After the horror she had not sought to hide following the fried bird incident, after the firm go away message in the library bathroom, after successfully dodging Billy all day Thursday—the one day they didn’t have a class together—Vân Ước was astounded to see him front up to homework club on Friday. He hadn’t even double-checked the time or location with her. She assumed he’d forgotten. But he just strolled in, right on time, relaxed, confidently scoping the room.
It was awful, truly awful, that even though her official response was horrified, her heart betrayed her with a distinct skippety-thud when he arrived. She made eye contact with Jess and nodded in his direction. Jess took one look at him and mouthed wow, eyebrows up. He was a showstopper in the looks department, no doubt about it.
He saw Vân Ước and sauntered over, deftly weaving his way around the tables, chairs, and wandering kids.
Jess had been making a beeline for Vân Ước as soon as she realized that Billy was Billy. They arrived at the same time.
“Billy, Jess; Jess, Billy,” Vân Ước said.
“Hi,” said Jess.
“Hi,” he replied, not really looking at Jess.
Vân Ước looked from Jess to Billy and back again, hoping one of them would say something. Billy stared at Vân Ước, ignoring Jess. Jess looked at Billy and clocked that she was being ignored. She crossed her eyes and pulled a Jess face, and still Billy didn’t glance at her.
And, hello, this was familiar. As soon as Billy had said his perfunctory hi to Jess, his eyes had skated right over her, through her, as though she were a chair or a rock. He’d made a summary assessment: She was a nobody. An irrelevance. Vân Ước’s heart sank. This was exactly how Billy had looked at her until a week and a half ago. It wasn’t malevolent; it was simply a case of utter disregard. It guaranteed that Jess would not be remembered next time they met. Jess was a sharp-looking girl—and, more important, smart, funny, and nice. Plus, she was a human being who deserved his attention, and his courtesy.
That careless, disrespectful arrogance rekindled the anger in Vân Ước’s heart. She made sure she kept her distance from Billy as she led him over to meet Eleanor.
Oh, it was nauseating. The eye contact. The firm handshake. The warm smile. Eleanor’s Oh, you must be Jonathan’s son. The brief summary of the summer’s volunteer work at the lifesaving club. The reference from the club’s president. Eleanor gave Billy a form to fill out and welcomed him on board.
“Vân Ước, given Billy’s background with younger children and sports, I think I’ll put him with you and preps, ones, and twos—on playground duty. Can you make sure he settles in?”
“Sure,” Vân Ước said.
“Do whatever Vân Ước tells you, Billy—she’s the boss. We couldn’t manage around here without her.”
Vân Ước smiled at Eleanor, in spite of being freshly lumbered with Billy, whom she had assumed would be assigned an older student and be sent upstairs, where she need not cross paths with him.
Billy turned away from Eleanor, expecting Vân Ước to lead them back to the small kids’ area, but at the same time a boy behind Vân Ước pulled out his chair and trapped her into staying where she was. So, as Billy stepped toward her, she was sandwiched between his body and the chair. The surge of sensation that shot through her was so extreme she felt like a pinball machine on tilt. Billy’s whoa, and sorry, and step backward to give her some room was all that stopped her from throwing her arms around him.
She frowned at the insistent kaleidoscope of romance cover–worthy images flipping through her mind and gave herself a mental smack on the head. This was a boy she did not particularly trust. He was going to be working for her here. That was all. At school she would continue to do her best to avoid him, and with any luck he’d eventually leave her alone.
She pushed the obstructing chair back in and led Billy to the front of the church hall. She turned back to check that he was following, and he gave her the most confident, amused smile she’d ever seen. A smile that surely said he had felt what she had felt—or maybe it said he had read her mind and knew what she was thinking about. The smile distracted her again and redirected heat flow. She took a deep breath. Maybe mewing wasn’t so unbelievable after all. Maybe Billy Gardiner produced the sort of sparks that meant a mew was some kind of scientific inevitability. She almost laughed out loud; that was ridiculous. They reached the side door nearest to the playground. “Okay, brace yourself.”
Vân Ước introduced him to a few of the little kids. Mahad and Barney immediately involved him in a hot dispute as to which of them had farted.
“You farted!”
“I did not. You farted.”
“Did not; you did.”
“You stink.”
“No, you stink.”
Just when things were about to boil over, Billy intervened. “Who mentioned the fart first?”
Mahad pointed at Barney.
“Okay,” said Billy, his manner serious. “You work out the fart fight using ancient wisdom: ‘A fox smells its own scent first.’ And in addition to that: ‘He who smelt it, dealt it.’ Barney, you farted.”
“Okay, I did!” said Barney.
The boys burst out laughing and ran over to the cobweb-shaped climbing frame, shouting to each other. “He who smelt it, dealt it!”
Billy smiled at Vân Ước, a self-satisfied look on his face.
“Yep, you fit right in here,” she said, heading back into the church hall.