Betting Blind (11 page)

We took our food to the “game room” instead of the “movie room.” It was off the hook. There were two big brown leather couches, a pool table, a giant flat screen, and a wall of shelves filled with games. And you guessed it: more paintings. They were all of fruit, wine, and dead birds lying around on tables like somebody just happened to drop them there. I didn’t see the appeal.

It took Irina about a minute to learn Texas Hold’em, and she wasn’t too bad. I let her win twice, and she started bragging so hard that I didn’t have the heart to tell her I was going easy on her. I looked at her sitting across from me on the carpet, blond hair falling in her eyes, face stretching from smiling so much, and I knew she was having fun. Even if I was useless in every other way, I was good at this one thing.

“Gabe,” Irina said, dealing the cards like I showed her, “prepare to lose again.”

“Okay. But if I win, I get a prize.”

“What?”

“You know.”

She blushed. But she said calmly, “Well, you won’t win.”

I beat her extremely fast.

When I showed her my hand, she ducked her head and her cheeks got red like somebody was turning up the color. I laughed and swept the cards out of the way. She glanced up at me. I leaned closer and looked into her eyes, at the excitement and shyness and smartness and humor shining out of them. And I finally kissed her. It was . . . too hot to explain. We matched each other so good, and I knew she’d been wanting me as bad as I’d been wanting her.

CHAPTER NINE

T
hat night when I got home, I ran upstairs feeling like I was in sixth grade again and just had my first kiss with Shana Meyers. Except this was better. The house was quiet, and it had a no-Phil feeling. As I rounded the landing, I noticed a crack of light under my door. Had I left my light on?

I pushed open the door, and Mom raised her head from my desk. She’d been resting her head on her arms. She gave me a fuzzy smile. “Hi, baby. What time is it?”

“I don’t know, like eleven. What are you doing in here?”

Mom sat up and blinked. “Um . . . oh, I just wanted to talk to you.”

I sighed and dropped on my bed, the good feeling leaking out of me. I knew what this was about.

“Your counselor called,” Mom said quietly.

We looked at each other. We’d been playing this game a long time, and Mom understood. She was stupid in the same way I was.

“I know you’re trying, honey.”

“Yeah.”

“But she’s worried. She said you’re failing three classes.”

“Yeah.”

Mom put a hand over her eyes as if she could rub away her thoughts. “Gabe, we moved here so—”

“No, we didn’t.” I cut her off. “Let’s not go there.”

“Well, then you have to tell me what’s going on.” She sounded upset. “The worst grade you ever got before was a C minus! Claremont is supposed to be so good!”

“Good means
hard
!” I stood up and went to the closet, hoping she’d take the hint and leave.

Mom was quiet for a second. “Ms. Tacquard mentioned tutoring.”

“I’m not doing that.” I pawed through my laundry for a clean T-shirt.

“Hold on,” she said, and left the room. I changed quickly and sat down at my desk. I would have paid a lot to fast-forward through whatever was coming.

In a few minutes, Mom was back with her angel book. She stood in the doorway and flipped through until she found the right page. “‘The roots of education are bitter, but the fruit is sweet.’ Aristotle.” She gave me a hopeful look that almost made me want to laugh.

“Mom, quotes don’t fix everything.”

“No, but sometimes they put things in perspective. Couldn’t you bring them up to Cs?”

I shrugged. “I’ll try.”

“Okay, but if it doesn’t work, you’re doing the tutoring program.” Mom was digging deep, trying to pull up some authority.

“No,” I said. We almost never faced off like this. I tried to soften it. “I’ll bring up the grades, okay?”

“Okay, honey,” Mom said, but she sounded defeated. She went to hug me, then turned instead, as if she’d meant to pull down the window shade. She was a very huggy person normally, but she knew I didn’t like to be comforted about being stupid. Because she didn’t, either.

On Monday, I did something I’d never done before in my life. It actually made me feel a little sick, because I was basically admitting I couldn’t handle my business. I told Newport, my science teacher, that I needed help.

Partly I did it for my mom, because it was the only way I could think of to bring up my grades without tutoring. But mostly I did it because of Irina. She was what I wanted, maybe in a for-real way, and I was finally getting somewhere with her. But if she knew I wasn’t graduating, and that all the stuff about me being a doctor was lies, she would run. And she’d be right. Because she was going somewhere in life, and she deserved a guy who was dialed in, too.

Also, science had always been the subject I could count on, and I wasn’t going to fail it. I just wasn’t.

So I went to see Newport after school. He was my favorite teacher at Claremont, hands down. He always looked like he was half-asleep, except when he got excited about some science idea. He had a cute wife, and on his desk he had a picture of her holding a chubby little kid that looked just like him. You could tell he was crazy about both of them, because he was always mentioning little stories that had to do with his family and saying “my wife” this and “my son” that. It was nice.

“Of course I’ll help, Gabe,” he said when I asked. “Let’s set up a study schedule. How many afternoons a week can you swing?”

I hadn’t thought about giving up time after school. “How about lunch?”

“I have to eat, buddy.” Newport patted his big stomach.

“Can we do it every other week?”

“If you’re serious about getting caught up, I don’t think that’s going to cut it. How about twice a week for an hour? Monday and Wednesday?”

“Okay,” I said, not too happily.

Newport wanted to shake on it, which I did, although it was cheesy. He looked me in the eyes and said, “We’ll get you back on track, Gabe. Count on it.” It was obvious he was just dying to pull me out of whatever trash can I lived in and dust me off and give me a future. The problem with Claremont High was they didn’t have enough losers, so when one came along, they got excited about it.

I got out of there and headed to the parking lot. I couldn’t believe I’d just signed away two afternoons a week. But I knew Newport was right; it would take at least that much to pull up my grade. Now I needed a strategy to handle English and Algebra II.

For English, I’d just buy a term paper online. I’d done that before with tough teachers. When I wrote my own stuff, papers would come back bleeding, and my teachers would get all annoyed and say I needed to proofread. The thing they didn’t know was I’d read the damn papers like ten times before I turned them in, and I never saw any of the mistakes.

Anyway, there was a Costco of papers online, and that would fix my problem. But I needed to pass math to graduate. As long as there wasn’t a bubble test, I thought I could probably pull it off.

Somebody called my name, and at first I barely noticed, I was so caught up thinking about school. But then I heard it again and turned around. It was Becky. She cut through the parking lot and hugged me hello. She was all North Faced out, with her long brown hair tucked under a pink ski cap, looking like the girl your mom is dying for you to take to prom.

Shoot. She’d texted me the day before, and I sort of hadn’t texted back.

“What’s up?” I said.

“I don’t know,” she said, smiling up at me. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing.”

She hitched her bag higher on her shoulder. “What are you doing right now?”

“I have to study.” It was an excuse, but looking at Becky, it gave me an idea. “I just found out I’m failing a bunch of classes.”

Becky’s eyes got wide. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty stupid,” I said.

“Gabe, don’t say that about yourself.”

“No, I am. I’ll probably drop out.”

Becky looked horrified, and then she hugged me again, and I realized too late she might be one of those girls who like to “save” guys. “I’ll help you study!” she said.

“No, that’s okay,” I said quickly. “I actually think I want to drop out.”

She looked confused. “But you said you were going to study.”

I looked at the cars streaming out of the lot. “Well, I haven’t totally decided yet.”

“Gabe.” Becky slipped her hands around me and rubbed my back. “Don’t stress about this. You’re not going to drop out. One thing I know is academics. I’ll help you, okay? This school is kind of intense, but you can totally handle it.”

I looked down at her. She was rubbing too soft; not enough pressure. “Thanks, Becky. That’s sweet.”

Her blue eyes were big, and I could smell her vanilla lotion. “Seriously, I tutor my neighbor, Isabel. She’s a junior. I’m helping her get ready for the SAT.”

“Okay.” I pulled away gently.

“Do you want me to help right now? I could come over.”

For half a second I thought about having her come over—not to study, obviously—but then I decided no. Becky was already too into me. It would be messed up to lead her on. And I had to keep my eyes on the prize, a certain freaky homeschooled Russian with an attitude.

“Nah, but thanks. That’s really cool of you.” I smiled at her. I learned a long time ago never to explain much to women. That way they can’t argue with you.

“Okay, well, if you change your mind . . .” She touched my arm again.

“Thanks, Becky.” I thought about kissing her on the top of the head, to let her know she was sweet, but then I thought she might get the wrong idea. “Later.”

I got in my car and headed out of the lot. Had I really just turned down a nice, hot girl who wanted me? Irina was doing things to my head. I turned toward the I-5, because I had to make a run to White Center. Tim said no more deals in public.

I’d hooked up Kyle’s friends, and Olivia and the drama girls had wanted more than I expected, so I was already out of product. The cash had been building in my closet, fat rolls shoved in old sneakers and the pockets of shirts I never wore, and I was getting close to a car. I could probably buy one already, just not brand-new. A sweet Altima had been on Craigslist for almost a week. I was worried it might disappear, but I had to time my offer just right and let the sellers build up some anxiety.

Halfway to the on-ramp, I had an idea about doing two errands at once. Then I had second thoughts. Then I decided I was done being weak. I called Irina. “You want to get that ID?” I asked when she answered.

“Are you serious?”

I loved how surprised she sounded. “Yeah, I’ll pick you up. But my car is a complete piece of junk, so you can’t say anything about it.”

There was a pause. “What are you talking about? We went to the party, remember? Your car is fine.”

“That was a rental.”

There was a silence while it sank in. I wasn’t too worried. I’d figured out a few things about Irina. She wasn’t one of those puffed-up divas who would scream at an off-brand shirt. My ride would make her laugh, and that was what she needed. Besides, I was tired of fronting. Of course, I was still fronting in other ways, like about my future, but she
would
care about that.

Finally she said, “I can’t believe you rented a car to impress me.”

“I knew when I saw you I wanted to be with you.” I was already pulling a U-turn.

There was another silence, a good one, I thought. Then she said, “How come you decided to show me your real car now?”

“Because it’s funny. And I’m getting a new car soon, anyway, so you don’t have to worry about me driving you around in this thing for long.”

Irina gave a delighted giggle. “Okay, pick me up. What should I wear?”

“Something dark. Something that makes you look older.”

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” she said.

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”