Confessions of a Heartbreaker (12 page)

Yep, mind totally blown right now.

She gives me a brief smile. "Yeah."

"So, we're on for tomorrow then?"

"It's a date."

I perk up at that.  "Is it?  Well, hot damn!"  See? I knew that all this conversing was going to pay off in the end.

Her eyes narrow. "Didn't we talk about this already? I thought we both agreed to keep this friendship strictly platonic."

"Nah," I shake my head, "I don't remember agreeing to that.  Do you have that in writing somewhere?"  I give her my best panty-dropper smile.

Her eyes narrow even further.  As if that's possible.  "I seem to recall you agreeing.
Verbally
."

"How about we renegotiate the terms of our friendship?"

Huffing out a breath, she rolls her eyes. "I'm almost afraid to ask what you have in mind."

"How about we make things interesting-"

"As if being with you is ever dull," she cuts in dryly.

"Baby, you have no idea." I wiggle my eyebrows until the edges of her lips are tipping upwards again.  Damn if something doesn't tighten within me.  She has a gorgeous smile.  And for some reason, all I want to do is make her smile.  I think I would actually stand on my head if she would just give me a little smile.

"Oh, I have a very good idea."  She puts a hand on my chest as if to restrain me. "Just get to the negotiation part of this little banter, please."

"How about if I score an 80% on my next English Lit test, you agree to go out on a date with me?"

"Make that a 95% and you have yourself a deal."

Now it's my turn to narrow my eyes. "What about," I'd like to say
that douche bag hoser boyfriend of yours
, but I don't, "Hartley?" See how mature I can be?  Impressive, I know.

Her lips slide upwards. "Oh please, I'm not actually worried about this date-thing happening."

"Don't have too much faith in your tutoring abilities, do you?"

That wipes the smile right off her face. "I'm an excellent tutor."

"Well, we'll just have to see about that after Wednesday's test, now won't we?" I grin in response.

Her brows lower over darkening eyes. "I guess we will. This is kind of a lose-lose situation for me, now isn't it?"

"Most girls wouldn't see it that way." Honestly, I can't think of one single girl on the planet who would see it that way. But I'll just keep that little nugget of information to myself for the time being.  She already thinks I'm a conceited jackass.  No reason to hammer that fact home any further.

"I'm not one of those girls.  And I'm never going to be one of those girls."

I suddenly realize that I don't want Jordan to be one of those girls either.  I like her just the way she is.  I'm starting to suspect that I like her too damn much.  She's changing things inside me and I'm not really sure if I'm ready for that to happen.

Standing up, I grab her hands and pull her up until my body is wrapped protectively around hers. Damn but it feels so right to have her there.  To feel her against me.  To hold her close to me.  For just a moment I search her wide green gaze wondering if she feels more than she's letting on.  Is she drowning in me like I am in her?

"So how does Friday night sound to you?"

Apparently she's not feeling nearly as conflicted about me as I am about her because she answers without missing a beat, "Like you're overly confident as usual."

As much as I would love to close the distance separating us, which by the way, isn't much. I don't. For now, just having her in my arms is enough. Enough till Friday night that is.

"Let's get you home. I've got a test to study for. One I plan on acing."

She snorts and I can't help but chuckle.

Chapter Ten

"Parker, please stop tapping your foot. It's very distracting." She pauses before adding, "You seem more fidgety than usual."

Sara- I mean,
Ms. Fisk
, hovers over my desk as I quickly scan the test she just handed out to the class. Alright, in order for me to harness all my mental capabilities, I'm going to need this woman to back up and stop crowding me. Strenuous thinking of this magnitude requires a lot of extra elbow room. FYI- if you happen to catch a whiff of something that smells suspiciously like burnt toast- don't worry, that's just me doing a little something I like to call-
concentrating.

"I've got a lot riding on this test," I mutter in response. Because this is, after all, no ordinary English Lit test on
Odysseus
- this here is a golden ticket to my date with Jordan. And trust me, I've left absolutely nothing to chance. I've been studying my ass off now for two days. That's two whole days more than usual.

"Oh? Do tell."

Skimming over the first ten questions, I'm pleasantly surprised to realize that I know a lot of this stuff. I want to laugh evilly and rub my hands together but I won't. Not yet anyway. I don't want to get too cocky, too soon. God only knows what devious tricks Ms. Fisk has waiting for us on page two. So, I'll just contain myself for the time being and play it cool. You know, like I usually do.

"We're talking high stakes, Ms. Fisk," I reply somewhat distractedly.

"Hmmm, why does that answer frighten me?"

I can't resist glancing up at her with a wry grin. Damn, but this woman knows me all too well. Which is actually kind of scary now that I think about it.

Before I can utter a word, she says, "Don't answer that- for legal reasons and ramifications, I think I'm better off not knowing."

It's on the tip of my tongue to say-
damn straight
but I bite it back.

Glancing at the clock, I realize that I have forty-five minutes to crack out a 95% or better. My eyes slide back to the first page. About five minutes into it, the smile falls abruptly from my lips because questions 15-17 are ones that I'm not sure about. I'll have to come back to those at the end.

Rolling my head from side to side, I take a deep breath. If I could stand up and bounce on the tips of my toes as I swing my arms back and forth to loosen my muscles like I do right before a football game, I would. But somehow I think Ms. Fisk might view that behavior as physically threatening. So I don't. The last thing I need is to land my ass in the vice principal's office.

Been there, done that.  Way too many times to count.

Okay, I am now going to harness those mental abilities I've been talking about.

Channeling all the so called
potential
my mom keeps yammering on and on about.

I blow out a slow steady breath. Finished with page one. I flip over the sheet. Fifty questions in total. I scan the second side quickly. Hmmm. Number 43 appears to be a trick question. Actually it looks deceptively straightforward but I know it's a sly ploy straight from the calculating brain of an Odysseus spouting mastermind. Key word in that sentence was
deceptively
. And I just caught her at her own game. Ha!

Score: Parker-1 Ms. Fisk-0

I plow through the remaining questions and almost pump my fist in the air because-
oh yeah baby
, there's an extra credit question. Honestly, I don't think I've ever been this excited to see an extra credit question before.

In my life.

And even better than that- I know it. I know the freaking answer! I'm practically giddy at this point. Giddy, I tell you!

After finishing the second page, I go back to questions 15-17.

My fingers flick the collar of my shirt as I release the top button. Is it hot in here? Because I think I'm starting to sweat.  Okay. I need to concentrate. I have to channel my inner nerd. Wait a minute- what the hell am I saying? I don't have an inner nerd. Just focus...

Focus.

Focus.

Focus.

I'm focusing so damn hard that I think it's entirely possible my brain is going to start leaking right out of my ears. Yep, definitely got a brain strain from that one. But I've got to finish this. The Rocky theme song is playing in my head now.  I'm in the home stretch.  I can do this.

Alright, I think I got question 15. And 16- well, maybe. It's a definite, solid- maybe. Last one. I take another deep breath and read over the question for like the fiftieth time.

17.
How might the impression Odysseus and we receive of Phaeacia be significant for Odysseus' subsequent return to Ithaca?

Seriously, what the hell does that even mean?

Arghhhh.

I really don't know this one. I have to guess. I'm going to have to guess.
Crap!
I scribble down something-
anything
and I'll be honest- I'm totally pulling this one out of my ass. When I finally finish, I notice that more than half the class is still working quietly. But I can't stop myself from jumping out of my seat and rushing towards Ms. Fisk's desk.

Without a word, I slap the paper down in front of her. She just stares at me like I've totally lost my shit. And maybe I have.  At this point, anything is possible. Because this, my friends, is not normal Parker Montgomery behavior. Not one bit. It occurs to me that I've been saying that fairly often of late.

"Can I help you, Parker?" She annunciates the words slowly as if she's talking to someone who's not quite right in the head. She has no idea just how close to the truth she actually is.

"Umm, yeah, I'm done." I slide the paper towards her hoping she'll take the hint.

With a small frown, she eyes me silently. "Good." She points to my paper. "Now take your test," before stabbing the same finger towards my desk, "and go sit down."

"No." I think there's probably a fevered light in my eyes at this point.

Her brows slide upwards at my refusal. "
No
?"

"You have to grade my test right now. I need to know what I scored. It's really important because I think question 17 tripped me up and now I'm worried-"

And... I'm babbling like a complete idiot. Even worse than that? I can't seem to stop. The words just keep spewing forth. Kind of like diarrhea. Oh my God, I can still hear myself talking!
I'm still talking!
Later on I'll probably be seriously embarrassed about all this. Unfortunately right now- I don't give a damn. Thankfully I run out of steam before finishing with- "Can you just look it over for me?"

"You want me to grade your paper...
right now
?" She searches my eyes carefully. "Are you feeling alright, Parker?  Your cheeks look flushed.  Maybe you should go to the nurse's office and lay down for the rest of the hour."

"
What?
No! I mean, yes, I feel fine. I just want to know what my grade is. Can you look at it," and now I've been reduced to begging, "
please
?"

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of intense scrutiny, Ms. Fisk slides her black reading glasses onto the bridge of her thin nose before slowly picking up my test. "This is most unorthodox."

"Yeah, I know."  All too well...

"I mean for
you
," she clarifies.

But again, she's not telling me anything I haven't already figured out for myself. Relaxing just a bit because it seems like she's actually going to do it, I snort. All this odd behavior can squarely be laid at Jordan Witnall's dainty little feet. Like I said before- inside out and upside down. Lately I don't know if I'm coming or going. Actually, that's not completely true. There has definitely not been any
coming
involved at all. Another thing to lay at that girl's feet.

She picks up her red pen and poises it carefully over my paper. I almost wince. I hate that damn red pen of hers. Some of the papers she's handed back to me this quarter have looked as if they were bleeding profusely. I actually buried a few of them in the backyard to put them out of their misery. Yep, there was that much blood- I mean, red ink.

Every time the pen moves in her fingers, my breath hitches. But so far she's halfway through the first page and she hasn't marked one single answer! Not one. I can't believe this. I can't-

Wait- that pen is lowering- it's lowering and she's making a slash through number 17.
Damn!
I knew I was going to get that one wrong.
I knew it
. Okay. It's still okay, I reassure myself. Fifty questions- one wrong. That's still above a 95%.

She flips over the page and eyes me speculatively for just a moment as if she can't quite believe I've done this well on one of her exams. Well, she's not alone in that feeling. Without comment she refocuses on my paper. Her fingers are sliding across each question as she looks at the corresponding answer before moving on. And then her red pen makes another slash through number 35 and- what!
Not number 46!

"What!" Shaking my head, I point to the question. "That's not wrong. I know the answer to that question! It can't be wrong!"