The guy was weird.
There was something about him. Something about the way he limped, slightly favoring his entire right side. The way half his face drooped, just the tiniest bit. And there was something about his speech pattern—was that an accent? Was he from the far north? Maybe even Canada?
If he was Canadian, Tyler decided, he could go back to his home country. And take Justin Bieber with him.
“Tyler!” Stratford thundered suddenly. “The class’s fate depends on your answer to the next question. Can you appropriately define recession?”
Tyler racked his brain. He knew Stratford had mentioned this last class. He’d actually been listening that time. “Like . . . holding back?”
Stratford stared at him. “Correct. Sort of. Not the answer I was looking for, which was to repress, which means to consciously reject ideas. Now, who likes my definition better than Tyler’s?” He cast his eyes around the room.
A couple of hands raised shakily. Kinley raised hers and shot him a smug smile.
Stratford chuckled. The sound was like ice dropping into a glass. Cold. And sharp.
“Since we’re all in agreement that Mr. Green’s definition was inadequate, we’re going to have a test exactly one week from today,” Stratford said, rubbing his hands together. “I expect you all to study pages forty-seven through one hundred and ninety-eight in your textbooks. Be prepared to be tested on anything—and I mean anything—in those pages, as well as anything I’ve covered in class. Capiche?”
Tyler didn’t say anything, but he felt his hands clench into fists at his sides. Stratford was blaming him for his stupid test? The guy didn’t have the balls to say he wanted to torture them, so he was blaming Tyler?
He felt the little respect he’d held for the teacher being siphoned away.
“Now, out.” Stratford sort of flipped his hand at them and then sat down, heavily, at his desk.
Tyler swung his backpack over a shoulder and followed Kinley out the door. She was really cute, actually. She definitely had a good, round ass. And great legs. Probably from hauling all those books around constantly. A long braid, as thick as a climbing rope, swung across her back. He wondered how she’d look lying on his bed with her hair undone and her dark skin peeking out from behind an unbuttoned shirt.
Maybe he’d hook up with her this year. Her or Ivy. Ivy was superhot, and after her fall from grace, maybe he’d have a shot with her.
In the hall, Mattie, the kid who’d gotten locked out of the room, was leaning against the wall, flicking his shoelaces. He scrambled up off the floor when he saw them leaving, his sneakers squeaking against the tile. “Hey,” he said, keeping pace with Tyler. “Can I borrow your notes? I got locked out.”
Tyler shrugged, pushing down the urge to make a smart-ass comment. “I don’t take them.” He sped up a step, catching up with Kinley, leaving Mattie behind. “Hey, Kin. Can I carry your books?”
Kinley stared. “My books?”
“Yeah.” Tyler reached out and took them. “I’ll carry them. Where’s your car?”
Kinley tilted her head. Tyler was willing to bet that no guy had ever offered to carry her books before. In fact, she’d probably never even been kissed. He fought back a smile. This could be fun.
“Um. It’s outside,” she managed finally, like maybe she’d parked her car in the school cafeteria, and Tyler needed to know the difference. She ducked her head and bit her lip.
“What a class, huh?” Tyler said, ignoring her embarrassment. “What’s up with that Stratford dude?”
She shook her head and looked backward, as if Dr. Stratford could be following them, waiting to pounce.
“He’s tough,” she said. “Really tough.”
“Probably not for you, though,” Tyler said. “Everyone knows you’re one of those kids that win the National Spelling Bee.”
“I’m not letting you copy,” Kinley said suddenly, her eyes wide, like she’d just realized why Tyler was being so nice to her.
Tyler laughed. “I’m not stupid, Kin. I don’t actually need to copy you, okay? I just want to, you know . . . talk.”
The pair slowed outside, near the edge of the parking lot, which was nearly empty. Psych was the only night course offered this summer. The sun’s rays had nearly disappeared under the horizon, and the street lamps hadn’t yet flickered on.
Tyler shrugged off his backpack and set Kinley’s books on the ground next to it. He pulled himself onto the low ranch-style fence that separated the sparse grass of the school campus from the asphalt of the parking lot. He patted the spot beside him, and Kinley hesitantly sat down—not close enough to be beside him, but not so far away that an onlooker would think they weren’t talking.