Mrs. Lapin reuses the same tests from class to class, so instead of letting us write on them, she has us number one through thirty on a piece of our own paper and then we fill in our multiple choice answer. The cool thing about this way of testing is that she can grade our tests instantly by putting our answer sheet up against her master key.

The bad thing? She can grade it instantly.

I walk up to her desk to turn in my exam and she smiles at me, then puts my paper next to her answer key. I want to turn around and run back to my desk as fast as my legs will take me, but most kids stand around and wait to see their grade. I force my feet to stay planted near her desk and I wince when she marks one wrong right at the start. A few seconds go by and she makes another x and then another. I look away, focusing on the date she’s written on the dry erase board.

“Not bad,” she says a few seconds later. She hands my paper back and I look down, seeing my grade written in red pen and circled at the top right corner.

Relief washes over me. An eighty-nine. That’s not failing. In fact, that’s almost an A. I can’t help but grin as I take my paper back to my desk. The last minute studying paid off.

I snap a photo of my grade and text it to Jonah.

 

Me: I couldn’t have done this without you!

 

He responds by sending about fifty smiling face emojis. For the first time since I was a young and stupid high school freshman, college feels like it might actually be attainable. And I owe it all to my ex step-dad’s new wife who forced me to get tutored. Go figure.

 

***

 

Jonah slaps something on my hand when I walk into tutorials on Tuesday afternoon. I look down and see it’s a pink sparkly sticker of a unicorn that takes up almost my entire hand.

“Are you a big fan of unicorns?” I say as I sit next to him at our usual table.

“My little sister loves them,” he says, pulling out his notebook. “My parents give her a sticker to celebrate any accomplishment she does.”

I hold my arm up to examine the sticker. “So why are you giving me one?”

“She said you should get one for your fantastic grade on the history test.”

I give him a curious look and his cheeks flush a deep and glorious shade of red. “You told your little sister about my grade?” I ask, leaning forward. “When would that ever come up in normal conversation?”

He rolls his eyes but I can tell he’s embarrassed and trying to play it off. “My parents asked about the students I tutor, and I told them one did really good on her test. My sister overheard, and well…” He gestures to the sticker on the back of my hand. “That’s from her.”

I hold out my hand and let the sticker sparkle under the library lights. “Tell her thank you. I love it.”

“You earned it,” he says with a laugh. “Now let’s get to business.”

As much as I want to argue and try to blow off studying, I don’t. Jonah has proven to be a great tutor so far and I’m actually getting excited about seeing all my grades go up. We do my homework and study for my upcoming math test. With fifteen minutes left of tutorials, I start in on some extra credit worksheets. I finish the second one when I remember what these things mean.

“Can I still ask a question?” I ask, placing the completed worksheet on top of his notebook. “One question per worksheet?”

“What more could you possibly want to know about me?” Jonah asks, tilting his head while he looks over my paper.

I shrug. “You’re still a mystery, Jonah.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m going to take that as a yes,” I say, sitting straighter. “Have you ever kissed a girl on a date and then gone four days without texting her?”

“That’s oddly specific,” he says, furrowing his brow.

“Answer the question.”

He finishes scanning my answers on the worksheet and puts it at the bottom of the stack. “No. I only kiss girls I’m dating, and if I’m dating a girl then I don’t go that long without talking to her.”

I rest my chin in my hand while I watch him. “So…if you ask a girl on a date but then you bring your friends with you to the date, is it still considered a date?”

“One question per worksheet,” he says.

I shove the second paper at him. “I did two already.”

“Natalie…” he says with a sigh. “I agreed to answer questions about myself, not to give you covert dating advice.”

“I am asking about you. Would you consider that a date?”

He contemplates it for a moment. “Maybe. But not really. A date is something intimate.”

I open my mouth to say more, but he points at the stack of papers. “One question per paper.”

I blow a raspberry at him and get back to work, flipping through the pages until I find one with only four questions. Jonah’s phone buzzes and he texts back to whoever texted him. It takes a lot of willpower on my end not to ask who he’s talking to, because I know he’ll try to count that as my question for this worksheet.

When I’m finished, I hand it to him. “What did you mean the other day at lunch when you said you think you hopefully deserve better than Lara?”

He stares at the worksheet while he thinks about it. “It means I think I deserve better than the kind of girls I’ve dated lately,” he says after a moment. I stare at him until he gives me more information. “I’m not an asshole, okay? I’m a good person. I’m nice. I don’t cheat on girls or have random hookups that don’t mean anything. I don’t think it’s too much to want a girl to be nice to me in return, you know?”

I nod, thinking that’s all I’ll get out of him, but now he’s looking off in the distance, his thoughts clearly focusing on the topic at hand. “I just…I’m not some popular jock and I’m not the most jacked manly man ever, but that doesn’t mean I should settle for someone who treats me like shit. So I said I hopefully deserve better, because I think I do. I don’t mean to sound arrogant, it’s just—” He sighs.

“I know what you mean,” I say, finding the words he can’t seem to say. “You are a good guy. You do deserve better than your ex-girlfriend. There’s nothing wrong in admitting that.”

“You should take some of your own advice,” he says, poking me in the arm with his pen.

I lift an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“A guy kissed you then didn’t text you for four days?” He shakes his head. “Ditch that asshole. He’s not worth it.”

“That was a hypothetical,” I say quickly. “Totally not real.”

His lips flatten as he looks at me and I know he’s not buying it.

The librarian clears her throat and I realize she’s looking at us. “Tutorials and detention are over,” she says with an exhausted wave of her hand. “Time to get out of here. You’re the last ones left.”

“Shit,” I say, looking down at our table filled with papers and books. We totally talked past the bell that dismissed us from tutorials. Jonah and I gather up our stuff. The last thing he grabs is his notebook, which is opened to my page.

“Hey,” he says, tilting it toward me. “Today marks our one month of tutoring completed.” He grins in this boyish way, like he’s truly proud of the accomplishment. “Only one month left.”

“That’s definitely cooler than talking about my dating failures,” I say as I sling my backpack over my shoulder.

“I thought you were speaking in hypotheticals,” he says as he walks toward the parking lot.

I smirk. “Shut up.”

As we reach the glass doors that lead into the parking lot, it’s clear today’s weather has taken a turn from sunny and pretty to ugly and gross.

“Ughhh,” I say as we watch the dark clouds light up with a streak of lightning. Thunder cracks and the leaves on nearby trees blow. “There’s no way I can walk home before it starts raining.” I pull out my phone and unlock the screen. “Hopefully there’s no customers at the store so Mom can come get me real fast.”

“I’ll drive you home,” Jonah says. His car keys are already in his hand and he gives them a shake. “My car is totally rainproof inside.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re a dork.”

“A dork with a car.” He pushes open the door and holds it for me to walk outside. “Come on, I’ll drive you.”

“I can’t bum a ride off you,” I say as I reluctantly step outside into the cool windy air. “I’ll just jog home and maybe I’ll beat the rain.”

“Absolutely not.” Jonah hooks his arm through mine and tugs me along. “I’m happy to give you a ride. Actually…” he turns to me, looking down a little since he’s taller than I am. I’m so close to him I can smell his soapy skin and see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes. Since our arms are halfway linked, my hand reaches up on its own and grabs his bicep. He flexes it just a little when I touch him, either on purpose or on reflex.

“Actually what?” I say, realizing he never finished his sentence.

“I think we should go get frozen yogurt, if you’re up for it. It can be a celebration of being halfway through tutorials.”

I can’t think of anything better than spending more time with Jonah right now. Mom needs me at the store, but she can wait another half an hour. It’s not like we’re ever busy on Tuesdays.

“Okay,” I say with a grin. “Sounds fun.”

Jonah’s car smells like leather and Armor All. He’s a good driver who doesn’t take the turns too fast like Caleb did. He talk about school to pass the time, but I wish we’d get back to more important topics, like what kind of girl he wants to date.

We fill our own cups of yogurt and add toppings. I choose cherry flavor with dark chocolate chips and coconut shreds. Jonah gets the birthday cake flavor, saying it’s so good it doesn’t need any toppings, but then he covers it with sprinkles, brownie bites, and whipped cream anyway. When we get to the register, I set mine down and reach for my wallet.

“I’m buying,” Jonah says, handing over some money to the cashier, a tall girl who looks like she’s fed up with working here.

“What? No,” I say. “I’ll buy my own.”

He shoves my hand away. “We’re celebrating,” he says, standing straighter which makes him seem much taller. “Let me celebrate you. Please?”

“Aww,” the cashier says as her grumpy expression breaks into a smile. “That is so sweet.”

“Okay,” I say, relenting and putting my wallet back in my backpack. “Thank you.”

He grins and holds out my yogurt for me. “You’re welcome.”

We make our way to a table in the corner of the room, right next to the window that shows the darkened sky that still hasn’t opened up with rain yet. I watch Jonah as he moves his spoon around, flattening the whipped cream and then stabbing it. Now that I know Jonah for the person he is, he’s not some brainy nerd like I first assumed when I met him. He’s cute, and sweet, and he celebrates little things like halfway points in tutoring.

“I’m glad we’re friends,” I say, looking up at him. Please say something, I think. Don’t just let me get away with calling us friends. Say you want to be more.

His smile reveals his shiny white teeth, and that little crinkle in his eyes. “I’m glad we’re friends too.”