Falling for the Tutor: A Social Class YA Sweet Romance (A March Sisters Sweet Romance Book 2) Read online

  Falling for the Tutor

  A March Sisters Sweet Romance

  Jen Brady

  © Text Copyright 2021 Jen Brady

  Published by Perch Lake Cabin Press LLC

  First Perch Lake Cabin Press edition 2021

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission. For information, contact [email protected].

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Based on Little Women by Louisa May Alcott, public domain since 1924.

  Cover created by Sweet Heart Books.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  1

  BROOKS

  IF YOU WOULD HAVE TOLD me on the first day of senior year that by April I’d be sitting in the middle of the nearly-empty auditorium at 6:45 a.m. playing the role of Tinker Bell in Peter Pan, I would have said you were nuts.

  For one, I’m not the type to flit around on stage under a spotlight, showing off in front of hundreds of people. I’m more of a quiet, sit-in-the-back-of-the-room-with-my-nose-in-a-book student.

  Two, I’m a 6’, 165-pound guy. Not exactly the spitting image of good, old Tink.

  I mean, yes, the drama club was following the tradition of having Danica Atkins—a girl—play the title role of Peter Pan. But a female high school junior playing a teenage boy was a bit more believable than an eighteen-year-old guy as a tiny, magic pixie.

  When I signed up for drama club as a last-ditch effort to pad my scholarship applications with more extracurricular activities, I’d imagined myself painting scenery or pushing Captain Hook’s ship on and off the stage. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine I’d end up cast as Tinker Bell.

  At least “Tink” was a ball of light, not an actual actor wearing tights and a leotard. Well, she was, but only in the Neverland scenes. In Neverland, Tink was played by a tiny sophomore girl named Emily, who was a ballerina. But in the London scenes, Tink was a ball of light, and that was where I came in.

  That morning, because Mrs. Ryan, the advisor, hadn’t wanted to go to the hassle of opening up the balcony and lighting booth, I manned my character with a laser pointer from a seat ten rows back in the auditorium.

  It had taken forever for the actors on stage to get hooked into their harnesses, and I was trying my best not to fall asleep in the cushy, velvety theater seat. Mom had stumbled through the door between three and four this morning and, as usual, wasn’t exactly quiet. I hadn’t wanted to fork over the three bucks for gas station coffee, and the breakfast bar in the cafeteria hadn’t opened yet when I dragged myself to school, so I’d been sinking lower and lower in my seat for the past fifteen minutes.

  “Mrs. Ryan?”

  The melodic voice broke through my sleepy haze. I shook myself, blinked the blurriness out of my contacts, and sat up straighter.

  “Yes?”

  Megan March walked toward the front of the stage, looking like an absolute goddess in black leggings and a white off-the-shoulder sweater. She twisted a piece of her chestnut brown hair around her finger and twirled it, nervously biting her bottom lip.

  She tugged on the metal carabiner that attached her harness to the rope that would lift her up. “Can you check my line?”

  “You guys are going to have to get used to trusting each other,” Mrs. Ryan said. “You’ll be checking each other’s lines during the performances. Choose a cast member and have them check you.”

  Megan glanced around at the other three people on stage. She looked as if she wanted to keep glancing for more options. I didn’t blame her. There was Danica, who’s always off in her own artsy-fartsy la-la land; Ted Laurence, who’s known as one of the biggest pranksters in school; and a short, skinny freshman boy whose name I can never remember, who always looks terrified.

  The wariness in Megan’s pretty eyes killed me. I wanted to vault over the rows of seats in front of me, run up the stairs, and help her with her wire myself.

  Finally, she turned sideways to Ted. Megan’s sister and Ted have been joined at the hip since middle school, and her sister can be kind of scary, so maybe she figured Ted would have to secure her wire properly or risk being maimed later by her intimidating sister.

  After tugging on her wires and examining the carabiner, Ted smiled at her, gave her hand a quick squeeze, and murmured what sounded like, “Don’t worry. You’ll be fine.”

  My eyes locked on their hands, and my chest tightened, even though I knew they weren’t a couple. But there they were, hands together, him acting like touching her was no big deal. Ted Laurence had all the luck.

  Confession time: Part of the reason I chose drama club to help pad my applications over writing for the student newspaper or archery club was Megan. She’s sweet and beautiful and makes everything more fun, and I’ve had a big-time thing for her since we were biology lab partners for one marking period freshman year.

  Unfortunately, half the guys in school also have a thing for her, including several buff jocks and cool preppy guys, of which I’m neither. Her last two boyfriends have been popular, muscly football players way more ripped than I am.

  I’d always had that annoying tall, lanky build. I could eat whatever I wanted and not gain weight, which might sound awesome, but when you’re a senior trying to impress a girl who’s dated football players, it’s really not. I’d managed to put on a few pounds this semester when I started running and lifting weights as prep for National Guard training, but nobody would describe me as the typical jock type she usually goes for.

  She basically doesn’t know I exist, and why should she when she has her pick of most of the guys in the senior class?

  As usual, she looked amazing. She always looks like she’s just stepped off the pages of a fashion magazine. She was wearing these tan, high-heeled boots that went up to her knees over the black leggings. The front sides of her hair had been pulled away from her face and twisted into two buns on top of her head, but the rest hung in long, loose curls. I don’t know what she’d done with her eye makeup, but whatever magic she’d worked in front of the mirror that morning made her eyes look bigger and bluer than usual. You wouldn’t even know it was not-quite 7 a.m. on a Friday morning by how alert and put-together she looked.

  I glanced down at my faded jeans and old sweatshirt. I didn’t have a prayer of looking trendy. You need to own more than one drawer full of clothes to be fashionable.
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  Mrs. Ryan clapped her hands together. “Let’s take it from Danica’s line about thinking happy thoughts.”

  The three actors playing the Darling children stood next to each other, and Danica ordered them to think happy thoughts. One thing I’ve realized since being part of this production is how bossy Peter Pan is. He’s kind of a jerk, and I’m now #TeamCaptainHook all the way. Or maybe it’s the way Danica tells them to think happy thoughts that makes the character sound bossy. I’m not sure.

  Megan clasped her hands together and cried, “Beautiful mermaids!” Her hair bounced with her, looking soft and silky.

  “Chocolate chip cookies!” yelled the short freshman boy who played Michael.

  “Arrr, pirates, matey!” Ted shouted, raising his black umbrella prop high into the air. Every time he swung that thing around, he almost smacked someone or something. It was only a matter of time before he gave someone a concussion.

  “Think more powerful thoughts,” Danica urged them.

  “Family!” Megan breathed, and my heart thudded in my chest at the raspy happiness in her voice. Why did she have to be so pretty? To torture all the guys in love with her that she’ll never know exist?

  “Chocolate chip cookies!” the freshman yelled again. I dragged my eyes away from Megan to glance at the other cast members. It would be mortifying if she caught me staring at her.

  “I’ve got it!” Ted yelled, waving the umbrella around wildly and narrowly missing Danica’s face. “My happy thought is . . . Danica in a bikini!”

  Danica giggled, and the freshman boy burst into uncontrollable snickers.

  “Ted, come on,” Megan said. The irritation lacing her voice was a bit startling because she was so rarely short with anybody. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

  We had the wires on loan for this week only, and today was the last day. We wouldn’t get to practice with them again until the week leading up to dress rehearsal. That was why we were here at the crack of dawn on a Friday morning in the first place.

  “Hey,” Ted said, an enormous grin coming to his face. “Could I yeet myself out over the audience? That would be so cool!”

  He bent his knees and looked offstage. He nodded, probably at the football player who was holding his wire, then jumped, and the wire pulled him up. His arms flapped in a swimming motion as he tried to gain enough airborne momentum to sail past the edge of the stage, but since the wires only moved side to side, he didn’t get very far before being yanked backwards, narrowly missing one of the bedposts of the nursery set.

  “Ted, please,” Mrs. Ryan said. “I want to go through the scene three times before the first bell.”

  “But this is fuuuuuuuuun!” he yelled. He dropped his umbrella and struck a “flying” pose, one leg bent underneath him and the other sticking straight out, his arm pointing upward again. “Cody, take me to Neverland!”

  After a short hesitation, he jerked to the left and then glided away. Danica and the freshman clapped.

  I don’t know why Mrs. Ryan puts up with Ted. He might be a talented actor (he and Megan’s sister won some internet movie award a few weeks ago), but he’s also a complete goof-off who never takes anything seriously.

  “I have to leave a few minutes before the bell for a cheer meeting,” Megan said.

  Did I mention she’s a cheer co-captain? Reason number 572 why she’d never notice a nerdy honor student like me.

  “That’s all the more reason to hurry this along,” Mrs. Ryan insisted. “Let’s take it from Danica’s line again.” She gave Ted a pointed look. “And no ad-libbing, Mr. Laurence.”

  “But you said we could ad-lib on this part,” he protested.

  “Not anymore.”

  Ted pouted, and Danica giggled again.

  Why couldn’t I have been good at any other crew position? I’d already tried painting scenery (that had ended after the first set I painted turned out looking more like modern art than the London skyline), singing in the pirate chorus (I couldn’t learn the choreography to save my life and kept kicking the pirates on either side of me), and manning a wire on fly crew (I’d crashed Danica into a dresser not once but twice yesterday, which was when Mrs. Ryan had handed me the laser pointer and put me on Tinker Bell duty).

  I settled in and tried to stay awake and wait for my cue, when I was supposed to flash the Tinker Bell light (well, laser pointer today) around to indicate she was sprinkling everyone with pixie dust.

  The cast got through their lines with no ad-libbing and practiced being lifted into the air on their wires, and then Mrs. Ryan directed them to start the scene with Danica’s song. Danica sang while she twirled through the air, showing off the extra two hours of rehearsal she’d put in yesterday with her backstage fly crew. It was pretty impressive, to be honest, and made having to sit through this rehearsal almost worth it.

  “Whoa!” Ted exclaimed over her singing and Mrs. Ryan’s piano accompaniment. “That is awesome! I wanna try!”

  He pulled on his wire, looking into the wings and pointing up to signal his fly crew guys. He jerked upward, then wound his arms to one side and flung them the other way. The momentum caused him to go spinning. His fly crew must have gotten into it because he started swinging back and forth sideways. He let out a whoop as he dove from side to side.

  Danica started giggling again. The freshman ducked and looked even more terrified than usual. Megan rolled her eyes until Ted grabbed her wire and tried to flip himself over into an airborne somersault.

  “Knock it off, Ted!” she exclaimed as he jerked her toward him. She was standing on the ground, not suspended, so it’s not like she seemed afraid, just annoyed. If he’d done that to her while she was in the air, wild horses (or Mrs. Ryan’s rules) couldn’t have stopped me from leaping over the seats in front of me and running up the stairs to rescue her.

  “But this is why I tried out for John instead of Captain Hook!” Ted exclaimed. The somersault failed, and he went swinging toward the wings. “Because of the flying!”

  “Cody, down! Right now!” Mrs. Ryan yelled, and Ted immediately lost altitude. Stagehand Cody was no fool. He knew enough not to test the drama teacher’s patience.

  Ted thumped to the floor but didn’t look one bit discouraged. “Can Cassidy and I have a kissing scene?”

  “No fair,” Danica said with a pout. “Cassidy’s just Tiger Lily. I should get the kissing scene.”

  Ted smirked and threw her an eyebrow waggle that she—you guessed it—giggled at. “I’d be down for that, but I don’t think the world is ready yet for that version of Peter Pan.”

  Ted Laurence had never been my favorite person, but I hadn’t realized just how irritating he was until I ended up stuck in an extracurricular activity with him. I’d sort of gotten a clue when we’d had to do a group project together for world history class, and he’d done nothing but mess around and distract Audrey and Lizzy, the girls in our group. That had been the longest week of my academic life, until now when I was stuck watching his antics at every drama rehearsal.

  “There will be no kissing scenes,” Mrs. Ryan said. “Let’s take it from the top.”

  The actors took their spots and began the scene again. I trained my laser pointer right on Ted’s forehead as Mrs. Ryan started the piano music. He looked like a total derp with the red dot in the middle of his forehead, and I tried my hardest to keep up with his movements as the scene went on.

  Megan noticed first. I could tell the moment she put it together. She gave him a weird look, then the corners of her mouth lifted and she looked away and put her hand to her mouth, probably to hide her amusement.

  Nobody else seemed to notice. Mrs. Ryan was focused on the sheet music and yelling out stage directions, and the other cast members were honed in on their lines. Even Ted didn’t mess around this time, which made the red dot on his forehead even funnier.

  I chanced a peek at Megan, even though looking away threatened the correct placement of the dot. She was looking right at me, smiling. Our eye
s locked, and I forgot to breathe as, for a brief moment, we shared the private joke.

  Then Danica giggled. “Hey, Ted, you’ve got a little something on your forehead.” She pointed to the same spot on her own forehead. “Right there.”

  Megan didn’t bother trying to hide her laughter now. I get the feeling Ted annoys her, too. They’re probably together all the time because of her sister. My nerves couldn’t handle hanging around Ted and his immature antics outside of school.

  The piano music came to an abrupt stop, and Mrs. Ryan stood up, throwing her hands in the air. “For the love of J. M. Barrie, what is so funny?”

  I should have snuffed out my laser pointer at that moment, but I was enjoying Megan’s pretty smile too much. Suspended in the air, laughing, she seemed so happy and carefree. I liked that I was the one who’d put the smile on her face, and I didn’t want her to stop.

  “Brooks!” Mrs. Ryan scolded, turning around to give me the stink eye. “That is not funny!”

  I let go of the button and lowered the laser pointer to my lap. “Sorry, Mrs. Ryan,” I muttered.

  “Violence in school is no laughing matter, what with the active shooter drills and all.” She sounded beyond offended, like I’d put a pretend sharpshooter mark on her forehead. “I have half a mind to give your folks a call.”

  I tried to look sufficiently freaked out by her statement, but the I’ll-call-your-parents threat hadn’t worked on me in years. My mom had far more pressing concerns on her mind than me getting in trouble at school—like where to get more wine-in-a-box and who to borrow money from to pay next month’s electric bill. And my dad . . . well, he hadn’t been around since before I could walk.

  Mrs. Ryan had this look on her face like she was about to tear into me with some passionate lecture about belittling the magnitude of school shootings.

  Why couldn’t I have been good at set painting? I could be happily hanging out backstage flinging paint at sheets of drywall instead of getting glared at right now.

  Mrs. Ryan opened her mouth, but I was saved by the bell. Literally. The loud, high-pitched tone of the loudspeaker sounded.