Miss Americana

Three

"Miss Fitzgerald, I know you can do better than this," Mr. Hander said, his gaze piercing through me as I stared at my paper covered in red ink and corrections. "I understand there's a lot going on in your life, but I've seen you write much better than this."

How was I supposed to explain that English was the least of my concerns right now? 

"Our next paper is due in four weeks, and I want to make sure you reach your full potential," Mr. Hander continued. "I'm assigning you a peer editor to help you through it."

I raised an eyebrow. "And who's this editor?"

"Miles Bailey." He scribbled something on a notecard and handed it to me. "This is his name and school email. I'll be checking in to make sure you follow up, Tatum."

I sighed as I took the notecard. "Is this really necessary?"

"Yes, it is," he said firmly. "Now, off you go before you miss your next class."

I muttered a quiet thanks and left the classroom. As I headed toward the cafeteria for lunch, I ran into exactly who I was nervous to see.

"Miles!" I called out, my voice a bit louder than I intended.

He stopped and turned to look at me. "Hey, Tatum," he said, waiting for me to catch up.

"Are you in a rush, or are you headed to class?" I asked.

"Nah, it's my lunch period," he replied. "What's up?"

I hesitated, feeling awkward. "Well, Mr. Hander wasn't thrilled with my essay, and he wants me to work with a peer editor for the next paper. He assigned you. I know this might be strange, and I'm not sure I really need the help, but—"

"Tatum," Miles interrupted gently, "it's fine. It's not awkward at all. How about we meet at a coffee shop after school tomorrow?"

"Sure, that works," I agreed, relieved. "Thanks."

"I'll text you and I'll see you tomorrow," he said, giving me a small smile before walking away.

My mind raced. Should I tell BK about this when we go dress shopping later? No, she might think I'm weird or trying to get with her brother. It's just about an essay.

I took a deep breath and headed to the dining hall. After grabbing a sandwich and fries, I chatted with my friends for a bit before heading to the library to study for my calculus quiz.

Later, BK and I went to my sister's former dance teammate's boutique to find a homecoming dress.

"I can't believe this is your last winter formal," Natalia said, bouncing my niece on her hip. "Beau might cry when he sees you all dressed up for this dance and prom."

"Why?" I scrunched up my nose, examining my reflection in the mirror.

"Tatum, he's known you since you were in third grade. Now you're a senior and about to graduate high school," she reminded me.

When she put it that way, it hit me that Beau had been a part of my life for as long as I'd known him. To me, he had always been there, but from their perspective, they watched me grow up. It was true; when I met Beau, I was still wearing bows—no pun intended.

Spending time with my best friend and sister was comforting. We found our dresses and headed back to my sister's house for dinner.

"Do you know what Sydney said to me the other day?" BK asked.

"Huh?" I looked up from adjusting my dress.

She made eye contact with me. "She said you and Miles would be cute together. Can you believe that? You and my brother."

A lump formed in my throat.

"I told her I know my best friend better than that. If you wanted my brother, I'd have known by now. It's been like five years. I just thought it was strange," BK finished.

I could've mentioned that I found Miles attractive or brought up our conversation by the pool last weekend, but I didn't. At that moment, my friendship with BK felt more important than admitting that her brother was cute.

"Yeah, that's weird," I agreed, trying to keep things light.

Hopefully, this wouldn't come back to bite me.

When I arrived at the coffee shop the next day, I addressed the elephant in the room as I sat down across from Miles.

"Hey, we can't tell BK about this," I said, getting straight to the point. "She already thinks something is up."

Miles frowned. "Good afternoon to you too, Tatum."

"I'm serious," I pressed. "She'll think we're secretly dating or something."

Miles shrugged. "And if we were? What's she going to do? Ground you?"

"She's my best friend, and I don't want to make things weird," I explained, pulling out my laptop. "This is my paper."

Miles took my laptop and examined it. "Tatum, you have maybe two paragraphs here. This isn't a paper."

I sighed. "I've been a little busy."

"With what?" he asked.

I hesitated. I didn't want to admit that I just didn't feel like doing schoolwork.

"Things," I replied. "Are you going to help me or not?"

Miles smiled. "We'll outline first, and then we should stay in touch to make sure everything's on track."

"Cool."

I was nervous—why did it feel so awkward to interact with him?

"So, are you excited for winter formal?" he asked, trying to make conversation as he typed.

"Yeah," I replied, glancing at him.

"Who are you going with?" Miles inquired.

"Just my friends. Why?" I asked.

"Just wondering," he grinned. "Did you hear the after-party is at my house?"

"Your parents always manage to be out of town at the most convenient times," I pointed out.

"Perks of having a younger sibling who plays travel ball," he said with a shrug. 

"Do you know where you're going to college yet?" I asked. "I made coversation BK's going to Miami."

"Not yet. I have until April, so I don't want to rush it," he said.

"Understandable. You've got options because of football," I said.

"Do you? I heard you got athletic scholarships to Georgetown and UC Santa Barbara," Miles mentioned.

"How did you know that? I never posted about it," I asked, genuinely surprised.

Miles grimaced. "I spend a lot of time in the athletic office. It's hard not to know."

"I haven't decided yet," I admitted. "I don't want to play soccer in college. It's been my life since I was five, and I'm just over it. I want to enjoy college without the pressure of practice."

"That's fair," he agreed as he continued typing. "It would be nice to see you on the field, though."

"You know, you're not so bad yourself. I always thought you were just Bella's slightly annoying friend who was decent at soccer." He winked.

"Gee, thanks," I said, meeting his eyes. "I'm more than decent. I grew up doing dance, so it helped with my footwork. You should try it; it might help you out."

He squinted playfully. "Good one. You're back to being annoying."

"Likewise," I said with a grin.

"You might need to take me to one of those dance classes," he said.

"Don't push it. Remember what I told you," I warned.

He shrugged. "I'm up for a challenge."