“Well, he was actually an hour late,” I say. “But I think he might have a brain somewhere in there. I guess.”

“What about his cock?”

“What?” I nearly scream, but then I quickly lower my voice. “Who are you right now, Autumn? Who are you?”

She laughs and lowers her voice, too. “Tell me, Mia...How big was it?”

“I don’t know. How exactly would I know something like that? And don’t you have a boyfriend?”

“I do, but I also have fantasies. You’re telling me that you didn’t look?”

“No, I didn’t look! I have no reason to.”

“You have to look, Mia. If not for yourself, do it for me.” She fans herself. “It would be torture for him to be born so hot and not have the matching goods to go with it, wouldn’t it?”

I shake my head, in utter disbelief at her right now.

“So, you’ll look next time, right?” she asks.

“No.” I scoff. “Can we please not talk about Dean’s penis?

“What about Dean’s penis?” he asks, suddenly stopping right in front of us.

Words stall at my lips and I can’t get a single one to fall out. I just stare at him, along with Autumn.

No guy should be allowed to be that attractive...It’s just not fair...

“Nothing.” I get it together within seconds. “No one is talking about your ‘penis’.” I insist. “Do you really think either of us would say that?”

“I said Dean’s penis.” Autumn smiles.

He laughs, winking at me before walking away.

“Seriously, Autumn?” I’m going to kill her.

“Lighten up.” She nudges my shoulder. “Now seriously though, even though you’re pretty biased, is he really a jerk in private?”

“You mean, besides the fact that he was an hour late and didn’t see any problem with that?”

“Yes, besides that.”

“No, he’s not a jerk. He was actually quite tolerable.”

“Great.” She takes my coffee and downs the rest of it. “Does your mom know you’re tutoring him yet?”

“My mom doesn’t know anything anymore. We haven’t spoken since Saturday.” I cringe at the very thought of my mother. I know I’ll have to talk to her eventually, but I swear if there’s ever a casting call for “Real Life Mother from Hell” or “Woman Who Gives the Devil a Run for His Money” I’ll be signing her up for the part.

I sigh and start to tell Autumn about the latest thing my mother did, but the school’s PA system suddenly comes on.

“Hear ye, hear ye!” Our DJ, a senior who’s been trying to make his voice sound ten times deeper than it really is, since freshman year, clears his throat over the speakers. “The official start of our football season is this Friday night! Now’s the time to get tickets to attend the bonfire. Also seniors, make sure you submit your nominations for the homecoming court! Voting starts in a few short weeks!”

Everyone in the cafeteria cheers and the DJ rings three bells to let us know his announcement is over.

“Are you going to act like an actual senior this year and go?” Autumn crosses her arms.

“Not at all. I’ll be too busy counting down from two hundred and sixty-eight.”

“Two hundred and sixty-eight? What’s that?”

“That’s how many days we have left in our Central High careers.”

And in my case, the end can’t come soon enough...

Chapter 2

MIA

When I arrive at Dean’s any my spot in the library the following week, I’m surprised that he’s already there waiting for me.

Impressed, I take a seat. “Is there a catch to today’s session? Is that why you’re here early?”

“No.” He smiles. “I was actually going to ask you if we could we do an extra hour today? I got an A minus on that last essay.”

“Is that not good enough for you or something?”

“It is, but I told you I needed an A, a flat one.”

“Really though?”

“Yes, really though.” A brief look of concern comes over his face, but it’s gone within minutes. “I really have to make an A on all of my next papers to make up for the Cs I made on our first few papers.”

I nod, still feeling completely caught off guard.

“Where should we start?” he asks.

“Well,” I say, taking out my folder. “Since you’re not caught up on the reading, we’ll do the work that’s currently due and pick up everything else later. Which piece did you pick for the assignment?”

“Macbeth.”

“What? You’re joking, right?”

“Not at all.” He arches a brow. “What’s wrong with Macbeth?”

“Nothing, I just...” I pause. “I never would have thought you were the Shakespearean literature type. That’s all.”

“Well, why is that?”

“Because Shakespeare had a very strange tendency of killing off all of his cocky characters. That, and Macbeth is one of my favorite plays.” I admit.

He’s silent for a moment, but then he looks at me. “What’s your favorite novel?”

“I love way too many to choose just one.” I try to direct the conversation back to Macbeth and our assignment, but he stops me.

“Tell me,” he says. “What’s your favorite novel?”

“I’ll have to write you a list. I prefer essays. Such, Such Were the Joys by George Orwell is my top re-read. What’s your favorite novel?”

“I don’t have one either.” He reaches into his bag and pulls out a book. The Art of the Personal Essay. “I read this a lot, though. For pointers, of course. That Orwell essay is actually in here...”

“Okay,” I say, stopping myself before I actually continue this line of conversation because there is absolutely no way that we have that in common. “I swear to God, Dean, if this is your attempt to get into my pants—”

“It isn’t.” He laughs, putting the book away. “Trust me, when I attempt to do that, you won’t have any doubts and you’ll know for sure.”

I’m not sure what comes over me right then, but I actually laugh out loud.

He laughs even louder, and then we can’t help but ask each other about our other favorite things, completely ignoring the time. I’m not sure at what point it happens, but we get onto the topic of music and he pulls out his iPod and hands me his earbuds, insisting that he introduce me to some of his favorite bands.

We share all the same ones except two.

It’s not until the librarian lets us know that the study room is closing, that I realize we didn’t accomplish anything today.

“How about we make it up on another day this weekend?” he asks, helping me put my books away.

“Don’t you have football practice?”

“I do.” That strange look from our first session crosses his face again. “But I’ll make the time afterwards. Let me give you a ride home.”

“You really don’t have to keep offering to do that. I’ll be fine.”

“It’s eight o clock, Mia. There are no buses, and I’m not about to let you walk home or call someone when I’m right here.”

This time I don’t bother arguing with him. I simply walk by his side as we leave the building.

When we make it to his car, he completely surprises me by opening the passenger door for me.

“What?” he asks. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You opened my door.”

“Yes.” He smirks. “That’s the only way to get inside of the car. Do you know an alternative?”

I hold back a laugh and get in.

After shutting my door, he slips behind the wheel and cranks the engine. Then he speeds out of the parking lot, going the wrong way.

“Do I need to remind you where I live, Dean?”

“No, but there’s construction that way. That’s why I’m going this way.”

There’s definitely no construction that way, and there hasn’t been any new construction in our city for years. But when I see him pull onto the main road that leads directly to my neighborhood, I let it go.

He’s taking the super long way to my house—passing Donnellson’s where the varsity team is currently hanging out with their letterman jackets on full display, the movie theater where me and Autumn worked our very first jobs last summer, and the hidden cover where couples go at the end of their dates to make out.