Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23126 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 116(@200wpm)___ 93(@250wpm)___ 77(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23126 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 116(@200wpm)___ 93(@250wpm)___ 77(@300wpm)
“What do you think?” Tate asks, holding up the syllabus Ms. Wondersher handed out.
“Intriguing?” It’s the best word I can come up with.
Economics can be tough because the further you crawl through it, the harder but more interesting it can get. It makes me think about the world around us, and I actually picked the class out of curiosity. I wanted to see how it might be portrayed in a town like Noblesville.
Plus, there weren't a ton of options. I’m showing up senior year, and when my transcripts came over, I only needed a few more credits to graduate. The real task of this year is figuring out my own economics for the next chapter of my life.
“I might need some help. Some of it looks rough,” Tate confesses, and I don’t know if he’s being serious or coming up with a reason for us to study together.
“Don’t tell me those giant football player bodies come with small brains. Are they really that disproportionate?” I tease him.
A bark of laughter comes from him, and I start to smile until the whole class turns to see why Tate is laughing. I duck my head, letting my hair easily hide my face, which is the upside to wearing it down.
“Sorry,” he whispers. I give him a curious glance, then realize that he noticed the attention bothered me. It’s such a small thing for him to notice, but I like that he did. It has a smile returning to my face even though I feel shy.
Ms. Wondersher goes over the syllabus and her grading style, along with all the normal first-day-of-class things. Anytime I peek over to Tate, he’s staring right at me. It should make me feel uncomfortable, but for some reason, his attention doesn’t.
“What do you have next?” Tate asks when the bell rings, and I pull my schedule out to check.
“Nutrition of Culinary Arts.”
“Really?”
“I didn’t have a lot of options with enrolling so last second.”
“It’s an easy class, but you have to deal with Mrs. Porter.”
There’s the last name again. “Isn’t Jack’s last name Porter?” I try to phrase my question as casual, but Tate’s expression changes just enough that I don’t think I pull it off.
“Yeah, it’s his mom. Have you met Jack before? I mean, other than on the field this morning.”
“I ran into him once in town.” I shrug, trying not to let it show how much I dislike him. Maybe Tate and Jack are friends.
“Hmm.” Tate grunts. “His father has a law office in the center of town.”
Oh god.
“So his parents are, ah, married?”
“Yep. Prom king and queen a few decades ago. Don’t worry. Mrs. Porter will tell you the story about a million times.”
My mom really knows how to pick men. She’ll fall into any guy's trap and believe everything that comes out of their mouth.
“Well, thanks for lunch. I’m guessing we don’t have the same class next?”
“I’m still trying to get a few things moved around on my schedule, so…” He shrugs, not really answering my question.
“Oh, so I might not see you in economics?”
“I’m keeping that one,” Tate is quick to say before he holds his arm out in front of us as a rush of people flock down the hallway. They all jump out of the way and mutter apologies when they see it’s him. “Here we are.” He stops in front of the door to my nutrition class, which means I’ve only got one more after this before the end of the day.
“Thanks for showing me around.” I’m not sure what else to say, but Tate leans against the doorframe like he’s got all the time in the world.
“How do you get home?”
“Walk.” Tate runs his hand through his short hair like he doesn’t approve, and I find myself trying to explain. “It’s really not far.”
“I’ve got practice after school.” He sounds irritated, and I don’t blame him. They were practicing this morning, and now they have to do it again. “Can I get your number?” he blurts out.
“I…ah…”
“Not if it makes you uncomfortable,” he rushes to say. “I just want you to be able to text me if you need something. New school and all.” He sounds flustered, which is kind of adorable.
“Yeah, you can have my number.” I nod, and he pulls out his phone.
“Is that a dog?” I laugh when I see the home screen is a fluffy gray dog wearing a freakin’ bow tie.
“Yeah, that’s Walter. He’s my mom’s.”
“And that’s why you have a picture of him on your phone?” I raise a brow skeptically.
“He’s cute. Pretty good cuddler too.” Holy crap. This guy is going to be my undoing.
I ramble off my number, and he types it in.
“Send me a pic of Walter when he’s doing something cute,” I say before casually slipping into my classroom before I do something to embarrass myself.