Truth.

chapter three.

The blonde watched carefully as the male went through her writing and made marks and symbols, correcting her spelling and grammar. He scratched the back of his neck a few times while reading the last part of her writing, then handed back her paper.

"Er, you have... Some mistakes," the boy laughed, placing one of his hands in his jean pocket.

Maya scanned the paper, not one sentence left unmarked. "Uh huh."

That made the other chuckle again. "I swear it's not that bad! Just pay attention to your grammar and spelling... And figurative language, and-"

"I get it, cowboy, I told you I sucked," she sighed, running a hand through her hair to comb it to one side.

"And I told you that I'd help you get better," Lucas answered, taking the paper from her hands gently. "Some of these are just repetitive mistakes. Look." He pointed to the thin sheet of paper again, tracing his fingertips along the word "serendipity" spelled incorrectly several times throughout the story.

The blonde squinted at her paper, then shrugged. "Yeah, yeah okay." She stared at her handwriting; they were all hurried strokes but not in a way that made it look like chicken scratch, though it was obvious she could've been more careful. In contrary, there was Lucas' handwriting in red, neater and tidier.

Maya scratched the back of her neck absentmindedly, looking over at him. "So. That's all? I just come in, write a piece of whatever, and you grade it?" She raised an eyebrow, unconvinced in how this was going to benefit her.

"Sure," Lucas shrugged, his lips curving upwards into a smile. "I mean, I had this thing at my old school. There was a writing competition and our practices were exactly like this. The coach would come in, tell us a prompt, and we'd write about it. Then they'd grade us." He placed the tip of his index finger onto her paper. "That's really the only way I can—I mean, The only way I know how to teach you." He turned so his eyes were on hers again. "Unless you thought I would prepare presentations about subordinate clauses and relative pronouns each week, and make you bored out of your mind."

This made the female crack a smile. "No, you don't seem like the type of guy to do that, even if your glasses do make you look like a nerd."

Lucas put a hand to his heart in a dramatic way, making it look like he was offended. "I don't just look like one, ma'am, I am one. Full-heartedly and full-mindedly."

Maya burst into laughter. "Full-mindedly?"

"Full-mindedly," the boy answered, a playful grin on his lips. "Maybe full-mindedly will be our always."

"You really are a nerd."

—

"So you're saying she's not intimidating?" Farkle quirked an eyebrow at his best friend, one of Ernest Hemingway's books in his hands.

Lucas shrugged, avoiding Farkle's unconvinced expression. "I mean, she's not a drug dealer, for God's sake. You act like she's a criminal."

The brown-haired boy rolled his eyes. "Right. And I'm the only one who doesn't trust her." He put his attention on his book, flipping to the page he last read from. "When did you two become friends anyway? One day ago? You're way too trusting, man."

"Maybe," the blonde answered, his head over Farkle's shoulder to skim over the text himself. He then averted his gaze.

Farkle exhaled deeply, then closed his novel and placed one hand on Lucas's shoulder. "Look, I'm not judging you."

Lucas glared.

"Okay, I am," Farkle admitted, tilting his head. "But all I'm saying is... Well, be careful. You're going to get hurt one way or another if you keep believing in everybody. Not everybody's a good person."