“But, yes…that’s what I thought. I was bullied into writing more than one term paper that wasn’t mine in high school.”
A murderous gleam enters Quinn’s dark eyes before she blinks it away. “So, what changed?”
I blow out a breath, thinking about Kay bombarding me in the library and telling Quinn about it. Kay was all crazy eyes and wild hair.
“She asked me something about being really good at this whole science thing and then didn’t give a damn about how I hedged my response.”
“And yet, despite all your reservations, you agreed to help her.”
I nod. “I held firm at first, but she started rambling and talking so fast I could barely keep up. Then, somewhere in that mess of words, I heard her offer to return the favor in any other class and how if I didn’t help her, she could lose her scholarship.”
Quinn giggles. “You know she used it as an in to get you to open up, right? She could have gone to the tutoring center.”
I nod. I do. I didn’t see it at the time, but Kay admitted as much to me. “She’s told me it’s because she felt we were kindred spirits, which was a miracle because I spent the entire first month of knowing her assuming she was just another vapid girl based on her looks.” I rake a hand through my hair, guilt still eating at me over how stereotypical I was. “I had people judge me by their perceived notions of me my entire life, and yet there I was doing the exact same thing. I should have known better.”
Quinn slides a hand over mine, threading our fingers together. “Sometimes, it’s those old wounds that cut the deepest.”
I squeeze her knuckles. “Why does it sound like you’re speaking from experience?”
She clucks her tongue. “No, no. It’s story time for you tonight, not me.”
That’s probably for the best. I’m already admitting to how judgmental I was with our friends; no need to address that I was still doing it over a year later when I met her too.
“What about Em and G?” she asks, bringing us back.
“By the time midterms rolled around, Kay was comfortable enough to tell me she invited her roommate and friend to meet us after they got out of practice.”
“Let me guess, you panicked.”
I glare at her for once again guessing correctly. “That’s starting to get annoying.”
“Uh-huh.” She makes a rolling motion with her hand.
“It was when I tried to leave that Kay told me about her own history. It was like after knowing what she went through…I don’t know…kind of like she vouched for Em and G. I about shit a brick when I realized this guy she kept calling G was Grant freaking Grayson.”
I may have avoided the jock set, but any student at the U of J would be able to recognize him on sight. There are twenty-foot banners of him and other members of the basketball team hanging around campus.
“It was G who actually called Kay out on not giving me a letter nickname.”
Grant was also the person to drive home how rare it is for Kay to offer her friendship to people. He told me no matter how much help Kay said she needed in class, she would have never asked me to be the one to help her if she didn’t see something special in me.
And now here I am, almost two years later, hoping maybe yet another cheerleader might end up feeling the same.
#CHAPTER34
* * *
UofJ411: *picture of Quinn getting coffee in The Nest*
Anyone else hearing Bieber’s “Lonely Girl”? #TheOnlyOneLeft #HopeTheySentAPostCard
@reiersonreads4u: She’s not the only one here. That other guy is still hanging around #RememberJonahs #LetMeScrollBack
@jess_giles_: Oh yeah, the geeky guy with the glasses, right? #NerdIsTheWord
UofJ411: *REPOSTED—BTU_TitansHockey: Keeping the skills fresh in the off-season—reel of Grady and some of his teammates practicing trick shots*
I think I could totally be a hockey fan #LookAtThoseThighs #NewFan
@bama2182: Same, girl, same! #IDontWantToBlink
@serenity_nikki: Good thing BTU is super close #WeShouldGetTickets
#CHAPTER35
* * *
“You just let us know if you need bail money because I got you, booboo.”
Those were not the words I expected to greet me when I returned home on a Thursday night, and I certainly didn’t think snooping through Quinn’s phone for Abuela Lupe’s number was an arrestable offense.
I’m about to say as much when I hear the sound of Emma’s voice responding. “I feel like I should be offended that you think I would leave enough evidence to require being held on bail.”
You know what? I don’t even wanna know what they’re talking about.
Instead, I pretend I can’t hear them while I set the grocery bags on the counter and start to unpack my purchases.
“CK,” Emma calls out, the first to spot me.
I have a package of tortillas in my hand when I look up at the television to see Emma waving. Is she…
“Where are you?” I ask, unable to decipher exactly what I’m seeing beyond some seriously hideous flower-print wallpaper.
“She’s in hiding,” Quinn answers for our friend, eyes dancing with mirth.
Oh yeah, there’s definitely a story here if Quinn’s amused. I hold up my hands and back away. “I don’t wanna know.”
Emma snorts. “Aww…where’s your sense of adventure, CK?”
“Safely tucked away at the words ‘bail money’,” I deadpan.
“Ugh.” Emma tosses her head back, falling to lean against that god-awful wallpaper. “And here I hoped living with Quinn for most of the summer would have loosened you up a little.” She shifts forward, narrowing her eyes at me. “You’re making the rest of us look like delinquents or something.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Quinn watching me, my spine straightening at her sudden interest. “He did break this chick’s nose almost three weeks ago,” she supplies, and my jaw drops.
“This I gotta hear,” Emma singsongs at the same time I shout, “What the hell, Q?”
Quinn lifts a pillow to her face, her shoulders shaking with smothered laughter as she folds in half.
I round the end of the island while Quinn is distracted at my expense, picking up the remote for the TV.
“Oh, wait…” I cup my hand around my ear, craning my neck to the side. “Is someone calling you, Em?”
A prickle of guilt makes the back of my neck itch at the way Emma jolts and presumably lowers her phone into her stomach if the sudden blackness on the TV is any indication.
When Emma’s back in view, it’s from an underneath angle, and she’s lowered her voice to a whisper. “I’m freaking counting down the hours until this weekend when I can move back home with you guys.”
“Ugh! I can’t believe I’ll be leaving the day after you get back,” Quinn complains.
A pang of something I don’t wholly recognize hits at the reminder that she’s going to be gone for six days.
“Gotta love those parental guilt trips that have us rearranging our own plans.” If Emma’s sarcasm were any thicker, it would be a physical entity sitting beside her on the screen. Not that any of us can blame her since she’s been spending her summer shuffled between different events for her father’s political career.