As with most of their generation, Harper overused like and misused literally. Maggie looked across the Center. It was filled with the usual cast: jocks who were trying to pull their grades up to a C so they could take the field, stoners who’d been given the choice between the Center or detention, and the nerds who tutored them. Well, except Harper, who was what some would call a hot nerd. Eric strutted through the room—that was the word, strutted, high-fiving other boys as he made it over to the check-in table.

Standing before them now, he grabbed the pen to sign the log, then offered a rakish smile.

“Any chance you can help me with algebra?” he asked Maggie.

Her face reddened as she felt Harper’s sideways glance. “Sure.”

Eric smiled again and directed his blue eyes at an empty desk in the corner. He gestured for Maggie to follow.

Maggie tried not to get wooed by his charm. Eric was royalty at their school, literally, as Harper would say, and for once with proper usage. Homecoming king. Maggie’s older brother Matt would call Eric the archetype from an eighties John Hughes movie. She had to admit he was dreamy. Dreamy—what an old-fashioned word. She was starting to sound like her mother.

She sat next to Eric, who flopped open his textbook. “I don’t get rational expressions.”

Maggie tried not to look surprised.

“I know, I know, you were doing this stuff in fifth grade.” His face flushed as if he were actually embarrassed. He was adorable even when he was uncomfortable. The world was not fair.

“No, rational expressions are super hard,” she said, lying. “And they’re pointless. When in life are you ever going to use them?”

“Right?” he said. “But I bet you will at MIT.”

Maggie’s heart fluttered: he knew where she was going to college.She scooched closer, and for the next half hour tried to stay professional while helping him work through some problems. He smelled of cheap cologne and masculinity. But she needed to keep her thoughts in check. Guys like Eric Hutchinson were trouble. And they usually didn’t appreciate girls like her. They would someday, her mom assured her, but it took longer for the male brain to develop.

“I like your shirt,” he said.

Maggie looked down at the vintage AC/DC T-shirt, one of her dad’s favorite bands. “You know tutoring is free, right? You don’t have to flatter.”

“I’m not. It’s cool.”

“All right, focus…” She smiled.

They continued with the problems. Then Eric said, “How’s your brother’s case going?”