Beauty and the Baller (Strangers in Love #1)(51)

I ease up from my desk. “Sit down, Bruno. You’re a big boy. Running back, right? You can hold it for five minutes, then hit the bathroom between classes.”

He lingers near the door, debating, and I narrow my eyes at him.

“Don’t test me. I will give you a time-out.” I have no idea what a time-out means for a teenager, but I can come up with something on the fly . . . “You can stand in the corner for the rest of the period. Your choice. Your consequences.”

He heaves out an egregious exhale and plops down at his desk.

I walk to the front of my desk and lean against it. “You’re more than just football players; you’re smart young men who need this class. You need to pass to play football.”

Bruno rolls his eyes. “Just give us an easy A. Or a B. We won’t tell.”

I resist the urge to tap him on the nose like Sparky.

Toby shifts at his desk. “We can do the questions at the end, Ms. Morgan.”

Bruno guffaws. “You’re just being nice because you like Sabiiiiine.”

I take a step to Bruno’s desk, my voice sharp. “No talking about my sister.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies, eyes widening. “She’s a nice girl. Real cool for a freshman. Like super awesome.”

I open his book, flip the pages, and point. “Read this aloud. Act one, scene two, here.”

Looking annoyed, he leans down. “‘But, for mine own part, it was Greek to me.’”

“Good,” I say. “It’s a common saying we use every day, although most people get the actual quote wrong. Instead, we say, ‘It’s all Greek to me.’ Do you know what it means?”

“That the speaker didn’t understand what was said.” He smirks. “A lot like this play. I keep reading it, and nothing makes sense.”

Everyone laughs.

I nod. “Maybe reading it is like slogging through mud . . . or tackling a big defensive player. Do you let those players beat you?”

“No,” he mutters.

“Right. So let’s pretend Julius Caesar is an opponent, one you must beat to get to state. One step at a time.”

He sighs and opens his notebook. “All right. You did save us from the goat thing. I’ll cut you some slack and get to work.”

One of the girls raises her hand.

“Yes?”

“Is it true you’re dating Coach? Is that who left you the rose on your desk?”

I glance over at the long-stemmed yellow rose that was here when I came in. Andrew. He said he had a gift for me this weekend— “Granny told me you were dating Coach,” Milo says.

“Milo told me,” Toby says.

“My hot cheerleader girlfriend told me,” Bruno adds.

“Does everyone know?” I ask as I raise my arms.

They all nod.

“He’s pretty hot,” a girl murmurs under her breath.

“Don’t tell him,” I mutter, and then I’m saved from further comments when the bell rings and they grab their books and laptops.

Bruno stands and walks to the door, grinning back at me. “You sure we have to do the questions?”

“Yes!” I call out. “Ask me again, and I’ll double it.”

He scoots out of the room, and I wilt and lean over the desk with my head in my hands. God help me. I need a drink. Maybe a toke of that e-cigarette.

“Ms. Morgan?”

Shit, I thought they were gone. I rise up from my desk. A long sigh comes from my chest. “Toby, what do you need?”

He shuffles his feet. “Uh, I wanted to, you know, talk to you about Sabine. I—I really like her.”

Yeah, buddy. I’ve noticed, and Sabine and I have discussed her going out with Toby, but . . .

“She’s a freshman, and you’re a junior. In the grand scheme of things, that may not seem like much of an age difference, but for her . . .” I squint. I really don’t know what kind of young man he is, but I’m protective of my sister. And the truth is I’m winging this.

He nods, his throat bobbing. “The first day I saw her, I—I thought she was the prettiest girl in the whole school.”

“But do you know her, Toby? Her personality? How she’s different, and when I say different, I mean that in a brilliant way.”

He straightens his shoulders. “She has autism. I got some books about it from Dog’s.”

“Okay.”

“I want to, like, ask her out, officially, on a date. Maybe to the movies. Actually, I’ve already asked her, and she said I had to ask you, so . . .” He shrugs.

Movies? In a dark auditorium? Hell to the no.

But at least she told him to ask me . . .

“She isn’t allowed to date yet, Toby,” I say gently.

He looks at the ground, then back up at me. “I know you don’t know me, but I think she’s incredible. Smart. She helps me with my history. I know she doesn’t like to touch her eraser and that the fire alarm makes her jittery. She rubs her ring when she gets anxious. She doesn’t always get what people say, and I like that about her. She’s not like other girls. She says what she thinks, too, and there’s no pretending.”

“How many girls have you dated, Toby?”

“A few. I had a girlfriend last year.”