“What’s so funny?” Grey asks with a somewhat intrigued, somewhat confused smile.

“It’s nothing.” I point over at Ms. Belingfutor, puffing away. “I just think it’s funny seeing teachers do stuff like that. It makes them seem so normal, which just seems weird.”

Grey glances from Ms. Belingfutor to me. “I get what you’re saying. There was one time I caught Coach feeling up his wife in his office. Although, that was a little less funny and a lot more disturbing than watching Ms. B smoke.”

I force back a giggle. “You really walked in on them?”

He nods with his eyes wide, as if he’s reliving the horror. “It was horrible and so embarrassing, but what’s even worse was that Coach wanted to talk about it to make sure I wasn’t traumatized. Which I was, but I wasn’t about to tell him that.” He folds his arms across his chest and shifts his weight as his forehead creases. “I’ve never told anyone that before. I know if the guys on the team ever found out, they’d never let me live it down.”

I pick at my fingernails. “Then why’d you just tell me?”

“I don’t know . . . maybe because you’re not on the team, and you’re not a guy, so I know you won’t ask stupid questions, like if Coach’s wife is hot.”

I get his point, but still, it’s not like we’re even close to being friends, which brings up the huge question: why are we here?

“You said you wanted to talk to me about something, and I’m guessing it’s not about how hot your coach’s wife is.”

“Yeah.” He massages the back of his neck tensely. “I wanted to talk to you more about that tutoring thing. I just didn’t want to do it in front of your friends . . . They’re kind of intimidating.”

“My friends are intimidating?” I almost laugh. “Your friends are the ones who are always making fun of people.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he says in a panic. “I just meant that they really care about you. And I knew that whatever I said to you in front of them would be analyzed later and that can be . . .”

“Intimidating,” I finish for him.

He bobs his head up and down, stepping closer to me, and I have to tip my chin up to look at him.

“Any outsider who approaches you guys when you’re all together probably feels a little freaked out.” A lopsided smile tugs at his lips, and I stare at his mouth a few seconds too long.

“People think that about you, too. You can be really intimidating to walk up and talk to, especially when you’re around your friends. Trust me, I know.” I want to smack myself in the head for subtly mentioning the tenth grade dance. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring that up.”

“You don’t need to be sorry.” He cracks his knuckles, averting his gaze to the ground as he mutters, “I get where you’re coming from. Back then . . . I was kind of an asshole.”

A beat of awkward silence goes by.

I clear my throat. “You said you wanted to talk about the tutoring thing.”

A relieved breath puffs from his lips. “I just wanted to find out where you wanted to meet up and when.”

“The only place I’m allowed to go to other than my house is the library, and I’d rather not meet up at my house,” I tell him. When his forehead creases, I add, “Trust me, you don’t want to go there, either.”

“Okay.” He waits for me to embellish, but I’m not about to give him the details about my insane home life. “So I guess it’s the library, then.”

“Sounds good to me. You want to meet around four?”

He scratches at the back of his neck. “I actually have practice after school. Maybe around six?”

“Sure. That works.” As long as my mom isn’t on one of her lock-me-in-my-room-after-dinner kicks.

“Okay, it’s a date, then.” One side of his mouth pulls into that sexy half grin I’ve seen him use on a ton of girls over the years.

I smile back, but I’m totally confused. Date? Why did he call this a date?

He didn’t mean it literally. He has a girlfriend, for God’s sake. Jesus, Luna, get a grip.

“Thanks for doing this,” he adds. “Seriously, it’s really awesome of you. Most people aren’t that nice.”

I’m not that nice!

I force a tight smile. “It’s not that big of a deal. Besides, Beck would freak if I didn’t help you, and then you didn’t end up playing in Friday’s game. He hates losing.”

“I think everyone does when you really think about it . . . except you. I can’t really see you being like that.”

“Tell that to Wynter. She won’t even play board games with me anymore.”

“Really? So, you’re a sore loser, huh?” He pokes me in the side teasingly, and I flinch from the sudden unexpectedness of the touch.

“Um, yeah.” I struggle to remember what we are talking about as I grow flustered. Board games. Sore losers. “I once threw all the cards out her bedroom window when we were playing Texas Hold’em, and I lost, like, ten hands in a row. Then there was the whole Candyland fiasco.”

“What happened with that?” he asks, seeming strangely intrigued with my board game dark side.

“I broke the heads off of all the pieces.” I try not to smile, even though it’s kind of funny now. “But keep in mind that I was only eight, and I don’t have any brothers or sisters. Whenever I played games at home, I played by myself and, therefore, always won.”

He struggles not to laugh. “Wow . . . that’s . . .”

“Ridiculous?” I offer. “Insane? Neurotic?”

His grin slips through. “I was actually going to say funny.”

“I’m glad you think so because Wynter didn’t. That’s pretty much when she stopped playing board games with me. She gave me a chance a few years later with the card games, but that ended quickly. I haven’t played since, and none of my other friends will, either.”

He chuckles. “They sound like wimps if you ask me. So what if you broke a few game pieces and threw some cards out the window?” He pokes me in the side teasingly again, and this time, instead of flinching, my stomach does a kick flip. “I’d play with you.”

“I don’t know.” My voice comes out surprisingly even, despite the fact that my nerves are jostled. “You say that now, but I think you’d change your mind once you witnessed the nastiness in all its temper-tantrum form.”

He drums his fingers against the side of his legs with his forehead creased. “I’ll tell you what. How about, at the end of every tutoring session, we play a game of cards? My bet is that you’ll be okay.”

“You want to play cards with me after I help you study?” I question with doubt.

“You say that like it’s weird.”

“It is weird . . . And it kind of seems like you’d think playing cards with me is . . . lame.”

“I love playing cards. I used to play them all the time with my dad.” His face pales at the mention of his dad.

I feel horrible that we got on the topic of parents, especially his dad. From what I’ve heard around school, his dad passed away a few months ago, at the beginning of the summer. I’m not sure how, though.

“But yeah, anyway.” Grey clears his throat as he glances down at his watch. “I have to meet up with someone. Can you give me your number, just in case something happens, and I can’t make it tonight?”

I nod and rattle off my number, and he strangely writes it down on his hand with a pen.

When he notes me staring confusedly at the ink on his palm, he explains, “Some friends of mine thought it’d be funny to play catch with my phone, but then one of them accidentally threw it against the wall.” He shoves the pen into his back pocket. “See you later tonight.” He steps by me to leave, but then stops. “You’re okay with getting to the library, right? Because I can come pick you up if you need me to. I know how super pricey gas can be.”

I catch the faintest hint of pity in his tone. I should confess right then and there that I’m not poor, that I have my parents’ nearly brand new car to drive to the library, but instead, I only mumble, “I’m good, but thanks for the offer.”