Page 35 of The Play Maker

I shake my head without glancing up.

“So…” he says, placing the Cheetos back into his backpack. “What’s the game plan?”

“You read,” I say, pushing a piece of paper toward him. “I help.”

“Oof,” he says, his brows lifting into his hairline. “You’re strict.”

I sigh and finally meet his eyes. “Austin. You’re failing. This isn’t the time for jokes.”

He blinks, like I’ve caught him off guard. His eyes meet mine and hold. Just for a second. Long enough to make me wonder if I’ve got something on my face. Then he shakes his head and that slow, crooked grin slides into place.

“There’s always time for jokes.”

I roll my eyes and slide the packet across the table and tap the first paragraph with the end of my highlighter. “Start reading.”

Austin groans. “Do I have to?”

“Yes.”

He drapes himself across the table, his chin hitting the wood with a soft thunk. “Can’t you just explain it to me?” he asks, his eyes flicking to mine. “You’ve got that student-teacher thing going for you.” He breaks out into a cocky smirk. “Very sexy, by the way.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Read.”

He lets out another groan as he grabs the packet and opens up the worksheet. At first, he’s loud. Making jokes, trying to distract me. But when he starts reading, he slows down. Words trip him up. He stumbles over a sentence and mutters something under his breath.

Another line. Another pause. He scratches the back of his neck, sighs, and starts over.

He stares at the next sentence a beat too long before starting. “The… mar…ginal… u…tility… of… consump…tion…”

“Keep going,” I encourage him.

He does, but it’s halting. Uneven. And the longer it goes on, the more tense he gets. His knee starts bouncing under the table. He rubs the back of his neck, then leans forward like getting closer to the page will help.

Then, finally, he exhales and drops the packet on the table. “This font is, like, aggressively small.”

I glance at the packet. It’s literally standard twelve-point Times New Roman.

I don’t say anything. Just wait.

He messes with the hem of his hoodie, twisting the fabric in his hands. “Okay, look. I’m trying, alright? This just isn’t…” He makes a frustrated sound and doesn’t finish the sentence.

“Do you always struggle to read like that?” I ask, even though I already kind of know the answer.

He hesitates, eyes flicking away like he’s trying to disappear into the chair. Then he shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “Yeah.”

I nod slowly, noticing how he avoids my gaze. “Have you ever been tested for dyslexia?”

He looks up at me sharply, his brows knitting together. “Yeah. When I was a kid.” He blinks, a little surprised. “You could tell?”

I lift my shoulder. “You read ‘vertebrae’ as ‘vegetable.’ Twice.”

The tight line of his mouth softens, and a quiet laugh escapes him. His smile spreads slow, dimples popping on both sides, and his eyes crinkle just enough that I have to look away for a second. I know without a doubt he gets away with so much just by showing off those dimples.

“Most people just think I’m an idiot,” he says after a beat. “Or lazy. Or both.”

I lift my eyes to his, seeing the vulnerability flashing in them.

“You’re not,” I assure him. “You just learn differently.” I pause, tilting my head. “Did you ever get help for it?”