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never noticed Evan is so buff, but he does play football. His black hair waves in an unruly mess. His head tilts to the side and he catches sight of me. He turns his upper body, leaning a forearm along the back of the chair. The slight smile falls and his eyes burn as they search mine.
    I will my feet to move forward, but they balk as my breath catches in my throat. It’s THE Evan Whittaker. Looking at me .
    The ridiculousness of my thoughts hit me and my feet are free. I’m imagining things. As I walk, Evan watches me the entire way. Sliding into the seat next to him, I set my backpack on the table.
    He continues to gawk. To my horror, blood creeps up until my face burns.
    Evan clears his throat and gives his attention to the open history book on the table. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have stared.”
    I shrug. “It’s okay. I’m used to it.”
    He looks up, his eyes narrowing as his lips pinch in a frown. “You shouldn’t have to go through that. I can’t understand why people believe the worst about you. It wasn’t your fault.”
    My heart skips a beat. “What did you just say?”
    He freezes. “That I can’t believe people are so mean to you?”
    “
No, the other part.”
    His head leans closer to mine as his eyes soften. “It wasn’t your fault.”
    The deep blue eyes offer a peace I haven’t felt in months. But this feeling is a lie. My back straightens in irritation. “How would you know? The police think it was.”
    He averts his gaze, twisting his pencil on the table in half circles. “Maybe so, but I don’t believe it.”
    I wait, sure this is a trick, that he will burst out laughing at my gullibility. But instead, he curls up the corner of his mouth as though he’s trying to figure a way out of this misunderstanding.
    He sighs with a frown. “Did you read the history chapter?”
    “
On the Cold War? Yeah. It was boring, but I read it.”
    “
Was there anything you didn’t understand? Anything you need help with?”
    I thumb the pages on the corner of the book. “No, I don’t have trouble understanding it. I just didn’t do it before. That’s why I’m failing.”
    “
You’ve got a lot to make up. You’re lucky your teachers are willing to work with you.”
    “
I know. Poor Julia .”
    “
Would you rather they were mean?”
    “Yes. No. I don’t know. I deserve it.” I shake my head.
    “
Don’t you believe in mercy, Julia?”
    I look up in surprise. His head tilts to the side, his lips slightly parted. Staring into Evan’s face, I find myself believing mercy is possible.
    His hand covers mine and grips lightly. I gasp, fighting the urge to glance down to confirm where his hand has landed.
    “
Does a homeless person deserve mercy?” he asks, his voice warm and tender.
    “
I suppose that depends on who you ask.”
    “
I’m asking you .”
    “
Yeah, but…”
    “
What about a woman with small children who has a fatal disease? Does she deserve mercy?”
    “
Of course.”
    His hand lifts to my cheek, my eyes held in his gaze. His fingers stroke so lightly, I’m sure I imagine them. “Then why not you, Julia Phillips?
    Words stick in my throat, not that I’m even sure what to say. My thoughts have turned to sludge. My head feels fuzzy and breath stales in my lungs.
    Turning away, I take a deep breath while my face burns again.
    Evan clears his throat and flips a page in the book. “I know you said you don’t need any help with the chapter, but I think I should do something to count this as tutoring so I’ll quiz you. Then we’ll move onto English Lit.”
    We spend the next hour going over history, older English Literature pieces, and then brushing up on trig problems as we pretend nothing just happened. When he studies his notes I sneak glances to make sure he is really here, sitting next to me. He looks up and graces me with the most beautiful smile. It’s no wonder half the student body has some level of crush on him.
    “
You’re picking this up really fast,” he