Chapter Twenty-Four
Tyler
I spin my phone on my desk. We’re going over all the bones in the body in Biology 2 today. I stare at sheets before me, as my mind slowly wonders. Mr. Yars is so boring. His tone, demeanor, everything is just so monotone and slow.
I’m about to fall asleep, which wouldn’t be a first for me. I strain to keep my eyes from glazing over. I turn in my seat and notice Layla at the door. She knocks a few times and Mr. Yars says, “Enter.”
She walks over to the desk and asks, “Mr. Yars, I missed some things second period, would you mind if I sat in this class and took the rest of the notes? I have a pass from Mrs. Hatlock that it’s okay to be here.” She hands over a yellow slip and Mr. Yars waves her off.
“Go take a free seat. Same rules apply to you this period as they do when you have me at second.”
She nods and scans the room. The only free seat is at my table because Harris is out sick.
She heads over and plops down in the chair beside me. I haven’t sat this close to Layla since I was in sixth grade. Her scent hits me hard, and damn the girl smells delicious. Toasted marshmallows and something else. Pumpkin pie?
Whatever it is has me perking up. I smile at her but she doesn’t respond. Right. She hates me.
She flips her notebook open and I glance at it then say, “Whoa.” I can’t help it, it just spills out and she instantly glares at me. I knew with her dyslexia her spelling would be a little bad but dang man her notes look like flipping Chinese.
“What?” she says as a blush spreads across her cheeks.
I turn the notebook toward me but she snatches it back. “Stop,” she whispers. “Please.”
“I’m not going to make fun of you,” I say.
She grits her teeth. “I can’t spell well.”
“Okay. Do you want me to go over what’s really on the board? Because if you write any of that crap down you’re going to get an F.” I know that sounds horrible but I can’t sit here and watch her struggle. It’s killing me.
“You don’t have to help,” she says. I can hear the stubbornness in her tone.
“Well, too bad.” Damn girl is going to be the death of me I can feel it.
I take notes and make sure that I get every bit down for her even though she’s sitting beside me and writing away. As soon as the class bell rings I kick her bag out of the way to distract her so I can steal her notebook. Some of her things go sailing across the floor. Do I feel like shit after doing it? Yes. But she would have never handed it over willingly. Not to me at least.
She glares at me before taking off to retrieve her bag. “You’re such an asshole!”
I smile. As soon as she turns her back I grab her notebook and shove it in my bag. She’ll thank me later.
I decide that my hand would probably fall off if I hand-write all the notes for her, so I type them. It actually doesn’t take me as long as I thought it would. I even add in helpful tips that I use to remember certain things. Like you can remember all the muscle type tissues if you just remember CVS: cardiac, visceral, and skeletal.
About an hour later I print off two copies, one for me and one for her. She’ll need this anyway because we’re allowed to use notes for our end-of-the-year exam. I staple the pages, tuck them into a folder, grab her notebook and head out the door.
Fifteen minutes of driving and I’m at her house.
The big red door opens to a woman matching the billboards all over town. Short brown hair and big brown eyes. Yep, it’s their mom. “Hello, can I help you?” she asks.
“Hi Ms. Valentine. My name is Tyler Richardson and I was wondering if I could talk with Layla a moment?”
“Um … sure. She’s up in her room. Just go on up the stairs and it’s the second door on the right.”
“Uh … okay.” I enter the house and she closes the door.
“I’m in the middle of dinner and profiling, sorry.”
I’ve never had a mom just invite me inside their house so openly. They usually make me wait on the porch or something especially if I’m not picking up their daughter for a date. Before I think too much of it I head up the stairs. Juliet comes down the hall and she stops in her tracks. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see Layla.”
“Does she know that?” she asks as Chase comes out of Juliet’s room.
“Uh … Does Mark know about that?” I ask and motion to Chase.
She laughs and so does he. I don’t see what’s so funny. Chase says, “Dude we’re best friends. Mark knows that. He’s in her room right now.” Chase hands her an empty plate. “He devoured all the cookies.”
She smiles. “Yeah, he does that.” She takes the plate then points to Layla’s room. “She’s in there.”
“Right.” I shuffle past them and knock on Layla’s door.
“What?” she shouts.
I figure that’s the universal sign to come in, so I do. She’s sees me and yells, “What the hell?” Then she covers up her chest area, which is slightly exposed. Her bra is covering up most of the bits.
I throw up my hands and swing around. “Sorry. Shit. Sorry. I was just. I typed them.” I wave the folder over my head but don’t turn around.
Suddenly her door plows me in the face. I cup my hands over my face and scream as shooting pain blossoms around my nose. “Ah Whuck!”
“What’s going on? I heard screaming,” Ms. Valentine says. “Oh, oh goodness. Are you okay? Crap. Is everyone okay in here?”
“I’m fine,” I mumble through my hands, which are pressed against both sides of my nose.
“I’ll go get you some ice.” She takes off right as Layla mutters, “I never said I was okay.”
Next thing I know Layla is yelling, “Damn it Tyler! I was changing! You can’t just go barging in people’s rooms. Who even told you to come up here?”
“Your mom. Can I turn around now? I’m afraid you might stab me in the back with some scissors or something.”
She laughs. Holy shit, that laugh. I love it.
“You can turn around.”
She sits on her bed cross-legged. I walk over to her and take a seat in the chair. Her mom reenters the room with an icepack. “Here you go. Are you staying for dinner?”
Layla answers, “No!” I say, “Sure.”
Her mom looks puzzled. “Layla, don’t be rude. Would you like to stay, Tyler?”
“Sure.”
Layla glares at me. I smile at her. Yep, this is going to be great. Her mom quickly leaves the room and shuts the door. I’m actually a little shocked because usually parents are always leaving doors open.
“Why are you here again?” she asks.
“Notes. Here.” I rest the icepack on my face and hand over the folder and her notebook.
“You took my notebook? You really are a total dick. You know that?”
“I typed out all the notes we’ve taken since August out for you.”
I move my icepack so I can look at her. She glares. “I don’t need this.”
“Geez. Would it kill you to say thank you?”
Layla frowns. “I’m sorry. Thank you. I just … I don’t like feeling stupid.”
“You’re not stupid. You just really suck at spelling. So what?”
She sets the notes aside and scratches her legs. “You’re right, it’s nothing. Thanks,” she says, but her tone and the way she keeps digging her nails into her legs. She really doesn’t openly tell people she’s dyslexic. I don’t get why she would be so forthright about it to “R” but no one else.
“Want to go over them? I also put in some easy study acronyms that I use.”
Layla opens her mouth but suddenly her phone rings. She picks it up and then drops it. “Sorry. Um … ”
“You can answer. I can step out if you need some privacy.”
“I don’t. It’s just Rachel and I’m not talking to her right now.”
“I get it.”
“Why are you here Tyler? You could have given this stuff to me at school.”
She’s right. I could have given her all this at school. The thing is I think I needed to see her and make sure she was okay. Usually Layla steamrolls everyone, like she doesn’t have emotions at all. She scowls, puts on a fake smile for the crowd. They think it’s genuine but I’m pretty sure it’s fake as hell. At least now it is. Last year, not so much.
“I don’t know but it looks like I get dinner.”
She smiles. “Yeah. Be prepared though. My mom might be the best matchmaker but her clients definitely aren’t following her recipes.”
I frown. “So … I should probably think about stopping somewhere after this?”
“Yes. Unless Juliet is cooking.” She shrugs and picks up the packet of notes I gave her. “So, your extra notes are from you or the book?”
“Both. I made up the acronyms.”
She flips through a few pages then sets it down. “Thanks. I’ll look at this later. I have to do some math right now.”
“Okay.” She must have a lot of homework. I’ve been home for as long as she has and I finished my work and typed those notes within an hour.
“What?” she asks.
“Nothing.” I stand up. “I’m going to see if your mom needs help in the kitchen.”
She looks up at me. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s polite. And I know a thing or two,” I say.
She shakes her head. “Pretty sure my mom would not approve of toad.”
I raise a brow. “Toad?”
“First grade you put a toad in my lunch box.”
I bust out laughing. “That was a frog. I think it was our class frog, Herme. Oh, shit. Is this why you hate me so much?”
“Might be.” she glowers at me. “You’ve done nothing but torture me throughout school. You give me dirty looks. You call me Princess, yet you know nothing about me. I’m far from being a princess!”
I look around her room. Her walls are decorated pink and white. She has a white bedspread, white furniture, and pink lampshades. “Uh, your whole room screams princess.”
“It does not! It says I’m a lady.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you wanted to play the grandma card, but okay: your whole room screams I’m an old lady. Let me go find my cane.”
She narrows her eyes. “Get out! And take this with you!” She throws my notes at me and then looks back down at her book.
Ha. She’s not getting rid of me that easy. I leave the notes on the floor where they landed and walk out of her room. I don’t know why I’m in the mood to rile her up, but I am.