I really don’t want to admit that I skulked around the school office to find his address, so I respond to the last thing he said. “I remember how hard it was when I moved here.” I hesitate.
He’s quiet, and I can’t tell if he’s mad, if he believes me. We eat in silence while I try to decide if I should mumble an excuse and leave. There’s a darkness about him, a shadow in his eyes, and he doesn’t look at me while finishing the soup and peeling the orange. I take my time with the apple, conscious of how much noise I’m making as I chew. I can’t tell him that I’m slightly obsessed because he’s hot, and I’m intrigued because he’s a musician, and all the girl reasons behind why I’m here. So maybe—
“So you came because you were worried?” He asks like it’s never happened before. “Not because you feel sorry for me. I don’t want to be a … project.”
“Well, yeah.”
For another long moment, he’s quiet. Then he seems to come to some conclusion.
“Thank you.” Those are the most heartfelt words anybody’s ever spoken to me. Sincerity burns in his blue, blue eyes, and he’s beautiful, despite the bruises. I want to ask, but for now it’s just enough he’s not making me go.
“Since you’re here,” he adds, “want to work on some geometry?”
Not really. I’d rather stare at him or make out on the couch, but those options aren’t on the table. “Sure, thanks. But that’s not why I came. I mean, I don’t expect you to help me just because—”
“I know,” he interrupts. “I want to.”
An hour later, I’m totally awed by Shane’s brain. He has this way of simplifying the theorems so they actually make sense. With his guidance, I’ve successfully managed to solve two problems on my own. I still can’t imagine why I would ever need to be able to figure out the length of one side of a mystery triangle, but if I’m ever kidnapped by a geometry-obsessed madman, maybe I won’t die.
“Make sense now?” he asks.
“Yeah, I think I got it. I’d love to pull my grade up to a C before midterms.”
“I’ll get you to a B by the time the grading period ends.”
I say without thinking, “If you do, I’ll love you forever.”
It’s the sort of joke I’d make with Ryan, just hyperbole, but with Shane, it gains layers. He gives me that look again, the one that x-rays through my skin down to my bones, until I feel like he can view my heart. That should be a terrifying, creepy feeling, but it’s more of a relief, like I don’t have to hide; there’s nothing about me that could scare him because he’s been through so much himself.
God, how I want that to be true.
“Then I better apply myself,” he says softly.
To what? Geometry? Or making me love you forever? Oh God. My stomach swirls.
“I never do this,” I tell him.
“Study?”
I huff out a breath. “No. Show up at someone’s house uninvited. It’s so rude.”
“I was just cleaning up a little.”
The place is already as spotless as it can be, given its condition, but I spot a shimmer of broken glass in the trash can. So his dad’s a drinker. I don’t say anything, but I register him noticing. Shane may not say much, but he’s the most observant person I’ve ever met. Which is why it’s odd that he hasn’t said anything about my hair. I mean, it’s stupid and self-centered to want him to, given the mess he’s dealing with, but I’m not 100 percent enlightened. I want him to think I’m pretty, and I wish he knew I’m fighting my way out of the fog for him.
“I should go—” I start, before it gets awkward.
But at the same time, he asks, “Would you—”
Then we both break off. Does he feel like I do? I hope he’s nervous and excited and scared, and it feels like the start of something he wants desperately. I wait for him to go on, urging with my eyes.
Finally he murmurs, “You want me to play something for you?”