Trouble From the Start Read online

  “See you tomorrow,” he said before heading for his car.

  Unable to tear my gaze from Fletcher, I ambled slowly across the distance separating us, wishing that my heart didn’t start pounding like a bass drum. Why did I have to be so aware of him?

  “What are you doing here?” I asked when I was near enough that I wouldn’t have to shout.

  “Wanted to let you know it’s fixed.” Holding a package of peanuts, he poured some into his palm and popped them into his mouth.

  His words made no sense. I studied him, studied my car. Had it broken down somehow without my knowing? “What’s fixed? Trooper?”

  Fletcher grinned slightly, at my car’s name, I guessed. “No, the rumor. I talked to Scooter, a few of the other guys who were in on the bet. Straightened things out. Or at least it’s starting to be straightened out.” More peanuts, a sip of soda.

  I was near enough now to make out the plastic bag flattened by his leg as well as the assortment of nuts, pastries, and candies spread over it. “What is all that?”

  He shrugged. “I got hungry waiting for you. Went to the convenience store, grabbed a few things.”

  “How did you know where I was?”

  “There’s always tutoring sessions the week of finals. I saw on the list outside the room how late you’d be, so I just decided to wait.” He held up a cupcake. “Want to join me?”

  I glanced around. Only one other car now. They’d be locking up the parking lot soon. I should go. Instead I put my foot on the bumper. Fletcher held out his hand. I slipped mine into it and his fingers closed around it. I felt the strain of his muscles as he pulled me onto the hood. I settled beside him, took the cupcake, bit into it, and hit the creamy filling right off the bat. So good. I licked my lips, turned to find Fletcher staring at me like he’d never seen me before. “You okay?”

  “Yeah . . . uh, you really like cupcakes.”

  “Oh my God, did I groan when I took a bite?”

  “It was more like a moan.”

  “Sorry.”

  “That’s okay.” Taking another sip of his drink, he turned his attention to the sky. It was almost dark now but the lights in the parking lot had come on so we couldn’t really see the stars.

  “I’m going to miss school,” I said quietly.

  “I won’t.”

  Unlike with Rajesh, Fletcher and I had nothing in common. We were silent for a while. “Why did you sign up for tutoring sessions if you weren’t going to come?” I finally asked.

  “I didn’t. Old man Turner signed me up for them. Didn’t think it was any of his business.”

  “He’s your math teacher. He was trying to help. He wouldn’t have signed you up if he hadn’t thought you’d benefit from some extra study.”

  “You can’t make a person learn what they don’t want to learn. I mean, really, when am I ever going to plot the roots or, or . . . complete the square or factor an equation?”

  He had a point. “A lot of it is brain exercise, figuring things out.”

  “You like that kind of stuff.” He said it like a statement, not a question.

  “I enjoy the mental challenge, yes.”

  He finished off his peanuts, wadded up the empty package. I expected him to toss it onto the ground. Instead he slipped it into the flattened bag. “I saw you tutoring Brian,” he said quietly. “You like tutoring.”

  “I do, yeah. I love that moment when I’m explaining something and the person finally gets it. It’s like magic, like seeing a shooting star or a rainbow, this sense of wonder, not really knowing how it happened. Just knowing that it did.” I laughed. “God, I sound like a dork.”

  I glanced over to find him watching me again, so intently that I was having a difficult time drawing in breath. He probably thought I was a total idiot, although he seemed fascinated. Still, I needed to put a little distance between us, so I sat up and wrapped my arms around my drawn-up knees. “You’re tall. Why didn’t you go out for the basketball team?”

  “Being in sports takes too much time. You know, practice and games. Coaches have expectations.”

  “You might have gotten a scholarship.”

  “Do I strike you as someone going to college?”

  Looking back over my shoulder, I grinned at him. “That’s right. I forgot. You’re getting a haircut.”

  He laughed. “That’s right.” He sobered. “You’re tall. Why didn’t you play?”

  “Would have meant a lot of time away from studying. Grades mattered more to me.”

  I heard the putter of a golf cart: the custodian trolling the grounds. He came to a stop in front of my car. “You kids need to leave now,” he said.

  “Yes, sir.” I slid off the hood, not surprised that Fletcher was a little slower at it. He really didn’t seem to like being ordered around by adults. I wondered how long it would be before he’d had enough of my dad.

  The custodian moved on. I unlocked my car. “I’ll take the trash.”

  He held the bag out to me. I took it but he didn’t let go. We were both just standing there holding this stupid crumpled plastic filled with garbage, and yet I felt like something else was happening. I just wasn’t sure what it was.

  He leaned in slightly. “You ever think about doing something you shouldn’t?”

  “You mean like telling my parents I’m going to one party—that has chaperones—and then going to one that doesn’t? Or drinking until I puke?”

  “You do that a lot? Tell your parents one thing, then do something else?”

  I released a big sigh, not sure why it bothered me that he would be disappointed. I didn’t live my life to impress Fletcher Thomas. “No.”

  “Maybe you should.”

  “Yeah, because it worked out so well when I did.”

  “Learning curve. You should know all about those, Einstein.”

  I didn’t know why it didn’t sting when he called me that this time. I knew he was mocking my intelligence—or I thought he was. Although the way the word rolled off his tongue didn’t really sound like a put-down. It almost sounded like a compliment.

  Before I could examine it further, he let go of the bag. “I’ll follow you home.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  He gave me a crooked grin. “I’m going that way.”

  I smiled. “Yeah, I guess you are.”

  I got into the car, started it up, and headed out. It was strange, but I’d never thought I could develop a friendship with someone who constantly broke the rules, someone like Fletcher. But whenever we talked, I could almost forget that he lived for trouble, and that I didn’t. I could almost believe that we might become friends.

  “You just talked?” Kendall asked.

  Shortly after I got home, I walked over to her house. Now I was stretched out on her bed, a mound of pillows at my back, while she sat in a chair, tilted back, her feet on the desk. Her room looked a lot like mine. The summer before we started high school, we’d painted our rooms a light purple with one dark purple wall and bought the same white comforters and curtains. We had the same bulletin board, the same lamps. If we could have convinced our parents to buy us new furniture, we would have had that matching as well. I couldn’t remember now why we’d decided that we had to have everything exactly the same.

  “Just talked,” I repeated.

  “That is so weird,” she said. “I heard Fletcher never just talks with girls.”

  “I can’t decide if I should be hurt or feel special because he only talks with me,” I admitted.

  “Feel special, of course. Because you are.”

  I smiled. “You are a true best friend to say that.”

  “I mean it. You don’t want a guy to kiss you just to kiss you. You want it to mean something. Kisses don’t mean anything to Fletcher. He hands them out like they’re candy on Halloween.”

  Licking my lips, I could still taste the sweetness of the cupcake. I sat up and folded my legs beneath me. “Do we really know that?”

  It bothered