“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.”
He didn’t wait for me to answer. Instead, he picked up the box and walked toward the back of the kitchen, leading to the deck that jutted out over our backyard. I followed him through the screen door. He dropped the box down on the glass table and disappeared back into the kitchen. When he returned, he was holding two glasses full of ice and two cans of soda.
“Thanks,” I said when he handed me a cup.
But before he took a sip, he dug into his pocket and pulled out a metal rectangle. He unscrewed the top and poured a dark and shiny liquid into his cup. “Want some?” he asked, his eyebrows raised. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”
I nodded. The first taste made me cough.
“It gets easier,” he said with a laugh.
I wanted to tell him that I’d done this before. I was cool, too. But I just brought the glass to my lips and sipped again, listening to the ice crackle beneath the booze. It burned in a way that ignited the nerves in the tips of my fingers. Then I did what I always did when I was anxious. I looked up. The stars swirled overhead and I could spot my favorites with ease. My dad’s instructions played on a loop in my head. Find the North Star. Look down to the left. Then tilt your head just a little more. Bam. Big Dipper. A calm settled into my skin.
I took another sip.
“So, Jill,” Adam said, holding out the last letter of my name. Ji-llllll. “Who are you?”
I laughed. “Excuse me?” The nerves came flooding back. I forced myself to find Orion’s belt and focus on the three blinking lights instead of Adam’s question.
“You heard me,” he said. “Who are you? Who is Jill Newman?”
I chewed the inside of my mouth and looked down, then back to him.
“I’m no one.”
“That’s not true.”
“No?”
“No. You’re just still becoming.”
My bottom lip fell. It was so precisely true, it stung.
“That’s okay. I am, too,” he said. Adam held out his drink as if to meet mine in a toast. “We’ll find out together.”
Then he reached over and slipped my phone out of the pocket of my jeans, a motion that made my insides turn to jelly, my toes curl. “Here,” he said, typing with flying fingers. “I’m texting myself so I have your number.”
Later that night, hours after we had finished the last of the cold pizza crusts and he had gone home, my phone buzzed.
I know who you are, Adam wrote.
Oh yeah? Do tell.
My new critic. His typing bubble paused, but then Adam sent an enormous block of text followed by an explanation. The first scene from my next play. You’re the first to read it. Tell me what sucks, Newman. I can take it.
My heart thumped as my eyes decoded the words. I bit back a smile and responded.
I’m honored.