I offer her an apologetic shrug. “How’d you know?”

She readjusts the bottom of her tank top that was hidden under the sweatshirt. “Because I know that look on your face. That look means you feel sorry for me. My friend Wynter gets the same look on her face every time she sees my parents get mad at me.” She pauses. “Thanks, though, for trying to lie about it and spare me the embarrassment.”

“You shouldn’t be embarrassed. They should.”

She eyes me over warily. “Even after the temper tantrum I just threw?”

“I would’ve lost my shit, too, if they were saying all that stuff to me.” I step toward her. “I would’ve yelled at them, though. You handled that better than most people.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” She frowns, unconvinced, and then forces a laugh that sounds all kinds of wrong. “I guess you just got a glimpse of what I can be like when I lose games, right?”

I don’t say anything. I’m not sure what to say. She’s embarrassed, but I don’t want her to feel humiliated. I want her to feel comfortable with me, especially since we’re going to be spending time together while she tutors me.

Her cheeks flush. “I’m sorry you had to see any of that. My parents are just really intense, especially when I’ve messed up.”

“I get it,” I say, though I don’t. Yeah, my mom and dad have gotten pissed off at me when I have gotten into trouble, but they usually just ground me.

“Do you?” she mumbles, staring off into empty space. “Because sometimes I don’t.”

“Everyone’s parents get pissed at them at some point or another,” I tell her in an attempt to make her feel better.

“But does everyone’s parents haul them to a group therapy session because they found makeup and nail polish and worry they’re going to turn into a prostitute?” she challenges then shakes her head. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. You don’t need to hear about my problems.”

“You’re fine, Luna. You can say whatever you want to me. I swear I won’t tell anyone.” I mean it, too. I owe her for what I did to her in tenth grade, and now might be my chance to make up for how horrible I treated her.

Apparently, she doesn’t believe I’m being that genuine because uncomfortable silence stretches between us.

“They really brought you here because they think you’re a prostitute?” I ask, breaking the silence.

“They think makeup leads to prostitution. And nail polish. And stupid, lacy, black panties,” she mumbles with an exhausted sigh.

Black, lacy panties? Is that what she has on under there? My gaze deliberately sweeps over her long legs, hidden by those loose jeans, her narrow waist, her chest, her lips . . . I tear myself from my lustful thoughts as she peers up at me through her eyelashes, looking as innocent as can be.

Okay, how the hell can her parents think she’s going to turn into a prostitute? She’s like the sweetest girl ever.

“You thought I was here because I shoplifted, didn’t you?” she asks, fiddling with the hem of her shirt.

“No,” I lie. That’s exactly what I thought when I first saw her here.

She continues to nervously wring the bottom of her shirt, pulling it high enough that I catch a glimpse of the bottom of her flat stomach. “It should’ve been why.” She swiftly shakes her head. “I’m sorry. I usually don’t ramble this much, especially to complete strangers. I think I’m just stressed out.”

“I’m not really a complete stranger, Luna.” I offer her a lopsided smile that seems to fluster her. “We’ve known each other for practically forever.”

“You kinda of are, though. I mean, up until the thing at . . . Benny’s”—she stares down at her feet again, seeming ashamed,—“we’ve said like maybe ten words to each other, ever since . . . well, you know.”

I want to apologize to her for the dance, tell her the whole story of what happened, tell her that I didn’t spread that rumor about her, but I’m not sure if that’d be enough. I acted like a dick when I turned her down for the dance. I could’ve just given her an excuse, told her I was busy, but no, I had say no fucking way because I was a cocky shit who wasn’t much better than Logan.

What would my father have done if he knew exactly how bad of a person I was? That I wasn’t the good man he knew? That, when I was at school, I was the opposite?

“So what if we didn’t used to talk? We’re talking now.” I duck my head to catch her eye. “You can say whatever to me. I mean, isn’t that why we’re at this place? To talk about our problems?”

“I guess so.” She stares at me for a heartbeat or two then sits down in one of the chairs and pulls out her phone from the pocket of her sweatshirt.

I watch her mess around with her phone for a bit. Her head is down; her long, brown hair concealing her face; and her shoulders are hunched over. While she’s usually shy, she’s not this timid and offish.

I finally sit down beside her. She doesn’t glance up at me, but I feel her tense as my shoulder brushes hers.

“Everything okay?” I ask, trying to get her to look up at me.

“Yeah, I’m good.” She clears her throat as she scoots over an inch.

It throws me off a little. Usually, girls move closer to me, not away. I guess I deserve it from her.

Her eyes remain on her phone, her fingers scrolling through texts messages. I try not to read what’s on the screen, but it’s hard not to glance down every once in a while.

Ari: So, if you bring your phone to school tomorrow and give it to me for a couple of hours, I can swap out phones. U can have a backup to take with you and one to leave wherever. That way, your parents can still get a hold of u whenever, but they won’t know where u r. Or they’ll think you’re at wherever your phone is, anyway.

Jesus, her parents are way beyond intense. It makes me feel even shittier for the stuff my friends put her through. Not only did she have to suffer through them teasing her, but she had to go home and deal with her parents.

She types a response, thanking Ari at least ten times before she switches to another thread.

Wynter: A new band I found that I think you’ll love. It’s not mix music or anything, but it’s got a good beat to it. Cheer up, girly. We’ve all got your back. Always and forever.

I feel the slightest bit jealous of Luna and her friends and how much they seem to care about each other. Mine have been giving me nothing but shit for getting put on academic probation. I couldn’t even imagine telling them about my other problems.

Luna clicks on an audio file titled “There’s No ‘I’ In Team” by Taking Back Sunday, and a song blasts through the speaker of her phone. She casts a panicked glance around the empty room then at me.

“Is it okay if I listen to this?” she asks. “Because I can turn it off if it’s bothering you.”

“You’re fine. In fact, turn it up.”

She relaxes as she cranks up the music and sings along. Apparently, she already knows the song. I lean back in the chair, stretching out my legs, and tap my fingers to the beat. She smiles at me when she notices my fingers drumming against my knees, and I return her smile. It’s probably the most content I’ve felt in weeks, and part of me wishes the song would keep playing forever so the moment would never have to end.

Like everything else, it does, and eventually the room grows quiet again.

“Does Wynter always send you songs to cheer you up?” I ask.

“How’d you know this was from Wynter?” she questions, setting her phone down on her lap. “Did you read my messages?” She doesn’t seem angry, only curious.

“Sorry. I didn’t really mean to read them. They were just kind of there, you know. Besides, I’m kind of fascinated with your friends.”

“You mean my intimidating friends?” she says with a trace of a smile.

Getting her to smile makes me feel proud, like maybe I’m taking a step in the right direction of getting her to forgive me.