Definitely that.” She nods.

“Your social calendar is jammed with upcoming events.” I don’t even know where I’m coming up with this crap. “I’m guessing you’re part of a sorority, right?”

She laughs, scrunching her nose. “Not quite. And no, I’m definitely not in a sorority.”

“Steady boyfriend who never lets you out of his sight?” Okay. I threw that last one out because I had to fucking hear it. Does she have someone? Even a casual someone? I’d like to know. Why, I’m not exactly sure, because I don’t have plans on ever doing anything with this girl, but I’m curious.

Her cheeks turn this rosy pink as she drops her head, studying my open file with rapt attention. I know it can’t be that interesting. “No. No boyfriend.”

Relief surges through me, which is absolutely ridiculous. I should not care.

“How about you?” she asks. “Do you have a girlfriend?” Her voice shakes on the last word and I stare at her, willing her to look up, but she doesn’t.

“Nope. No girlfriend,” I mimic her answer. She lifts her head at that and I find myself momentarily lost in her gaze. Stupid. “Why do you ask? Hoping for a chance?” I smirk at her like the asshole I am, because I can’t help myself.

She grimaces. “Yeah, right.”

Ouch . I bet she looks at me and sees a dumb jock, which is kind of true. She probably likes brainy, skinny dudes who study all day and never make a sexual move on her. They probably make her feel safe.