They Wish They Were Us(7)

It’s not like scholarship is plastered on my forehead, but sometimes I swear it must be obvious. No designer loafers to offset the pleated plaid skirt. No car of my own. No summers in the Hamptons. “Who needs a beach house when you live near the beach!” Mom said when I told her Shaila invited me to the Arnolds’ place out east back in middle school.

The grant doesn’t cover everything—there are still extra expenses like uniforms and textbooks and Science Bowl dues. And all of Jared’s tuition, of course. All of Mom and Dad’s resources go into making sure we can stay at Prep with the hope that it will somehow pay off. That my baby brother and I will get into better colleges—Ivies, ideally—than if we went down the street to Cartwright Public High, where only half the class graduates.

How we would pay for college was always a sticky subject, one I tiptoed around on purpose. I pretended not to hear them fighting about it late at night in hushed tones after they thought we were asleep. “Just let her get in first,” Dad always whispered. “We’ll find a way.”

But is it worth it? The long hours Dad spends crunching numbers in a soulless office? The fake smiles Mom puts on when she has to pretend those awful wine drunks are brilliant artists? To be determined. And, that’s where the Player Files come in. I need to do well. For me, but mostly for them.

But here in Gold Coast, Mom is forever optimistic. She’s the mom who trusts just about anyone, because people are inherently good, Jill, they just are. Even after Shaila, she still says that.

It’s that same motto that made her say yes one day during a temple sisterhood meeting when Cindy Miller suggested that her eighteen-year-old son tutor Jared in English on the cheap.

“You’re off the hook,” Mom said when she told me I didn’t have to listen to Jared read aloud anymore. “Adam Miller is going to do this with him.”

“What?” I was shocked. Everyone at Gold Coast Prep knew Adam. Sure, he was unbelievably gorgeous, with long, lean arms, swoopy dark hair, and blue eyes that could melt ice. But he was also brilliant. Adam had won the National Young Playwright Award three years in a row and was rumored to be shopping scripts around to different regional theater companies . . . as a high schooler. Colleges were practically begging him to join their writing programs. He was also, obviously, a Player.

So, why the hell did he want to spend Friday nights reading chapter books with a sixth grader?

Mom smoothed her chunky knit sweater over her jeans and fastened a heavy ceramic necklace behind her head. “Cindy suggested it. He wants some real work experience, or something. Probably for his college applications.”

They were going out to dinner that night and I was supposed to go to Shaila’s for a movie marathon, but my brain basically short-circuited at the idea of getting to hang out with Adam.

Outside of school.

Alone.

Well, after he was done tutoring.

I quickly texted Shaila an excuse. Sore throat. SORRY!!!!!

She responded with a wailing face, but I was in the clear. When I told Mom I was feeling sick and staying home, her mouth turned up into a small, knowing smile. “Sure, Jill.”

Dad laughed and ran a comb through his hair. “Classic.”

Then the bell rang.

I tried to be cool and only sort of rush to the door, but Jared beat me there.

“You’re the tutor?” he said, eyeing Adam with a grin.

“Indeed, I am, buddy. You must be Jared.” Adam flashed a wide smile that hugged his cheeks. It was lopsided and formed a J shape, pink and full. He crossed his arms over his chest, causing his thin white T-shirt to ripple over his biceps. They were so perfectly round and smooth and strong. He looked so much older without the blazer and khakis all the boys at Gold Coast had to wear. My neck flushed with embarrassment. I fought the urge to lick his skin. “And you,” he said. “You must be Jilly.”

“I—uh,” I said. “It’s Jill.”

“Jill.” Hearing him say my name was intoxicating. Say it again, I willed. “Jill,” he said, like he’d read my mind, “I didn’t realize you’d be here, too.”

Before I could respond, Mom burst into the foyer.

“Adam! We’re so glad you’re here to help Jared. We’re heading out for the night, but our numbers are on the counter next to your check. Pizza’s in the kitchen. Help yourself to whatever you want.” She and Dad were off.

Adam threw me another one of those body-melting smiles and then turned to Jared. “Ready, dude?”

Jared groaned but then disappeared with Adam into the kitchen. I plopped down on the couch and turned Bravo on the lowest volume possible, to make it seem like I was busy and definitely not eavesdropping.

An hour passed before Jared tore through the room. “My turn.” He grabbed the remote and switched it to some stupid superhero movie.

When Adam didn’t follow, I tiptoed into the kitchen, curious if he was still there.

“Hey,” he said when I appeared in the doorway.

My face instantly flushed. “How’d he do?”

Adam stretched his arms overhead, revealing a thin strip of skin and a faint trail of curly, feathery hair between his jeans and his shirt. I had to suppress a sharp inhale.

“Pretty good. Kid’s a sweetheart.” He gestured to the half-empty pizza box on the counter. “Join me? I hate eating alone.”