The Truth About You & Me by Amanda Grace Page B

you’d just reviewed with us, so I felt a smidgen of relief as I filled in the bubble for C, and a little more relief as I read the second question.
    But that was all the relief I got. I was only marginally confident in my third answer, and by the fourth, I was lost.
    I hadn’t studied at all, Bennett, and as I looked at one question after another, I realized that I’d hardly even paid attention to what you’d taught over the past few weeks. And there was nothing I could do. I was smart, but we’d covered a lot of ground, and I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I was often distracted by watching you, your lips, your hair, your hands. Sometimes half of what you said didn’t even register, because I was too busy daydreaming about you.
    I sunk further into despair as I flipped to the second page of questions, glimpsing plenty of terms I knew, terms I remembered from class last week and from high school Biology, but the things I needed to know, the questions you posed, went over my head.
    In all my life I’d never taken a test like this, one I couldn’t breeze through, and it was miserable. Was this what it was like for students who weren’t naturally smart? Who struggled to understand the basics while I soared right on past them, aced the AP courses, and enrolled in college two years before they’d ever have the chance?
    I read the questions over and over as the students around me slowly got up, delivered their tests, and left.
    I knew, statistically, that C was the best answer, so I used that every time I guessed.
    And I guessed a lot.
    By the time I looked up, I was startled to realize I was one of two students left, and the other was already handing you her test and slinking out of the room, looking about as happy as I felt.
    I pushed my binder into my backpack and zipped it up, emotions swirling in my gut like it was a big blender. I slung my pack over my shoulder and squeezed through the gap between my desk and the next one, my flats quiet on the tiled floors, and then I was standing in front of you.
    You sat back in your chair and looked at me, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth as if you were searching for the words.
    â€œWhy?” I asked.
    You blew out a long breath. “Sorry. I just … got nervous and overreacted.”
    â€œNervous about what? I was the one who was put on the spot like that,” I said, holding on to my frayed nerves.
    â€œI don’t know. I’m worried people will realize what we’re doing, so I was trying to treat you like anyone else … ” Your voice trailed off and you looked so genuinely worried, with the space between your brows creased, that I believed you. “And then I went totally overboard.”
    â€œThat was completely embarrassing,” I say.
    â€œI know. Like I said, I’m sorry.”
    I wanted to stay angry, but it was slipping away. “We’re not even doing anything, anyway. We’ve just talked. And hiked.”
    â€œWe haven’t done anything yet ,” you said, and it wasn’t meant to be flirty or seductive, just an honest truth. You stood up and started to walk toward me, and then in a blink you’d stopped, gone back to your seat, and sat down. And I realized you had the same instincts as I did, the same magnetic pull, and then I felt stupid for worrying about the woman in the pencil skirt. You wanted me, not her. “I promise you it won’t happen again,” you said. “Okay?”
    I nodded. “Deal.”
    You pursed your lips for a long moment, and I stood there waiting, unsure of where we went from here, where we were supposed to take this next. We couldn’t kiss, we’d agreed on that, but couldn’t we be something else? Something in an area just gray enough that we could ignore the things that pushed us apart and allow ourselves to be pulled together?
    â€œCan we hang out again?”
    I’d wanted to hear those words