I blushed, hanging my head so that he couldn’t see. This was way better than chocolates or a flower.
“I did,” I whispered. “In computer class.” I didn’t have to tell him that, but I wanted to. I wanted to hear his reaction.
“Oh? When you were supposed to be working?” The question came out as a flirty admonishment. And that’s the reaction I wanted.
I shook my head. “I finished my work first.” I looked up at Mr. Connelly.
“And what did you think?” he asked.
“I thought it was . . . perfect.”
His stare made me uncomfortable and extremely excited. I wanted to know what he was thinking, but I wouldn’t dare ask. It looked utterly private and off limits.
“Would you like to keep the CD for a while?” he asked.
“You won’t miss it?”
He shook his head. “I’ve got an iPod.”
“Okay. Thanks,” I replied, and tucked the CD securely in my bag. “Who were you listening to when I came in?”
“DJ Premier,” he replied.
“Another DJ?”
“Uh huh.”
“What’s the song called?”
“‘Teach the Children’,” he said with a smirk.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
Mr. Connelly chuckled. “I’m really not. The song is called ‘Teach the Children’.”
“So what? Is that, like, inspiration for you when you’re planning out your lessons?”
He cocked his head slightly and considered me. “You’re funny. And yes, maybe it is inspiration.”
I swear his eyes burned holes into my face. He was so . . . intense. But a quiet, stable kind of intense, if such a thing could exist. I stood awkwardly, waiting for him to dismiss me.
“You should go to lunch, Cadence,” he said, a faint smile playing on his lips.
“I should?”
“Mmhmm.”
“Okay.” I turned to leave.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Mmhmm,” was all I could say.
***
The phone rang after dinner, and Oliver picked up.
“Miller residence,” he said, then paused, listening politely to the person on the other end. He looked at me and grinned. “Hold on just a minute, sir,” he said, and called for Dad.
Dad took the receiver, and Oliver sidled over to me, the grin still plastered on his face.
“What?” I barked.
“Did you get in trouble today?” he asked.
“No.”
“Then why is your math teacher calling?”
My heart plummeted to the floor. Why was Mr. Connelly calling my house? And then I remembered our conversation earlier. Tutoring sessions! Oh God! I never showed my parents that test grade!
I hurried over to Dad, hovering near him like an irritating gnat.
“I understand,” Dad replied, trying to shoo me away. “No, no. I’m glad you called.”
Was he?
“We’ll work something out,” Dad went on. “She’ll be there Thursday. Thanks so much for the call, Mr. Connelly. Take care,” and Dad hung up.
I bounced from foot to foot, dying to get it over with. My punishment for withholding that awful grade from my parents. What would they take away from me next? I had only my cell phone left. Surely they wouldn’t make me part with it. They used it to track my every move, call me incessantly, make sure they knew exactly what I was doing.
Dad stood staring at me. I couldn’t stand it any longer. “Here!” I shoved my phone into his hands.
“What are you doing?” Dad asked. He pushed my phone away.
“I know I’m in trouble,” I said. “Just take the phone. I know you’re going to anyway.”
Dad shook his head. “You’re not in trouble.”
I breathed a sigh of relief.
“But you could have told me you were having trouble in calculus,” he said. “Mr. Connelly told me he spoke with you today during lunch. He’s offering free tutoring sessions.”
“Yeah, after school starting next week,” I said. “I can’t stay, Dad, or else I’d miss the bus.”
Dad thought for a moment. “Suppose I let you drive to school on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”
My mouth dropped open.
“You think you could handle that?” he asked.
I nodded, mouth still hanging open. Dad smirked.
“Close your mouth, Cadence,” he ordered, and I snapped it shut. “I’m taking a risk here, letting you drive so soon.”
Drive so soon? I hadn’t driven in close to a year, but I didn’t argue.
“Don’t make me regret it,” he warned. “You get two days. Do you understand me? The rest of the week you take the bus. Once we work out a part-time job, we’ll see about reinstating your driving privileges.”
I flung my arms around him.
“Oof!” he cried, then wrapped me in a hug.
It was the first time Dad hugged me since I left for juvie. It felt strange and wonderful.
I squeezed his neck hard and heard him laugh.
“Two days, young lady,” he said, lips pressed to my forehead.
I’d take whatever I could get.
***
I walked into Room 212 Thursday afternoon at 3:30 sharp. I expected to see a few students but wasn’t prepared for a packed room. Every single girl from my class was there, and I snorted. Suddenly we were all bad at math, even the ones I knew were making A’s and B’s.
Mr. Connelly looked overwhelmed. I don’t know why. He should have been flattered. He was eye candy—he had to know it—and every one of his female students had an insatiable sweet tooth. Apparently fifty minutes with him in the beginning of the day just wasn’t enough.
I chuckled and walked to the back of the room. My usual seat was already occupied.
“Kaitlin, you scored a 92 on your quiz,” Mr. Connelly said softly to the brunette occupying my seat.
“Well, I know, Mr. Connelly,” Kaitlin replied. “But I think it was just, like, a fluke or something.”
Mr. Connelly looked at her suspiciously. “I’m not sure you can score a 92 on a math quiz involving derivatives if you’ve no idea what a derivative is.”
Kaitlin pouted. “I’m just thinking that I need some reinforcement of the material we covered today.”
“We went over the quiz today,” Mr. Connelly replied. “The quiz you scored a 92 on.”
Kaitlin twirled her hair and cocked her head. “I don’t know,” she mumbled.