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thinking.
    â€œI really will help out,” he says into my ear as I arch up under him. “We could actually, you know, study sometimes.”
    â€œNot right now though.” I sigh, pushing out of my shorts and grabbing for him. His breath catches a little, and he smiles, burying his face in my neck. No, there’ll be no studying—or anything else—just right now.

8
    THE NEXT DAY, THANKS TO time with Charlie (well, and the KFC Mom brought home last night), I wake up a little more refreshed, so it’s easier to feel normal. I’m not any happier about grades or Grier being an asshole over Gavin, but at least I’m well rested. I’m alert in class, and I even let Charlie kiss me good-bye in the hall after lunch, though usually PDA like that gets on my nerves.
    My not-great-but-not-sucky mood makes me remember Kate and that guy Connor. As soon as we’re out of Enviro, I jump to the questions.
    â€œSo, what did you actually say when this guy asked you out yesterday? And remind me how you know him again?”
    She scowls. “Who?”
    I cock an eyebrow.
    She sighs. “I told him I might already have something planned this weekend with my family. That I had to check.”
    â€œSo, wait—you haven’t actually said no?”
    Her eyes slide in my direction; mean little slits.
    â€œHe’s in my math class, okay?” she finally deadpans. “I didn’t know what to tell him.”
    â€œAnd, so?”
    â€œIt’s AP Statistics.”
    My brain tries to figure out why that would make it hard to know what to say when someone asks you out.
    â€œSo?”
    â€œSo, he’s probably going to end up being a CPA or whiz programmer or some dork job like that. He’ll probably wear golf shirts the rest of his life.”
    I want to tell Thrift Store Cardigan Queen that golf shirts might not be that big a problem, but I skip it. “And?”
    â€œAnd, so.” Looking at me like I’m dumb.
    â€œThat doesn’t make sense. Why does this make him unworthy of going out with you, exactly? Okay, so, yeah, maybe one day he gets a job that pays well, where he has to wear dork outfits, but maybe that means he’s doing something he likes and that he’s good at?” I think of my stepdad, who wears a lot of golf shirts but is generally happy. And definitely in love with my mother. “How bad is that? Besides, there’s still, you know,college in between now and your impending marriage, wherein he could turn into a real cowboy-shirt-wearer. You never know what’ll happen. And college isn’t until after next year. Though, wait. Are you admitting early?”
    She ignores my joke and says something else from pretty much left field. “How do you know he’s good at it? Stats?”
    â€œUm, most people I know in hard-ass AP classes like that don’t do it because they hate it.”
    â€œI do,” she says quiet. “I hate statistics.”
    I’m high with myself. I might actually be able to help her. Because I know all about getting through things you hate. “Is that why you don’t like him?”
    If she says yes, I will explain that conquering something you hate is an excellent motivator. An absolutely fantastic thing to make you stronger.
    Her mouth twists down. “It’s not like that.”
    We’re standing outside the classroom now.
    â€œWell, is he ugly?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œDoes he stink?”
    â€œI don’t think so. He sits two rows away.”
    â€œDid he stink when he asked you out?”
    She thinks about it. “No.”
    â€œDoes he have some kind of donkey laugh or something?”
    She giggles. “No.”
    â€œExcessively hairy knuckles?”
    â€œOkay, cut it out. I get your point.”
    â€œEczema?”
    She’s really laughing now. “He might. He wears a lot of long-sleeve T-shirts.”
    â€œOkay, so it’s either eczema or