Sorry this took so long to get out. Hope you enjoy.

...

9th Grade, High School

Age: 14-15

January 2007

…

TJ closes his locker door and spins around, ready to meet up with the rest of his friends in the cafeteria for lunch, but finds his route blocked. Standing in front of him is a dark-haired boy he barely recognizes. It's only after he speaks that TJ can place him. Although the boy's voice is much lower than it had been at Third Street, it still has the regal tone TJ remembers.

"TJ Detweiler," the older boy says. "Just the freshman I was looking for."

He extends his hand. "King Bob, to what do I owe the audience?"

Bob gives him a firm shake.

"Nothing bad, just a chat if you can spare a minute," he says.

TJ shrugs and nods his head. King Bob was never known for taking his time, too impatient to lend too much of his recess to any one thing. He figures he can give Bob his attention and still enjoy most of his lunch with his friends.

"I'd like to talk to you about your place as a former king," Bob continues.

In elementary school, Bob had always been concerned with his legacy. He wrote a memoir, which is still in the library somewhere, probably stuck in between all the old rulebooks in the student-created section. And, of course, there was the time he had the entire playground building mud pyramids while calling himself Pharaoh Bob. As king, TJ had never really put much stock in a legacy. If TJ could spend his year as playground king enjoying his recess while making sure everything ran as smoothly as possible, he was happy. He didn't need to be remembered for anything big or fancy, just functional.

So, he is a little shocked that Bob is taking time out of his day to talk to TJ about this, but at the same time he isn't surprised at all.

"Is it really that big of a deal?" TJ asks. "We're a long way from the playground."

Bob nods his head, so serious that it's nearly unbelievable. TJ looks around for Jordan and Jerome, ready for the two to jump out from hiding spots to tell him this is all a huge prank. King Bob was a Prankster Prince, after all.

"I'm assuming you're running for freshman class president."

TJ gives a noncommittal shrug. He has given it a small amount of thought. His friends all assume that he'll do it. And that he'll win with no contest, but he's not the only kid with a knack for leadership. CJ Rottweiler, for instance, was a playground queen, something completely unique. And he's sure there are a bunch of kids just like them from Washington Middle. The only person he has told about his doubts is Spinelli and she has been encouraging him to run regardless of whether he wins or loses. But, he isn't sure.

King Bob raises an eyebrow at his apathetic response. "You are, aren't you?"

"I haven't made my final decision."

"Why not?" Bob demands. He crosses his arms. "You were born to lead."

TJ resists the urge to rolls his eyes at Bob's dramatics. Some things just don't change.

Bob waves his hand, as if he's not even going to consider TJ's admission.

"You'll do fine," he insists. "You're good. You've always been good. It's why I insisted on you to ascend to the kingship."

"So it was you."

He nods.

That had been a rumor around the playground during TJ's reign, that King Bob had personally chosen him to succeed King Freddy. It wasn't that Freddy disliked TJ, but TJ questioned Freddy's authority too much. The older boy had a heavy hand when it came to punishment that TJ didn't agree with, so it wasn't too far fetched to believe that Freddy would choose someone else.

For a second, TJ considers who Freddy would have chosen, who Bob had ousted to put him in charge and why he insisted on replacing that kid with TJ.

"Everyone wants to rule the word, but not everyone should," Bob says, taking TJ out of his thoughts. "You have a lot of social capital, TJ. I know you know that. You'll do a lot of leading just because of it."

"It seems like a lot of responsibility."

"Well, you won't have much say in matters unless you run," Bob says.

And, with that, Bob lets him go.

TJ waits until Bob has rounded the corner of the hallway to move himself. All five of his friends are already sitting at their usual table in the cafeteria when he arrives. He takes the empty seat next to Spinelli and is thankful they're already mid-conversation because his mind is still reeling from his run-in with Bob.

He takes his lunch out of his bag, but then leans back in the chair, his hands wringing together in his lap. Does he run? A big part of him wants to do it, but he's just not sure. This is a lot bigger than being a playground king. There are actual events he'll be in charge of and budgets to deal with and people will look to him for things that are much more important than what to do with a kickball in the dumpster.

That's if he wins. There's a decent chance that he won't.

He sees a small hand rest on his fidgeting ones and he takes a few deep breaths to steady himself, focusing on Spinelli's chipped nail polish instead of his current inner turmoil. He only looks up at her when he feels like he finally has his breathing under control. Spinelli is staring at him, concern all over her face, and he gives her a single shake of his head, silently begging her not to say anything. He isn't ready to air this to the whole group yet.

She can read him too well though and he can see that she isn't convinced. So, before she can make a stink, he flips their hands and intertwines their fingers, giving her three quick squeezes. He hopes that will signal to her that he is okay for now. It seems to work at least a little because she turns back to the table, effortlessly re-entering the conversation as if she never left it. But after she makes a comment, she squeezes his hand back - to remind him that she hasn't forgotten about it, that she isn't going to let him distract her.

His heart, which had calmed down, starts a frantic pace again when she keeps a hold of his hand. They hold hands all the time. When he meets her after ballet, she has barely stepped off the final stair to the sidewalk before she reaches out for him. He'll play with her fingers sneakily under the counter at Kelso's when he is convinced no one is looking. But they've never held hands for extended amounts of time near their friends.

He knows that whatever they're doing is playing with fire. His feelings for her aren't exactly kosher in terms of their group dynamic and he remembers what happened last time someone felt less valued. While they're not nine anymore, he is still the leader of their group and if he starts 'playing favorites' he might very well destroy his friend group.

Everything about this situation confuses him. At nine, when his friends all went their separate ways because he couldn't choose between them, it had been one of the hardest days of his life. He doesn't quite feel the same anymore. His feelings for Spinelli are so different than they are for everyone else. Yes, he loves spending time with the guys and Gretchen and he would hate to lose touch with any of them, but his stomach turns at the thought of losing Spinelli.

What worries him isn't the idea of starting a relationship with her. He knows she likes him. While it may not have been obvious before, it has been since homecoming. She had gotten visibly upset when Megan King had asked him to dance and while he had gone into the night trying not to throw his feelings for Spinelli in Vince's face, he had to do something when she walked out of the dance and into the night. So he followed her as she walked off, staying a few steps behind as she tore off her heels and walked barefoot down Grand Street, until she stopped at the corner where they needed to turn to their neighborhood. He grabbed her shoes and ignored the tears she hastily tried to wipe away so he wouldn't see, and then offered to race her to Kelso's. Old Man Kelso gave them milkshakes and space for them to talk, but they didn't touch the topic. He spent more time trying to cheer him up by blowing bubbles in his milkshake and making faces to get her laughing.

Now they just skirt around the subject. She wears his football sweatshirt in lieu of her leather jacket more days than not and the highlight of his day is walking her home from ballet.

He knows he is doomed. Vince has been suspicious for months and Mikey has not-so-subtly hinted his distaste for TJ's handling of the situation - or rather his lack of action. But TJ doesn't know what to do. Dating Spinelli changes the dynamic of the group, the group that everyone looks to him to protect. On the other hand, playing this game with her has the potential to blow up in their faces.

It feels like his options are Spinelli or the group as a whole. At nine that was an easy decision.

The bell rings, signaling the end of the lunch period, and TJ sighs. Between Spinelli and King Bob his anxiety levels are going through the roof.

He stands and follows the rest of the gang out of the cafeteria. First semester he didn't share any classes with any of his friends. This semester he has gotten a little luckier in that he has gym with Vince. Usually the two walk down to the gym together after lunch, continuing whatever conversation they were having at the table, but today he stands toward the back of their group, the last to stand and the last to start walking. As Vince and Gus lead the pack out of the cafeteria, Spinelli grabs TJ's hand again and pulls him out of the hoard of students leaving for class and against a wall.

"What's going on?" she demands.

"I'm fine," he says. "Don't worry about it."

She crosses her arms. "You aren't fine. You spent all lunch in your head. So spill it."

He glances at the clock behind her and shakes his head. "You'll be late for class. I promise, we can talk later."

She eyes him. "Are you picking me up from ballet?"

He smirks. "When don't I?"

A small hint of a smile busts through her angry exterior. "Okay. Don't think I'm gonna forget."

He slings his arm over her shoulder to guide her back into the mob of students. She won't forget. When Spinelli wants to know something she is a master of wrestling it out of her victim. But, he does want to talk to her about it. He wants her opinion on his potential running. Hopefully talking it through with her will give him the courage to tell the rest of his friends his fears.

…

During gym class, they run a mile before they start their activities. Because it isn't timed, Vince doesn't feel the need to sprint out ahead of everyone. He and TJ jog, fast enough that they're still among the first group of finishers, but slow enough that both of them don't exert so much energy that they can't talk.

Vince absolutely loves gym class. Unlike the rest of his schedule, it's the one time of the day where he barely needs to try and his teacher will still love him. Easiest A he will ever get.

It's also his only class with TJ. Every one of his classes has one of his friends in it. He and Gretchen share the majority, their history and gym classes switched but otherwise they follow the same schedule. Their English class has Spinelli in it and Gus is in their earth science class. The only person he doesn't share a class with is Mikey and that's fine because he sees him at lunch. But he likes having gym with TJ because it's a class that's much more conducive to conversation and fun than the others. He also likes the one-on-one time that he seems to have so little of since they started high school.

The two boys race the last tenth of a mile and then are told to hang out until the majority of the class finishes to start a dodgeball game.

"LaSalle! Detweiler!" the gym teacher calls out. They both look up. "Can you set up the dodgeball floor?"

They nod and head to the bin so they can place the balls at center court.

"Can I ask you a question?"

Vince looks up from the ball bin and nods, squeezing the dodgeball in his hand to see if far it will fly when thrown. Sometimes the softer ones don't work as well.

"What do you think about me running for class president?" TJ asks.

Vince laughs. "I just figured it was a given."

Since Mr. Dudikoff announced that freshman class president elections would be held at the end of January and he was starting to take names, Vince was just waiting for TJ to announce that he had put his name in the running. This type of thing was right up TJ's alley and had been since elementary school.

"You think I can do it?" He gives TJ his are you seriously asking me this look. "This is bigger than Third Street, Vin."

"If anyone's got this in the bag, it's you," Vince says. "Who are you gonna have run with you?"

TJ shrugs. "I don't know. I don't even know if I'm going to run myself, but you guys will be the first to know if I do."

"Oh, come on, you know you're gonna run," Vince says as they keep grabbing the balls from the bin.

"There's some stiff competition," TJ says.

Vince rolls his eyes. "Oh, yeah? Who? CJ? She's been to maybe three meetings all year. And that Hamilton kid from Washington is a pretentious dipshit. I don't care if he was king of Fifth Street or not, there's no way he'd beat you."

TJ shrugs again and Vince continues.

"Besides, I think everyone knows we need a president who can handle the Ashleys or else we're just going to be at their mercy, you know?" Vince thinks about how those four could steamroll over anyone unprepared. "You win, fill your cabinet with us, and they'll stay in their place. And if they don't we'll just sick Spin on 'em."

Vince can't help but grin, knowing that TJ is well on his way to folding. TJ has been his best friend for so long that it is almost too easy to read him. There is no doubt in Vince's mind that TJ will come to his senses, sooner rather than later, and will run for the class presidency. And win. TJ will definitely win. Among their freshman class, TJ is a popular kid. Everyone likes him, just as they always have, and Vince is popular too. Between the two of them, this election should be a no-contest.

It'll be just like at Third Street, when TJ chose him to be one of his bodyguards and then gave everyone else made-up and less important positions so as not to make them feel bad. When they win they can make Gretchen the treasurer and Spinelli can be the brawn they need if anyone decides to question their authority. Mikey and Gus will be the lovable bystanders, the cheerleaders they'll need while brainstorming ideas.

He can just picture it in his head. Four years of essentially ruling the school with TJ. Yeah, he could do that.

He aligns the balls at center court and turns back to TJ.

"If you need anything, I'm your guy," he says. "You just let me know what you decide."

TJ nods. "I'll think about it."

…

During the winter athletics season, TJ doesn't do a sport. He isn't tall enough or talented enough for basketball with Vince. After his braces came off, his mother forbade him from joining the hockey team. As quick as he is on the football and baseball fields, running for the sake of running never appealed to him so track was out of the question. That didn't leave him any options so he decided to sit it out instead.

His parents weren't upset at his lack of winter extracurriculars because it gave him more time to work on his schoolwork. Becky, with her high GPA at their father's college alma mater, is currently making him look terrible. His grades have never been as high as hers. At Third Street his teachers used to be excited at the beginning of the year, as they all loved Becky, only to tell his parents during the conferences that he was as quick as a whip but had a difficult time focusing. When he was in middle school, his parents used to make comments about him growing out of his crazy monkey boy behavior; now his father has made it known that he thinks TJ is just being lazy and that he will not tolerate that in his house, Theodore.

So, when he gets home he is supposed to do his homework and usually he does try to do that. But then his math problems frustrate him or seem to take forever and he decides to take a ten minute break, which turns into an hour break, and then he's doing his work late into the night - alternating between texting or online messaging Spinelli and doing math problems.

Now that it's the beginning of the second semester he knows he should start off on a good foot, but after he spends an hour on a couple of math problems that shouldn't take him that long, he sets his homework aside and decides to play a round of video games until he needs to leave to walk to the ballet studio. He dies with not enough time to play another round before he leaves so he turns off the system and heads upstairs.

Both his parents are in the kitchen. His father usually isn't home this early, but having traveled for work over the weekend he has been coming home early the whole week. He sits with a crossword puzzle book while his mother is readying a pot of something for dinner.

"Hey," he says, peeking his head in through the doorway. "I'm going to go hang out with Spinelli for a while."

"Are you going to do your homework?" his mother asks in a leading tone.

"Sure." When he sees both his parents frown, he thinks quick. His mother knows he leaves at this time every day and usually doesn't stop him, but his father is a lot stricter. "She's going to edit my English paper with me."

The fib seems to appease them both. His mother smiles.

"Oh, that's great," she praises. Then she turns to his father. "You know, Flo told me she got all As first semester."

His father turns to him. "Maybe some of those As will rub off on you."

TJ sighs and through his teeth says, "Maybe." Then he heads out before either of his parents can make any more comments.

He grabs his English paper out of his backpack for good measure. He wouldn't put it passed his father to want to see the red marks on it.

He kicks at the sidewalk as he walks toward Mademoiselle Pavlova's. He wishes his parents would stop comparing him to Becky all the time. He and Becky have very different gifts. While they both have drive, Becky has always been the more studious of the two and more of a brownnoser. TJ, on the other hand, would rather be outside, unconfined by convention. School had been manageable in elementary school because they had two forty-minute recess periods and gym class that went outside. Middle school and high school have been difficult to say the least.

He stuffs his hands in his pockets and tries to stuff those thoughts down. He can't get sidetracked by that today. He needs Spinelli's opinions on his running for class president. He has so many other more important things than his parents' opinions of his lackluster schoolwork.

He takes up his typical spot sitting on the bike rack in front of the ballet studio to wait for her.

It isn't much longer before the doors open and the girls in Spinelli's class begin to walk out. The Megans walk two-by-two down the stairs, their noses up in the air. Megan King is complaining about something to the other three but they don't come close enough for him to hear. There are a few other girls that TJ doesn't recognize, girls that travel from other towns to be taught by Mademoiselle. The doors close and TJ crosses his arms. It isn't unusual for Spinelli to be the last one out. She isn't a huge fan of the majority of the girls in her class and she often gets pulled aside by Mademoiselle. It isn't much of a secret that Spinelli is one of her favorites.

Finally the doors open again and Spinelli walks out.

"Hey, slowpoke," he jokes. She rolls her eyes and he watches her slowly takes the stairs. He frowns. "You okay?"

"Yeah, sorry," she says. "I just have this huge blister on my foot."

He winces. Recently, when he is ready on time in the mornings, they've been walking to school rather than riding their bikes. It doesn't happen often but of course today was one of those days so they don't have the option of putting Spinelli on her bike. He could have walked beside her, pushed her down the sidewalk with one hand on her handlebars and one hand on her back. But today they'll just have to tough it out.

The idea comes to him in a flash. He bends down.

"Hop on," he says. "Your chariot awaits."

He doesn't need to look to know she rolls her eyes.

"You're such a dork," she says, a slight chuckle fighting through as she finishes. But, regardless, she wraps her arms around his neck and he hooks his arms under her knees as he stands.

"So, a measly blister brought down the Great Spinelli?" he teases.

She slaps at his chest.

"You try running from track practice across town to the ballet studio and then standing on your toes for two hours and tell me your feet don't hurt." She rests her head on his shoulder. "I've been practicing a lot on my own too, every chance I get, so I shouldn't be surprised my feet are shot, I guess."

"Any particular reason you're trying to destroy your feet?"

He can feel her shrug. "Mademoiselle Pavlova is going to announce the solo for the spring recital soon and, I dunno, I really want it."

"You'll get it. Mademoiselle loves you."

"She isn't going to give it to me if I don't deserve it and I wouldn't want a handout anyway." She scoffs. "Besides, I want to beat those four no good powderpuffs all on my own."

"You're up against the Megans?"

"Not just them, but yeah," Spinelli says.

He shakes his head. He doesn't know a ton about the Megans. At school they stick to themselves, their noses up thinking highly of themselves no doubt. The Ashleys are the premier popular clique in school, partially due to their status as cheerleaders, and the Megans are just sort of there. At the beginning of the year he vaguely remembers the Megans petitioning for the school to also have a dance team, but it was vetoed due to a 'lack of funding' and the girls were told to join cheerleading instead. Since, the girls have all but dropped the whole high school hierarchy and focused on their outside endeavors.

All he really knows about them is what he hears through Spinelli, who rarely has anything good to say about the majority of the girls in her dance class. When Mikey came to the agonizing decision to quit dance in order to better pursue his singing, Spinelli lost the only real friend she had there and, if TJ was being honest, he thought she would quit too. But Spinelli is nothing if not determined.

Spinelli lifts her head and pokes a finger gently on his cheek.

"Don't think that because you're prying into my life I forgot about what happened at lunch today."

"And here I was thinking I threw you off my scent." He adjusts her on his back. "I actually do want to talk to you about that."

"Alright, well, you've got me. I'm all ears."

He tells her about running into King Bob before lunch and how the older boy insinuated that he thought TJ should run and how when he talked to Vince about it in gym Vince made it seem absurd that TJ had any doubts.

"Everyone just automatically assumes I will," he says. "And I guess I just don't know if I should."

"Well, why wouldn't you?" she asks. "What's holding you back?"

He kicks at a pebble while they wait to cross the street. He is glad that she's on his back so she can't see his face right now. He feels as pathetic as he probably looks, biting his lip and running his tongue over his teeth as he stalls. The walk signal glows and he waits until they're safely across the street to tell her what's really bothering him.

"I guess it's...everyone expects me to be president." He blows out a breath and when she doesn't cut in, he keeps going. "Being a leader is one of the things, one of the only things, that I'm really really good at and...I don't know. I guess I just don't know what that means if I don't get elected. I guess I'm just scared of losing."

It's not so much the losing. He would be okay knowing that the person who beat him was a better choice. Maybe it all goes back to Becky and his parents. His entire life has been about being a leader. It was always what he could fall back on. He wasn't a great student, but he was a stand up classmate. He was dependable and loyal. If he doesn't get elected, what is left of his character? What is left for him to do if he isn't good at anything?

"Well," Spinelli says, her cheek pressed right up against his. "If you don't try, you automatically lose. So, it's worth giving it a shot, right?"

His lips curl upwards.

"That's some wise advice," he jokes.

"Well, you know, I have been known to dabble in advising from time to time," she says, going along with his humor. "With varying levels of success."

"This seems pretty solid, Advice Girl." His grin stretches as he remembers the old nickname Spinelli acquired briefly at Third Street.

"So, does that mean you're running?" He nods and her arms tighten around him. "Who are you gonna run with? Vince? Gretch?"

Either of those two would be logical choices. Vince was class president for the majority of the time they were at Third Street and Gretchen held the position herself for a year. They're both smart and both well-liked. Either would make a fine choice. But Vince is so busy with sports and Gretchen would get frustrated with his knack for procrastination. Then a better idea pops in his head.

"What about you?"

She stiffens against his back.

"Me?" she splutters.

"No, the other girl I'm currently giving a piggyback ride to," he jokes. "Yes, you."

"Why would you want me to run with you? I'm no good for politics, Teej."

"Come on, Spin. Think about it," he says. "We're a great team and we'd get to spend a lot of time together."

She can't argue that. He and Spinelli have always made a great team. Even before he liked her, he would always divvy everyone up during missions so the two of them were together. As for the time commitment of Student Senate, most of the meetings are during lunch which they already spend together. It would, however, give them an excuse to spend more time together working on their speeches for the election and then, if they were elected, overseeing the class projects and activities. It seems like a win-win to him.

Spinelli stays silent on his back. The fact that she dropped her instantaneous refusal means she is at least considering it. So, he throws in one last thing to seal the deal.

"Did you know that everyone at Third Street used to call you Queen behind our backs in sixth grade?"

"Wait, what?"

TJ hadn't known about that until his reign as king was over. The fifth grader he had chosen to succeed him, Justin Sanchez, had worriedly asked TJ if he needed to choose a queen. Originally, TJ had been confused, thinking Justin was being ridiculous, but then the kid let slip that the playground assumed that TJ had given Spinelli the title 'Royal Warden' as a cover-up and that they had been calling her 'Queen' behind their backs all year. He had felt so humiliated that Justin spent ten minutes trying to placate him, insisting that the playground didn't really think he was a girl-liker.

Regardless of whether Justin was lying or telling the truth, it didn't make him feel better because it was right around that time that TJ remembers first realizing he had a crush on Spinelli. After Justin let that cat out of the bag, he spent many restless nights wondering if subconsciously he had chosen her new position as a cover up.

When he tells her the story, he doesn't tell her that part. He stops with the playground calling her Queen and Justin nervously anticipating having to choose one as well.

Spinelli giggles and it makes him grin. It's rare to hear her giggle. She tries to repress it so much, preferring snorts of laughter to keep up her rep. He loves hearing it, knowing that she is completely present in the moment. This is a part of herself that she doesn't let many people see and one of those people is him.

"See, it's you and me. We ruled over the playground. Why not the high school too?" he finishes. When she doesn't answer, he gives her a way out just in case. "If you really don't want to, I'll ask Vince. But I'd love to have you as my VP."

She blows out a breath. "I mean, it would be nice to spend more time with you at school."

"Is that a yes?"

"Ah, who am I kidding? I'm in," she says.

He gives a small whooping sound and spins them around on the sidewalk. Suddenly, all his fears seem to fall to the wayside. They've got this. They'll get elected and everything will work out. It has to.

They're debating election slogans when they make it home. His neighbor Mrs. Wilson is sitting on her porch and waves to them as Mr. Wilson comes out with a large glass of tea for the both of them. When the gang was younger the Wilsons were more than happy to have the kids traipsing through their yard as they traveled between the Spinellis and the Detweilers. All their initials are carved in the big tree in their backyard, complete with the addition of Gus's initials carved in during the summer between fourth and fifth grade.

Spinelli waves back when TJ can't, his arms busy hold her, and then puts her mouth to TJ's ear as they continue on toward her house.

"So, you know how Mrs. Wilson is a huge gossip?"

TJ shakes his head. Maybe he'd heard his mother talk about something Mrs. Wilson said over the years, but he had never taken much notice.

"Well, apparently, she saw us holding hands a couple weeks ago and of course she told my mother."

TJ's heart starts beating rapidly. "Oh, yeah?"

His voice comes out smooth somehow. Miraculous, really, considering how jittery his gut suddenly became.

"Uh huh."

She doesn't add anything more. She has to feel his heart racing and the way his body has tensed up.

"And you're not gonna tell me how Bob and Flo reacted to their little Pookie holding hands with a boy?" TJ asks. "Come on, Spin. I'm dying here."

She giggles. "Are you really?"

"Spin!"

She full belly laughs now and he almost wants to drop her, but keeps a hold on as he turns into her driveway.

"Oh, come on. Are you really scared of Bob and Flo?" she asks. She adjusts just enough so she can reach over to pat his cheek. "How cute."

Spinelli's father is a private investigator, which is only slightly less intimidating than her far-fetched tales of him being a spy or part of the Mafia that she liked to tell through elementary school to keep up her rep. As goofy and quirky as Bob Spinelli is on a typical day, TJ is sure that Bob could murder him, bury him in some forest, and no one would ever know. Spinelli doesn't have a sister, so he doesn't know how her dad is going to react to her and boys, but he doesn't expect Bob to be welcoming him with open arms. His dad isn't half as close to Becky as Bob is to Spinelli and Sam Detweiler pulled his grandfather's World War I weapon out of a box in the attic and left it on display in the living room when Becky got picked up for Prom.

He stops at Spinelli's door and she slides down his back. The breeze feels cold where she was just pressed against him.

"You should see your face right now," Spinelli says with a smirk. She shakes her head at him. "Don't even worry about it. My mom pried a little but I threw her off. Convinced her that Mrs. Wilson is old and senile, all that jazz. It's not like we're going out…"

She trails off, looking up at him through her eyelashes. His stomach flutters as he takes her in. She is wearing his football sweatshirt over her ballet outfit, a messy topknot instead of the braids she wears now instead of pigtails.

"Uh, yeah."

He has to change this subject or else he is going to get himself in trouble. He still hasn't figured out how to navigate all this between the group and her. So, he changes his tone and reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket.

"Actually."

Spinelli's eyebrows jump up her forehead and her mouth opens just slightly.

He pulls out his English essay. "I was hoping you'd help me with this?"

She visibly deflates and it's only then that he realizes she thought he was going somewhere else with his train of thought. He wants to kick himself. What is he doing? He has to be more careful. He doesn't want to accidentally hurt her while he figures out what he is going to do.

"Oh, yeah," she says, reaching over to grab it. Her eyes immediately drop down to the pages rather than meet his. "Sure thing."

"Sorry for the sudden change in subject," he mumbles.

"No, it's fine," she says. She finally looks back up at him and it's like the last couple of minutes didn't happen. Her face shows no ounce of discomfort. "You know, I was thinking, if we can get you a good grade this half, maybe you can bump up an English class level. Then we can have class together next year."

He had been surprised, just as all their friends had, to see Spinelli's schedule at the start of freshman year. He knew she liked to read and that could have been the reason behind her being in the higher level English class, but it turned out that she was in honors classes across the board. When they all shared their schedules together at Kelso's, she had hidden hers until Vince grabbed at it and even Gretchen had expressed some surprise at what classes she had. Granted, in middle school it was easy for her to keep attention off her grades. The only class that was separated by intelligence level at Spiro T. Agnew was math, and even then it was only regular math and advanced math, those kids being put into the pre-AP classes upon entering high school.

She's not in all the highest classes. While she is still in an honors math class, there's the advanced track math that leads to the two different AP calculus exams senior year. Gretchen and Vince are in one of those and Gus is in the other track. But, regardless, they had all been shocked. Spinelli's excuse was that it didn't help her rep if people knew she actually worked hard and got good grades. She let it slip that Mrs. Grotke had helped her hide it and that after that she had gotten the rest of their teachers to do the same with their praise. That's the only time in recent memory TJ can recall Gretchen actually getting angry with Spinelli.

English is really his one shot at a class with Spinelli. It's the only class he does semi-well at on his own and with Spinelli's added guidance, he thinks he could get a high enough grade to warrant push to the honors class. He might have to pull out his charm as well, but he is willing to do it if it means spending more time with her.

"You really think we could do it?" he asks.

She nods. "Are you ready to work for it?"

School is not his forte. But if he could get an A, it would get his parents off his back and get him to a place where he could be in one of Spinelli's classes. That's the motivation he needs. He nods his head and watches as she takes her backpack off, reaching in for a colored pen.

And then they get to work.

…

There will be one more part to January coming up soon. Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think!