by Tiana Smith
Grayson didn’t answer. He waited for his mom to reach us, then stood up. I did the same, because what else was I supposed to do?
“Hello, Grayson, Quinn.” She tilted her head to one side, and I tried to read her expression. Was she upset? Disappointed? My palms were sweaty and I hated that she’d seen me acting so disrespectful at the state capitol building.
“Hey, Mom.” Grayson cleared his throat. “I thought you had a meeting.”
She raised her eyebrows. “It was canceled.”
Grayson nodded, bobbing his head up and down like a buoy in the water. Governor Hawks turned to me.
“Nice to see you, Quinn. I was hoping I’d get a chance to run into you again.”
I was willing to bet this wasn’t the kind of run-in she’d been thinking about.
“What brings you to the Idaho state capitol building?” Governor Hawks asked.
Okay, so option one, I could tell her I needed tutoring help, which would make her think I was lacking in an area that was her expertise. Option two, I could confess I liked another boy and she didn’t have to worry about me not being good enough for her family, which I obviously wasn’t. Or, option three, I could lie. None of those seemed like good options, so I stood there like a gaping fish. Luckily, Grayson stepped in.
“I invited her. She’s in AP Government too and she wanted to know more.”
A half-truth I could get behind. Yes, I wanted to know more, but only for the sake of my grade. As for inviting me, well, I was surprised Grayson could lie so smoothly to his mother. His voice didn’t waver even a little bit.
The governor assessed me and a small smile crossed her face. “Yes, it certainly looked like you were both very studious just now, in my place of work.”
I had no response for that. All I could do was hope she didn’t ask to see the notebook Grayson was holding, because if she read the line about her son being a good kisser, I was 100 percent sure I would die on the spot.
“I hate to be a dictator, but please make sure you aren’t a distraction for people working here.” She uncrossed her arms and half turned to go. “I need to get back to work, but I’m guessing you aren’t staying long?”
Grayson saluted. I nodded. Both of us stayed rooted to the spot, spines straight like good little soldiers. We didn’t breathe until she turned a corner and walked out of sight; then we collapsed onto the bench like deflated balloons.
“Your mom must hate me.”
Grayson shook his head. “Hardly. She worries about me and anything that might interfere with ‘the plan,’ but trust me, she’s not as strict as she seems.”
I gave him a skeptical look. “Are you sure you’re okay with tutoring me? Your mom might disown you. I can find someone else.” I looked down at the floor, hoping he might not recognize how hard the words were for me to say. Even though he’d only made the offer minutes ago, I already depended on it like oxygen.
Grayson reached out and grasped my chin, turning my head so I was forced to look directly at him. My skin tingled underneath his fingers.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
He said it with such conviction, I couldn’t help but believe him.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Dear 15211,
I don’t know why you weren’t there yesterday. Maybe you decided not to come because, like me, you were scared. Or maybe you came in, saw who I was, and then left. I really hope it wasn’t that, because that would be pretty awful. Not for me, because I’ll get over it. But for you, because that would mean you are a judgmental and petty human being, and that’s not something that’s easy to change.
I’ve never thought that about you, though, so I really hope you have a good excuse for not showing up. I’m not sure whether to keep writing you, or forget about you entirely. So I guess this is me giving you one last chance, even though I’m not sure you deserve it.
15511
Naomi helped me write it, since I wasn’t sure what to say. She kept giving him the benefit of the doubt, and was convinced he’d been hit by a bus or something, which, even if it gave him an excuse not for showing up, I really hoped hadn’t happened.
I’d left the note in his cubby this morning, but he didn’t reply by my class time. Now it was after speech practice, and I checked again, even though I should have been hightailing it to the bus. We had another speech tournament tomorrow, so I’d be MIA from school to see if 15211 wrote back this week. Just my luck.
Of course, I thought about never writing 15211 ever again. But I was doing better in speech and debate with his help. All his tips made it so I had the edge in competition for once. Not to mention, writing 15211 got my mind off … other people.
I sighed and turned around to find Grayson in the doorway watching me.
My hands hung awkwardly at my sides and I shifted back on my heels, unsure of what to do. I tried to play it cool by hooking my thumb through my belt loop and pretending I’d known he was there all along. Smooth. That was me.
“Spying on me, Hawks?” I picked my bag up from where I’d left it on the floor and came to stand by his side. “Maybe you’re hoping to see which cubby I was at so you could read my messages to…” I was about to say 15211, but then that’d give Grayson the number of the cubby, so I finished by saying, “Him.”
Then another thought hit me. Grayson had already seen the number when I wrote it on the fake letter he’d tried to make me write. “Or did you already memorize it?” I gasped, and took a step away from him. He laughed at my expression and leaned against the doorframe.
“I promise I didn’t memorize it when you showed me his number.”
His smile still made me think he was hiding something. I narrowed my eyes at him, but this only made him laugh harder. I looked back at the cubbies, debating my options.
“Listen.” He reached out to touch my arm and turned me to face him.
If only Grayson weren’t so touchy, then it’d be easier to get over him. But every time it happened, it was like a jolt of electricity buzzed through my veins and I couldn’t help the way my body responded. He was too good at this game.
“I wanted to check your schedule,” he said. My pulse picked up and my brain went into hyperdrive.
“Why? What for?”
His hand was still on my elbow. How did he expect me to think rationally when he was so casually touching me like that?
“For tutoring,” he responded. He finally dropped his hand and I focused on bringing my breathing back to normal.
“Is there a good time for you when we could get together?” he asked.
I wanted to read into his comment, but I resisted. I chewed my lip. “We have the tournament this weekend and a test first thing when we get back.” My stomach dropped at the realization. That was one more test I was bound to fail because I simply didn’t understand the subject.
“Today then,” he said, undeterred.
“The last bus leaves in a few minutes,” I said, already scooting past him to exit through the door. “And they lock the school soon.”
“I could drive you. We could study at your apartment. Or my house.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Are civilians allowed at your house since it’s where the governor lives?”
He smiled. “You’d be fine since you’d be with me.”
With me. Why did so much of what he’d been saying have a double meaning? Or maybe not exactly a double meaning, but a different way to interpret it if Grayson was flirting. Which he wasn’t. Because he wanted to be friends (maybe), his mom didn’t approve of me (probably), and we’d already gone there once (kind of). Plus, there was the whole “possibility of him setting me up to fail” thing I couldn’t forget about. And the other girl he liked. So many reasons for me to back off and accept things for the way they were, but it didn’t stop me from wanting something I could never have. Why’d he have to kiss me? Why couldn’t I move on? It shouldn’t have been this hard.
“Also, my mom left for Idaho Falls this morning for wo
rk, so she’s not even in Boise. In case you wanted to know. Even though I’ve already told you she has nothing against you.” It was like he knew everything I was thinking and could anticipate whatever I’d say next. I hated that he knew me so well, when I felt like he was this giant enigma I had no hope of ever understanding.
But I really did need the help in AP Government, which was why I found myself saying the words “Your house it is.”
* * *
HIS HOUSE WAS gated. Like an actual gate with a security code that Grayson had to enter. I’d only seen those in movies.
We drove the rest of the driveway, and Grayson parked his car in the multi-car garage before punching in a code at the door. A cheery electronic voice said the alarm was deactivated; then after we walked inside and closed the door, Grayson reset the alarm.
That was it.
“I thought you’d have guards or something,” I said, gently placing my bag on their enormous kitchen table. “Maybe some scary-looking dogs with spiked collars.” My entire apartment could have fit inside this one room. With plenty of space to spare.
Everything was white. White counters, white cabinets, white tile backsplash behind a gigantic double oven that was probably made for hosting grand parties. I turned in a slow circle as I took everything in. All the appliances were new and everything was so clean, it was like I’d stepped into a catalog.
“No dogs. The security detail follows my mom,” Grayson said. “Since she’s out of town, we get to live like normal people for a bit. Even then, they’re not here much.”
Normal. Ha. This wasn’t normal. But I didn’t say anything as Grayson unceremoniously dumped his bag and coat on the table.
That was when his little sister traipsed into the kitchen. She was singing to herself and her braids swished around her as she walked. She stopped when she saw me.
“Hey, I know you,” she said, tilting her head.
I guess I’d assumed the house was empty, since Grayson had to enter the code. But he’d set the alarm again after we’d entered, so maybe they lived with it on all the time.
If his sister was home, his dad probably was too. I didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved that Grayson and I weren’t alone. Honestly, it was probably a good thing. But my heart didn’t seem to get the message.
His dad entered the kitchen a minute after Grayson’s sister.
“Quinn, how nice to see you again,” he said. I turned to say hi, but that was when I noticed he had a toddler on his hip. A toddler, as in Grayson had multiple siblings.
I was too stunned to say anything back. How could I, when everything was shifting around me?
“Uh, hi, Mr. Hawks,” I finally stammered out. “Who’s this?” I held my hand out for the little boy to give me a high five, which he did with gusto, making me smile.
“This is Levi,” Grayson said, coming to stand by me. “And I don’t think you’ve officially met Ava, even though you saw her at parents’ night.”
“Yessss,” I said, dragging out the word. “I didn’t know you had a younger brother too.” It probably sounded a bit accusing, but that was the shock talking.
“Levi was sick that night,” Mr. Hawks said, walking to the fridge and opening the door. “So his grandma came to watch him.”
“Your grandma lives close by?” I asked Grayson, who nodded. Mentally, I was going through all the letters I’d shared with 15211 to remember whether he’d ever mentioned living close to his extended family. Nothing. That made me breathe a little easier.
“Grandma’s the best,” Ava said. “I wish I’d been sick that night. You both were boring.”
“Way to be supportive,” Grayson said, sitting at the table and unzipping his backpack. “Dad, Quinn and I are studying for our AP Government test. Is that okay?”
Like he needed to study. Grayson was the king of diplomatic speaking. I wondered if he got that from his mom.
My brain was still going a hundred miles a minute, when my phone chimed in my pocket. I took it out to read the text, hoping that maybe it was something that would ground me. It wasn’t.
I vaguely heard Grayson’s dad reply, but all my attention was focused on the text I’d just received from Carter.
Ok, so don’t laugh, but I’ve been taking cooking classes since pretty much the start of the school year.
Cooking classes. Carter was taking cooking classes? So I couldn’t rule him out as 15211 either? What was happening? Another text came through and I stared at it numbly.
So far I’ve only really cooked for my family. But the class is ending and they say we should each throw a party where we cook for all of our friends. I dunno. Sounded like it might be fun. You in? I was thinking sometime in the next month. You can invite whoever you want as long as I get a head count. My mom’s complaining that you haven’t been around here enough.
“You okay?” Grayson asked, his voice cutting through my haze. I looked up from my phone and sat down at the table with a thump. Grayson’s dad and younger siblings had left the kitchen and I hadn’t even noticed.
“What? Oh, yeah, I’m fine.” I got out my AP Government notes with jerky robotic movements. “Did you know Carter was taking cooking classes?”
One of Grayson’s eyebrows shot up. After a moment, he frowned. “I didn’t.”
“Yeah, he’s throwing some kind of a party sometime. You want to go?”
I didn’t know why I asked him. I wasn’t even sure what I meant by it. Did I mean to ask him as just a friend? As a date? If I didn’t know, how was Grayson supposed to figure it out? Besides, Carter wasn’t exactly Grayson’s number one fan. In thinking about it more, maybe that could explain my impulsiveness.
“I don’t know, I’m not really invited.” Grayson flipped through his AP Government book until he found the chapter we were studying.
“Carter said I could invite whoever I wanted, and I want to invite you.”
At this, Grayson’s frown turned into a smile and he leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table. My heart did a little flip. Traitorous heart. “See, my friendship plan is working. Already you hate me a little less.”
“Who said I hate you? The only thing I hate is AP Government.”
Grayson chuckled and pulled out some notecards and a pen.
“Okay, let’s make some flash cards for you then. This test is going to focus on the Fourteenth Amendment, so we’ll do some terms on one side with their definitions and implications on the back. Then we can study them on the bus ride to the tournament.”
I sighed, but scooted my chair up to the table and leaned over to see what he wrote. But Grayson wasn’t writing anything. His pen hovered over the notecard for a minute; then he dropped the pen to the table.
“You should write it,” he said.
Alarm bells rang out in my mind and I narrowed my eyes at him.
“Why? You know the terms better. What if I put the wrong information on the flash cards?”
He picked up the pen and handed it to me. Our fingers brushed and I sucked in a breath.
“I’m not doing the work for you, lazy.” He smiled. “If you write it, you’ll retain the information better.”
His explanation made sense, but I was still suspicious. I gave in and accepted the pen, uncapping it, vowing to catch a glance at his handwriting later. His, and Carter’s. For being friends for so long, I’d never paid much attention before now.
“Have you ever taken dance lessons?” I asked abruptly.
Grayson sat back in surprise.
“What? Why?”
I knew it.
“You have, haven’t you?” I accused. “I bet you know the waltz.”
He chuckled and shook his head, but I wasn’t about to let the subject drop.
“Admit it.”
He held his hands up in front of him. “I’ve never taken dance lessons.”
I scoffed. “Liar. If we were to call your dad back in here, would he verify your story?”
I expected him to look hesit
ant, or make excuses, but Grayson leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head.
“Go ahead. I don’t know why it’s so important to you, though.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Yeah? I’m going to ask him.”
This didn’t faze him. He just made an “after you” gesture with his hand, motioning for me to continue.
I couldn’t do it. It seemed rude somehow, to involve Grayson’s dad to prove my own petty point.
Grayson noticed my indecision and laughed.
“Hey, Dad!” he yelled. My eyes widened.
So that was it, then. If he was calling his dad to verify his claim, he couldn’t possibly be 15211. Something inside me twisted with that knowledge.
A minute later, his dad entered the kitchen again.
Grayson looked pointedly at me, waiting for me to say something.
“Uh, Mr. Hawks, has Grayson ever taken dance lessons?” I couldn’t bring myself to meet his eyes. I wasn’t sure how to categorize what I was feeling, but it wasn’t what I’d expected.
Mr. Hawks laughed and clapped Grayson on the shoulder. “Well there’s an idea.” He shook his head. “No, Grayson’s never taken dance lessons, but now that you mention it, I don’t think he’d mind going with you.”
Grayson coughed. I turned red. Once again, I was struck by how little Mr. Hawks seemed to know about teenagers.
“Thanks,” I muttered.
Grayson’s dad left again, chuckling the whole time. Soon, it was just Grayson and me, him relaxed and me filling up the room with enough awkwardness for the both of us.
“Why’d you want to know?” he asked.
I fiddled with the cap of the pen.
“No reason.”
Grayson made a “hmmm” sound, then pushed the notecards toward me, pulling open his book at the same time.
“Let’s start with selective incorporation and then we’ll move on to the equal protection clause and Roe v. Wade.” Grayson was still flipping through his book as I started writing out “selective incorporation”—whatever that was. I looked up while I waited for Grayson to tell me what to put next. He was bent over his book, his hair falling into his face, framing his dark eyes.
