‘Fuck, I’m sorry,’ I quickly apologise, tossing my bag to the floor beside me, then internally berate myself because she doesn’t like cussing—she told me such during our first tutoring session after I’d already sworn a billion times. ‘Didn’t mean to scare you.’
‘It’s fine.’ Her voice is shaky, and her nostrils flare as she breathes deeply, clearly also trying to hide that she needs to calm herself.
Still, I can’t help but wonder why she was so worried about me seeing what she’d written. Laughter bubbles in my chest at the thought that for all I know, Honey’s writing some filthy fan fiction in that notebook, like Wolfman’s twin sister likes to write. Maybe I need to googleGeorgia Hartlater, find out if she’s from a show or something.
I suppose I haven’t earned the privilege of knowing what Honey really likes yet. What’s happening here is purely transactional, not a budding friendship. Of all the people in Willow Ridge High, there’s no way I’m Honey’s first choice for a new best friend. Which reminds me—I fish the concealer out of my bag and slide it across the table. ‘Here ya go.’
Honey’s eyes stay glued to the concealer for a few seconds of silence, her throat working, before she quickly grabs it and stuffs it into her bag.Georgia Hartrepeats in my stupid fixating mind as I watch the notebook get packed away too.
‘Thank you.’ Honey’s baby blues flutter up to mine, swirling with a bittersweet mix of gratitude and agony that her polite smile doesn’t suggest. They’re always drenched in emotion, giving away her true feelings even when she presents herself otherwise. It must be why she’s always looking away, only ever offering small glances.
‘So, um, shall we start with math again first or … ?’ she asks.
There’s something robotic about her today—little animation in her voice unlike that time when she was alone with me outside the locker rooms, smiling and giggling.I really fucking enjoyed hearing her laugh. I don’t think anyone in the whole high school—besides the one girl she sits with in homeroom, Daisy—probably knows the sound, and that makes me smug. Like I’ve struck gold, and no one knows.
Honey pulls a textbook and her usual yellow notebook towards her, talking through what she thought we could cover in our session. I promised myself I’d try to pay better attention today, but just like in most lessons, my mind has a different idea.
After pressing my knuckles hard into my thigh to try to make me focus, I’m pretty sure she asks me a question, as she angles her head as if waiting for a response. Yet, all I say is, ‘Sounds good. Who’s Georgia Hart?’
She blinks at me, lips popping open. ‘Um, nobody.’
I try to give her my best pleading eyes—ones that remind me of when I’m eating and our new puppy, Trixie, is beside me trying to convince me to throw her down some food, which I usually do. I don’t have a lot of self-control. ‘Go on, you know you wanna tell me. It’s on my mind now, I gotta know.’
There’s a tightness in her jaw as she stares back at me. ‘Sawyer …’
‘Blue …’ I counter, my smirk playing out.
This time she takes a longer blink, as if to steel herself—just like she did in our other sessions. Wow, she really doesn’t like the nickname. It makes me want to call her it more.
She asks, a faint blush rising in her plump cheeks, ‘Are youalwaysgoing to call me that?’
And I just respond, ‘Are you always going to have baby blues?’
The little huff she makes is adorable—and it has me buzzing, that reaction enough to fuel me for a week alone, just like her laugh did. Because winding up Honey feels different to teasing everyone else. Honey tries so hard not to be noticed, not to be perceived, that she fights every little reaction she has to me—which I’m not used to girls doing.
But I bet she does the same at home. She’s probably exhausted from all the hiding and pretending, ducking her head and getting on with it. It sits there like a challenge for me—like a bucking bull just raring to be ridden—being the one to charm that emotion from her, help her let go for once, when I know how hard it is always to have to bottle it up. She probably doesn’t have the sad luxury of being able to fight back occasionally.
Honey lets out an exasperated sigh, though a small chuckle is mixed in there somewhere. ‘You are … never mind.’ Her eyes dip back to the textbook. ‘Can we please get back to math?’
Not a chance.
‘I’m what? Go on, say it. I won’t tell a soul.’ I mimic zipping up my lips.
It takes her a few seconds to contemplate it, but then she giggles out the words, ‘You’re insufferable.’
Bingo. I lean forwards, courting her with my smirk and whispering, ‘Oh, I love it when you talk dirty to me, Blue.’
‘Sawyer!’ Her eyes go as wide as saucers, the apples of her cheeks staining a deep red now—almost as deep as that secret notebook of hers. I’ve got the good girl flustered and it’s magnificent.
I see it as my chance to try once more, for my own sanity. ‘Please tell me who Georgia Hart is. I ain’t trying toblackmail you, but with the way my brain works, it means I’m gonna latch onto that until you tell me.’ I can already see myself getting told off in class for wondering too much about who Georgia Hart is and not enough on how to ask for directions in Spanish. ‘I mean it, I’ll keep pestering youallyear until you do.’
The fear in her eyes at the prospect of me annoying her for the rest of senior year is downright comical.
‘You promise you won’t laugh at me?’ she asks, teeth tugging on her bottom lip. She leans in closer to me across the table. I get a whiff of her scent—it’s sweet, something floral with a little vanilla mixed in there too. It’s the kind of smell I’d associate with a happy, warm home. How ironic.
‘Pinky promise.’
I hold up my pinky and her gaze zaps straight to it, jaw tensing. She rolls her lips, then gives a light nod—as if for herself, not me—and carefully wraps her pinky around mine. Her eyes never leave our entwined fingers the whole time, like she’s marvelling at how easy and unthreatening a touch can be. Pride climbs into my chest knowing I could give that to her. How I want to give her more.