"Or something," I say, completely mortified and still unable to look at him.
He leans in close and murmurs in my ear. "Now you know how I feel every time I see you. And it has nothing to do with how much skin you're showing."
I bite my lip to keep from smiling. I turn just as he disappears out the door.
Somehow, I'm able to compose myself and remember how to count, then spend the next three hours doing exactly that.
Apparently, on Tuesdays, Grant lifeguards at the pool. And according to Kaely, who is working the bev cart with a forgettable guy, it's the most popular day. He's doesn't sit upon the lifeguard chair shirtless, thankfully, or else there would be a hell of a lot of teen girls, and mothers too, pretending to drown just to be saved. But him--in the red shorts and the white tank top with a pair of black sunglasses--is still enough to attract the members who appreciate the artistry that is Grant Philips. He seriously belongs in a museum for people everywhere to admire. Okay, I know I'm being ridiculous.
Before changing out of my uniform, I leave a voicemail for Joey, asking when he's coming back to Kingston. I tell him that I found something I need to show him. And of course he has to call back while I'm changing and the phone is in my locker. I curse when I see his missed call and voicemail.
"Hey Lana, I'm leaving for Nantucket with my family on Thursd
ay for the Fourth. We're going to be there for a little over a week. I'll come up when we get back. I found something I need to show you too. Hopefully you can make sense of it, because everything I'm thinking is a bit crazy. Can't wait to see you."
At this point, it's all seems crazy. I hate that I have to wait two weeks, but it's not like I'm going anywhere. Maybe we could figure this out if the weirdo were more direct and didn't leave abstract messages and photos of parents-past. And hearing that Joey's going to Nantucket is disturbing, considering the photo was taken there. But it would make sense if the house in the picture is theirs.
I arrive back on campus in time for American government and take a nap before French. I probably should've used that time to shower and put some effort into looking like a human being, but the day is lost on me. It's not worth the effort.
I refasten the hair tie around my nest of a topknot, rub some deodorant under my arms and walk down to dinner in a pair of cut off sweatpants and a cropped tank top. I'm tempted to take one from Ashton's dress code and go barefoot, but settle on a pair of flip-flops.
I receive a message from my chemistry teacher before I make it out of the dorm.
Tutor is meeting you in the library at 7:00 in study room A.
Oh, crap. I turn back around and climb up the flight of stairs to get my messenger bag out of my room. I won't have time to come back after dinner.
I smile when I see Lily sitting at our table. "Hi. Come for a visit?" I didn't know were allowed visitors outside of lawyers and parents. But maybe if she's on Lance's approved list.
"Yes and no," she replies. "I'm tutoring this summer."
My day may have just improved. "Please tell me you're my chemistry tutor."
She grimaces in apology. "I'm not a science girl, sorry. I'm a writer."
"When are you meeting your tutor?" Ashton asks.
"After dinner." I sigh dramatically. "I hate chemistry."
"Then you're not doing it right," Brendan says just to be annoying. Ashton yelps in surprise when he does something to her under the table.
"Gross," I grumble.
"The Fourth of July carnival's this weekend," Lily announces. "We should all go together."
I look to Lance since I can't go without him. And he's been deemed more responsible than me by some dumbass. It's a good thing I like him.
"Sounds good," Lance replies for us both.
I leave them in the Court to meet my tutor in the library. I have to ask the librarian where the study rooms are located, and she leads me down a narrow spiral staircase to the basement level where study cages house desks and empty bookshelves. Interspersed between them are wooden doors marked with gold letters, beginning with A and eventually, study room D at the very end.
"Your tutor must not be here yet," the librarian says, flipping on the switch outside the door before unlocking it for me. "I'll bring them down when they arrive."
"Thank you," I say, entering.
The room isn't much bigger than the chemistry closet I used to hide away in at Sterling High. Yes, I'm aware of the irony now that I'm meeting a chemistry tutor ... in a closet. There's a round wooden table with a half dozen chairs. And that's it. Guess they don't want students getting distracted while studying.
But they weren't counting on my tutor either, because he is going to be one hell of a distraction.