it took another four hours to do all my homework. I guess I can sleep when I’m dead.
“I’m sorry I woke you up,” she says.
The tree branches outside my window cast shadows in my room as they sway, in sync with the wind rustling on Marisa’s side of the line. It’s almost like we’re right beside each other. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just good hearing your voi—” I clear my throat. “It’s good hearing from you.”
She’s silent for a moment before saying, “I should probably go inside now. Get some sleep.”
My lips twitch. “You sound better.”
“I feel better,” she says. “Thanks to you.”
My heart skips a beat. “Sometimes we just need someone to talk to, you know?”
“Yeah,” she says. “I do. Goodnight, Austin. And thanks.”
It’s kind of crazy how awesome it feels to hear a soft voice telling me goodnight again, even if it is two in the morning. “G’night, Marisa.”
chapter six
Question: What do three days of baseball tryouts plus three days of nonstop homework equal?
Answer: An exhausted, cranky, zombified Austin. People say sleep is for the weak. If that’s true, I’m waving the white flag. Call me weak. Whatever. Just let me sleep.
It doesn’t help that trying to study while a pretty girl is working right in front of you is nearly impossible. If I do fail Chemistry, I’m blaming my momma for hiring that pretty girl. Marisa kneels to perfect the arrangements in front of the shop’s window. With her hidden behind stacks of Valentine’s bouquets and teddy bears, all I can see is her reflection in the window. And I gotta say, those jeans fit that girl just right.
Dang it. Chemistry. Book. Focus. Shifting on my stool, I look down at my opened book on the counter and scan the page. Wait a second. I flip through the last couple of pages, but it’s useless. I— I don’t remember reading any of this crap. How do I not remember what I just read? I bang my head on the counter. And again. And again.
“You’ll knock something loose in there.”
When I look up, Marisa’s leaning on the counter, with her hair spilling across her shoulders. A citrusy smell fills the air (after way too much stalkerish consideration, I think it’s her shampoo), and she’s probably saying something about science or whatever, but those lips—
“And I didn’t wake up until the rats started eating my toes.”
I shake my head. “Huh?”
She sighs. “You sure you’re okay?” She walks around the counter to stand beside me. “I don’t think you’re capable of focusing on anything for more than twenty seconds.”
“Um, wrong. Ball games last for two hours, and I can focus on those just fine.” The problem is that you’re just way too pretty. Sorry.
Actually no, not sorry.
“Or you have issues actually listening to a girl, rather than staring at her. Maybe we should just talk on the phone more often. You did great on Monday night.” She gives me a half-smile. “Thanks again for that, by the way.”
I shrug. “Don’t mention it.”
She tugs on the ends of her sleeves, pulling them over her hands. “Speaking of ball games,” she says, “since tryouts are over, will you guys start playing soon? Assuming you make the team and all.”
And she called me the smartass. I jerk my thumb to the wallpaper of newspaper clippings. “If there’s one guarantee in this town, it’s that I’m on the team.”
“Wow,” she drawls. “You aren’t cocky at all.”
Some things are worth being cocky about. Chemistry, no. Baseball, definitely. “Practice starts Monday,” I tell her. “Then it’s practice, practice, and more practice until our first game March 4th.”
“So I’m basically never going to see you again,” she says.
She’s smiling, but judging from the tone of her voice, that thought’s just as awful for her as it is for me. I glare at my book. “You’re more than welcome to eat dinner with us any night of the week. But I won’t have to do much practicing if I don’t get this crap straight. I need to pull a miracle out of my ass.”
She not-so-subtly clears her throat.
I look over at her. Even with me sitting on the stool, she’s eye level with me. Her gaze darts from me to my book, and back to me. “You know, it’s okay to let people help you,” she says. “There’s a future Chemistry major standing right in front of you, offering free tutoring for the second time. And you’ve had my number for how long?”
“I know, I know. You’re