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isn’t in it and my student, a senior named Wes who’s been on a downward spiral with English since his freshman year, knows it. So he screws around and gives me crap, spends way too much time texting and not enough time listening to me until I finally end the session ten minutes early.
    Big mistake. Now I’m left waiting around for Owen Maguire for twenty-five minutes instead of fifteen. And considering how late he was yesterday, my wait will probably be longer.
    Feeling like a first grader told to take a nap, I cross my arms on top of the table and rest my head on them, closing my eyes. I didn’t get much sleep last night, so I’m super tired. I doubt I’ll sleep now, I rarely take naps or anything, but what else am I going to do to pass the time? Pace the room? Wait out front for him to finally show?
    Sounds like torture.
    I let my mind float. I think of Mom and how she wants me to come home. She misses me. I’m her only child and she’s super lonely. Her friends don’t come around much now that she’s in Concord and Dad is in jail. She’s got no one. She likes to tell me that every time we talk. No one but me.
    But I can’t afford to go visit her whenever she wants me to and I want to save up for Thanksgiving, when I have a week off. That makes more sense. Somehow, I need to convince her of that.
    But how am I going to get a week off from my job at the diner? The tutoring comes to a stop because it’s school break, but it will still be busy at the diner. I haven’t even dared ask my boss for any time off yet, which is dumb. I need to prepare early. I need to stop being such a chicken …
    I need to stop thinking about boys with pretty green eyes who think I’m a joke. I saw the amusement in his gaze at the diner. He probably laughed about me with his friends when they left. They might have asked who I was, and I bet he said
she’s nobody.
    Nobody.
    I’ve always been nobody.
    Why can’t I be someone’s somebody? I’m lying to myself when I say I’d rather be asexual or a lesbian or whatever other silly scheme I come up with. I want a boy with a sexy walk and glittering green eyes to like me. I want him to whisper sweet words in my ear that make me shiver. I want him to touch me. I want to know what it feels like to be cherished. Just once …
    “Hey.”
    I recognize him, recognize that one softly spoken word. Look at how he even haunts my dreams. His deep, rumbly voice moves through me, making me tingle, and I let loose a soft sigh. A sigh that turns into a barely there whimper when he touches my hair, his fingers tangled in the strands.
    “Wake up, sleepyhead.” His tone is tinged with amusement, and I realize I’m not dreaming.
    His voice is real. His fingers in my hair are … real.
    Crap.
    I lift my head and blink my eyes open to find him standing right above me, a smile curving his lips, his hand nowhere near my hair. Did I imagine that? “Wh—what are you doing here?”
    “I’m supposed to meet you here, remember?” He peers down at me as if I’ve lost my mind.
    Maybe I have.
    “What time is it?” I push the hair out of my eyes, my vision fuzzy, my head foggy. I must have really fallen asleep.
    “Six fifteen. For once, I’m right on time.” His smile grows and he leans his hip against the table. “I figured you’d appreciate that.”
    He showed up on time to please me. And guess what? It
does
please me, more than it should. I’m such an easy target. “I fell asleep.”
    “Clearly.”
    I rub my forehead. “I don’t usually do that.”
    “Maybe you should more often. I think you were sleeping pretty hard.”
    Wariness fills me and I stiffen my spine. “Why do you say that?”
    “Well, you have crease marks on your cheek.” He reaches out and traces them, his fingertips so light on my skin a shiver steals through me.
    I cannot believe he touched me.
    His hand drops and he pulls out the chair next to mine, settling in it like he belongs there. He’s not sitting across from