Sucking, annoying as fuck plans on Friday.
“Wait.” She rushed after me. “I do.”
“You have plans on Saturday?” Hold up. What could she be doing on a Saturday night? I couldn’t skip out on Friday, but . . . “Well, I might—”
“No. I don’t have plans on Saturday, but we don’t have to be partners. I can do this by myself.”
I stopped in front of the doors, unsure if I had heard her right. “Why would you want to do all the assignments—and if you look at his class outline, there are a lot—all by yourself?”
She took a step back. “Well, I don’t really want to, but you don’t have to be my partner. I mean, you don’t owe me or anything.”
“I don’t get what you’re saying.” I honestly, seriously, a hundred percent, did not get what she was saying.
“What I’m saying is that . . .” She stopped, brows knitting into the deep V again. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
My mouth formed around the words “what the fuck.” “Is that a serious question?”
Shortcake ducked her gaze. “Yes.”
I stared at her and waited for her to say she was joking, but she didn’t. A knot formed in my chest, coming out of nowhere. Suddenly it was painfully obvious to me, and I mean painfully. Shortcake wasn’t just awkward, she was obviously on the friendless side of things, and I don’t know why that affected me. It shouldn’t have. I barely knew the girl and guiding her into conversation was as easy as disarming a bomb with your teeth, but it did bother me.
Underdog syndrome strikes again.
I took a deep breath. “All right, I guess I’m just a nice guy. And you’re obviously new—a freshman. You seemed to be a little out of it on Monday and then you ran off, wouldn’t even come into class and I—”
“I don’t want your pity.” She sucked in a shrill sound.
I scowled at the insinuation. “You don’t have my pity, Avery. I’m just saying you seemed out of it on Monday and I figured we’d just be partners.”
Doubt crossed her features.
“I can see that you don’t believe me. Maybe it was the cookie? Well, you refused to taste my cookies last night and honestly, I was going to eat the other cookie, but you looked so tired and sad sitting there, I figured you needed the cookie more than I did.”
Which might have been a lie. There was a good chance that I had brought two cookies because Shortcake might make an appearance. Then again, I may be reading too much into it.
She was watching me like I was a puzzle, and honestly, I wasn’t that complicated.
“And you’re pretty,” I added.
She blinked “What?”
Trying and failing to hide my amusement, I turned and opened the door, guiding her into the hallway. “Do not tell me you don’t know you’re pretty. If so, I’m about to lose all faith in mankind. You don’t want to be responsible for that.”
“I know I’m pretty—I mean, that’s not what I meant.” She paused, groaning. “I don’t think I’m ugly. That’s what—”
“Good. Now we’ve cleared that up.” I tugged on her bag, guiding her to the stairs. “Watch the door. It can be tricky.”
“What does the whole pretty comment have to do with anything?”