“I feel ya,” he says. “Money’s supposed to make things easier, but it’s always doing the opposite. I sort of wish we worked on a barter system.”
His words grate on me. Bo’s gone to private school for the last few years, and that’s anything but free.
“What?” he asks.
I shake my head.
“No. Come on. Out with it.”
After a long moment, I say, “Well, I mean, you went to Holy Cross. I get that you’re trying to be nice, but I don’t think it’s fair to say you actually know what it feels like to be broke.”
“Wow,” he says. “That’s a pretty broad assumption.”
Headlights flood the cab of the truck from behind us. “Whatever,” I say. “You asked. Good night. Tell Bekah I said hi.”
I slide out of his truck and slam the door behind me.
He rolls down the window. “Just so you know,” he calls to me. “Not everyone who goes to private school is rich. Especially not the poor kids who can play basketball.”
The window rolls back up, dividing him from me, before I have a chance to add anything else.
My cheeks burn with embarrassment. But more than anything, I’m confused. Why wouldn’t he tell me about being on scholarship?
My mom gets out of her car and runs up to Bo’s window. I watch from the other side of the truck as she uses one knuckle to knock on the glass. She talks in the high-pitched voice she only uses when communicating with “menfolk.” Bo says something and her whole face lights up. She touches his forearm and holds her other hand to her chest. “Bless your heart, Bo!” I hear her say.
She walks to the car and I follow. “Uh? Mom?”
We get in the car and she says, “I’m so sorry, Will. That Pee-lattes kicked my behind and I was out like a light the second I got home.”
“It’s fine,” I grumble as she’s turning out onto the street. “But what was that about?”
“Your sweet coworker. Bo, he said his name was?” She laughs, and out of the corner of her mouth says, “That boy’s jawline could cut glass.”
“Mom.”
“I said we were shuffling around, sharing a car, and I appreciated him waitin’ on me.” She turns, but not hard enough for her blinker to stop ticking. “But then he said y’all work the same schedule and he could drive you home every night.”
“Mom! You said no, right?” Panic rips through me. Click. Click. Click. The blinkers still going.
“Well, why would I do that? He was so kind to offer. Don’t let me stand in the way of a good deed.”
I sigh. A huge dramatic sigh.
“Willowdean,” she says. “Enough with that sighin’. Count your blessings.” She pulls into our driveway. “Especially the good-looking ones.”
“I hate you,” I say as I climb out of the car.
“Well, aren’t you a wretched thing,” she calls after me. “And maybe do your hair before your next shift! A well-styled head of hair is a head above the rest.”
FORTY-FOUR
The bell for World History rings and I barely make it through the door before Miss Rubio shuts it behind me.
I stop. Right there, in Amanda’s usual seat next to mine, is Bo. I think my brain is dribbling out my ears. From the back of the room, she shrugs and mouths, Peachbutt wouldn’t move. I wave my hand at the air to tell her it’s fine. But really it’s not, because what the hell is even happening?
Seating for World History isn’t assigned, but no one has budged since the first day, so it goes without being said. Knowing Amanda, there was a confrontation when she saw him in her seat, but someone had to lose. And it wasn’t Bo.
He sort of half smiles when I sit down, and says, “Willowdean.” And that’s it. That is the only word he says for the whole damn period.
When the bell rings, I scramble out the door as fast as I can.