said more seriously. She paused, her smile turning tight before she nodded. It was tentative, uncertain. Or was I just reading too much into it?
“No more secrets,” she finally said.
Chapter Twenty-Six
TATE
“It’s this big talent show at school, and my dad told us…he promised me that he’d be there for it. I’m singing a solo and everything.”
“That’s great. I bet he’ll love it.” I nodded, half listening as Sophia rambled on about her recital and dad while I looked over the test she got back today at school. I’d been volunteering at the center for almost two months now, and Shelby hadn’t fudged my hours since that first day when we initially set up the agreement. There was no way I could abuse her power like that and risk everything she’d worked so hard for here at the center. Besides, I kind of liked Sophia. She was a pretty cool kid.
“I bet he’ll bring me flowers. Roses, probably.” She talked about her dad constantly, but I had never met him—and I noticed that if she brought him up in front of her mom, the woman tightened up visibly. I pushed the thought of Sophia’s dad from my mind, focusing again on the few questions Sophia missed on the test.
“Good job, kiddo.” I patted Sophia gently on the back and pushed my chair onto two legs. “What did I tell you? If you did your homework and paid attention¸ you would ace long division.” I slid her B-plus test back across the table to Sophia and she beamed at me.
“Thanks.” There was a gaping hole in her toothy smile where she had lost one. I had seen it each step of the way, from when it barely wiggled, to her basically being able to wiggle it with a whistle, to now—the time when the tooth fairy comes. She had rushed in, pointing at the gap, beaming. Apparently, kids were extremely proud of losing their teeth. I never really knew—when I lost my first tooth, my parents weren’t home. But the nanny had told me to put it under my pillow and the tooth fairy would come. But I guess she either failed to inform my parents that I had lost that tooth, or they just simply forgot. Knowing them, it was the latter. So, I woke up the next morning to find a dried, bloody tooth under my pillow, and no gift like all the other kids in my class.
Shelby caught my eye from across the room, sending a smile my way. It had been about two weeks since our night at the playground. But between my basketball schedule and her study/tutoring/work schedule, we rarely saw each other. We were lucky to have Sundays together. Even though Shelby was the busiest person I had ever dated, it was worth every minute of waiting. Today was a great example of how she ran around like a crazy person. She was bouncing between three students who didn’t have any tutors, and Ryan had asked her to stay late to get their quarterly tax preparation paperwork out of the way. Acid burned in my stomach at the thought of them working late together, but I pushed the envy down. It was stupid. Shelby was the sincerest, most honest girl I knew…hell, if I couldn’t trust her, then I had no hope for the rest of humanity.
I looked back to Sophia. “What’s your favorite milkshake flavor?”
She rolled her eyes to the ceiling in thought. “Um, strawberry?”
I laughed. “Is that a question or an answer?”
She smothered her giggle with a hand, and her eyes shot wider. “No. Wait, not strawberry…mint chocolate chip.”
I grinned at that. For some reason, Sophia reminded me a lot of Shelby. I had come to know Sophia’s mom a little bit, simply with her picking her daughter up on weeknights. Their bond, even with Sophia still so young, reminded me of the stories Shelby would tell of her mom. I wish I had met Shelby a few months earlier—I really would have liked a chance to meet her mother and shake the hand of the woman who raised such an amazing daughter.
“Well,” I said, pushing the thoughts away. “How about if tomorrow at tutoring, I bring you a mint chocolate chip milkshake?”
Sophia lit up at that, nodding. “Okay. But wait—you’re not here on Thursdays.”
Crap, that’s right. How could I forget that? “I’ll swing by on my way to basketball. Or I’ll have Shelby get it for you. I’ll have to ask your mom