At the Edge (5 page)

“Great. Thanks!”

“I'm just being—”

“Honest, I know. Honesty isn't always the best policy, Morgan.”

“Would you rather I lied to you? What kind of friend would I be if I did that? Look, Robyn, if you want my opinion”—I wasn't sure I did—“maybe you should just back off for a while. Give Nick some space. Let him figure out what he wants.”

“If Billy was spending more time with a gorgeous blonde than he was with you, is that what you'd do?”

“The great thing about Billy is that most of the people he hangs out with are total nerds,” she said. “I really don't have to worry about other girls.”

“What if you did have to worry? What if there was another girl?”

“I'd probably scratch her eyes out. At least, that's what I'd want to do.” I didn't doubt that for a moment. “Why don't you show Nick how you feel?”

“What do you mean?”

“You don't like that he's spending so much of his spare time with this Danny person, right? How would he like it if you were spending time with another guy?”

“But I'm not.”

“You could, though. James asked you to tutor him, right?”

“You know about that?”

“He mentioned it to Billy. He wanted to know what you'd say if he asked you.”

“What did Billy tell him?”

“That you'd probably say yes. You did say yes, didn't you?”

“No.”

“No, you didn't say yes?”

“Yes, I mean I said no.”

“Well, say yes! Tell James you'll tutor him, and then let Nick know you're doing it.”

“What good will that do?”

“For one thing, it will tell you if Nick still cares about you.”

“If?” I was beginning to hate that word.

“That's what you're worried about, isn't it? If he gets mad or tells you that he doesn't want you to tutor James, you'll know that he still cares. Then you can relax.”

“And if he doesn't get mad? If he doesn't care?”

“James seems really nice, Robyn. Billy likes him a lot. If you tutor him, you'll get to know him better. If things don't work out with Nick, you'll have a fallback position. It's a lot easier to get over a breakup if you're seeing someone else—especially someone as cute as James.”

“I don't know,” I said. Part of me agreed with Morgan—maybe I should give Nick a taste of his own medicine and see how he likes it. But mostly I was afraid that Nick wouldn't care.

“Well, do you have a better idea?” Morgan said.

I sat in the window for a long time after I had spoken to Morgan. Nick must have taken Orion in the back way, because the next time I saw him he was coming out the front door. If I hurried, maybe I could catch up to him. I jumped up—too late. Nick broke into a run as a bus rounded the corner. He made it to the bus door just in time and disappeared from sight.

J

ames was already at his locker when I got to school the next morning. I marched up to him and said, “Okay, I'll do it.”

He stared blankly at me.

“You want a tutor,” I said. “You've got one.”

“You mean it?” He sounded surprised. And pleased.

“We can start this afternoon if you want.”

James smiled cautiously at me. “I really appreciate this,” he said. “When I told my dad it didn't look like you were going to do it, he wanted to call you and ask you himself.”

“Really?” I was a little taken aback. “I'm sure he would have had no problem finding someone else.”

“You don't know my dad. I wasn't kidding about him. When he saw your name at the top of the honor roll, he decided you were the best. And my dad always goes after the best.”

“You're making me nervous,” I said. “I seriously have never tutored anyone before, James. I might turn out to be terrible.”

He laughed. “The only way you could turn out to be terrible is if you know less about math and science than I do—and that doesn't seem likely. I'm glad you said yes, Robyn. I just hope you don't quit when you find out how dumb I am.”

“There's a big difference between not knowing something and being dumb,” I said. “I just hope I don't disappoint you.”

He beamed at me. “There's no way you could do that.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Morgan. She had come down the hall and was standing a few lockers away, behind James. She was grinning like a lottery winner. I was surprised she wasn't also doing a happy dance.

  .    .    .

James and I met after school, as we had arranged, and headed to the public library, where we sat together while he worked on his math homework. I could see why his dad was so eager to find him a tutor. James and I were in different math classes, but we had the same teacher, so I knew exactly what work he was supposed to do. I also knew that the work had been explained in detail during class. Even so, James struggled with his assignment. But he listened attentively to what I said and watched carefully while I worked on some examples for him. By the end of the hour he was making his way through the last of the exercises he had been assigned.

“You must think I'm a real moron,” he said as he packed up his things.

“No, I don't,” I said. “You did fine.”

“Tell that to my dad.” He slid the textbook and his binder into his backpack and zipped the pocket. “He says I'm the most absentminded person he knows. When I was younger and he'd send me on an errand, he used to make me repeat five times what I was supposed to do so that I wouldn't forget. He still makes me repeat stuff. He says it's the best way to remember.”

“Bread, milk, and, most important, the decaf,” I said.

His cheeks turned red.

I grinned at him. “You can tell your dad you did great. You probably just have to catch up. You said you missed a lot of school.”

“I had a bad couple years after I left here, that's for sure,” he said.

A couple of years?

“First my mother died.”

“I'm sorry,” I said.

“Then I was in an accident. I was in the hospital for months and then in rehab.”

“God, James, that must have been awful.”

He shrugged. “My dad says my main problem is that I don't focus. But that hasn't been my problem lately. Before my mom and the accident, I didn't care about school. I didn't care about anything.”

He seemed like such a gentle, quiet guy. It was hard to imagine him not caring.

“But I care now,” he added quickly. “I don't want you to think you're going to be wasting your time. I'm already a year behind. I want to get through this. I want to make the grades so that I have some options.”

“If you keep working like you did today, you'll be fine,” I said.

He smiled, and this time I saw how right Morgan was. He was extremely cute—and, unlike Nick, he was turning out to be open and easy to get to know. When he offered me a ride home, I accepted.

  .    .    .

On my way up to my dad's place, I stopped and knocked on Nick's door. No answer. I could barely concentrate on my homework. Then my phone rang.

  .    .    .

“So?” Morgan said the next morning. She was waiting for me outside school. “How did it go?”

“How did what go?”

“The tutoring. How was it? Did you have fun?”

“It was math, Morgan.” I had actually enjoyed myself, which surprised me. But there was no way I was going to tell her that. She might get the wrong idea.

“But you're going to see him again, right?”

“I'm just tutoring him, Morgan. That's all. Besides,” I added triumphantly, “Nick called last night. He invited me to a party.” The downside: most of the people there would be kids from his school. The glorious upside: it would be the first carefree night I had spent with Nick since the summer. I could hardly wait.

Morgan didn't say a word. She didn't seem to be paying any attention, and she wasn't even looking at me. I turned to see what had caught her interest.

James. He was leaning against his car in the school parking lot.

“He's been staring at his phone for, like, five minutes now,” Morgan said. “He does that a lot.”

I had seen him staring at it once. But a lot?

“He's probably playing a game.”

“I don't think so,” Morgan said. “If he was playing a game, his thumbs would be moving. But he's just staring. I saw him doing it yesterday, too. Standing in the hall, staring at his phone. He didn't even notice when I went up to him. I'm not one hundred percent positive, but I think he was looking at pictures.”

“Maybe they're pictures of friends back home. Or maybe his mom.” I filled Morgan in on what little I knew.

“Well, whatever he's doing, he looks really down,” she said.

Pictures of his mother, I decided.

“Let's cheer him up,” Morgan said. She called his name and waved to him. His head bobbed up. He stuffed his phone into his pocket and made his way over to us. His limp seemed more pronounced than usual.

“Hey, Robyn,” he said, smiling shyly.

“What are you up to, James?” Morgan said.

The question seemed to startle him. His face
turned red.

“Up to?” he said. “What do you mean?”

“She means, what's new?” I said, even though I knew that wasn't what she had meant at all. I shot her a look. She just shrugged. We all went into school together. But I couldn't help wondering what James had been looking at—and why he had been so startled by Morgan's question.

  .    .    .

“Robbie, I was just going to call you,” my dad said when I walked through the door after school. “Be an angel and let me borrow your car.”

I stared at him. My dad always takes pride in his appearance. When he dresses up, he really dresses up. He has a closet full of expensive suits. When he dresses down, he still looks great. His jeans fit well. His T-shirts are strictly designer. His boots and shoes are well looked after. I had never seen my dad sloppy or unkempt—until today. He was wearing faded, grubby jeans; a shapeless T-shirt that appeared to have been dredged out of a thrift-store bin; battered work boots that looked as if a few different pairs of feet had tromped around in them; and a faded work shirt.

“Why are you dressed like that, Dad? And what happened to the Porsche?”

“The Porsche is fine, Robbie. I have a job, and if I don't punch in on time, I'm going to get into trouble on my first day.”

“Punch in?” My dad has his own business. He's in private security and investigations. He has clients—plenty of them. But I had never heard of any of them putting him on a time clock. “What kind of job? Where?”

“Warehouse.”

“You're working in a warehouse?”

“A lot of merchandise has gone missing,” my father said. “They think it's an inside job.”

“You're working undercover?”

My dad nodded. “I thought I could use your car. It fits the profile a lot better than mine does.”

I had a beat-up Toyota that my future stepfather Ted had bought me for my summer job. I had barely driven it since returning to the city. I dug in my backpack for my keychain, removed my car keys, and tossed them to him.

“I'm going to be working nights for a couple of weeks at least,” my dad said. “Maybe longer. It might be a good idea for you to move in with your mom and Ted until the house is ready. Otherwise you're going to be alone a lot.”

I thought about being in close proximity to my mom while she was (a) working, (b) overseeing renovations that were already running late, and (c) planning her wedding, which was scheduled to take place in three months. I love my mother. I really do. But she's a Type-A personality at the best of times, and it was so peaceful at my dad's place.

“I'd rather stay here, Dad.”

He looked doubtful. “We'll talk about it tomorrow, Robbie. I have to get going.” He kissed me on the cheek and dashed out the door.

  .    .    .

I met James the next day after school to help him with his homework. Morgan tagged along. The plan was that she would come to my dad's place with me afterwards and spend the night. When we got to the library, James and I settled at a large study table and Morgan found a spot at another table where we wouldn't disturb her, or vice versa. But the whole time she kept glancing at me and grinning.

This time things didn't go as well. James seemed distracted while I was explaining the work to him, and he had trouble applying what I'd shown him to the exercises he had been assigned.

“Is something wrong, James?” I said, trying to hide the exasperation I was feeling.

“What?” He blinked at me.

“Something about my explanation you don't understand?” So far he hadn't gotten a single right answer.

He looked sheepishly at me. “I'm sorry. I didn't get much sleep last night. I'll do better next time, I promise.” When he pushed back his chair to stand up, he knocked over his backpack. He ducked down, grabbed one of the straps, and hauled the pack up onto the table so that he could stuff his books into it. “Sorry,” he said again.