The thump of something heavy hitting the floor pulls my attention away from the words in front of me.

That’s a big bag.

I wonder what’s in it.

It looks very full.

And heavy.

“Sorry dude, didn’t mean to startle ya. My Pops had to use my truck today and I’ve got practice tonight, so I’ve had to luge my gear around. What a pain in the ass that’s been let me tell ya. I should have picked a sport with less equipment, but I love hockey ya know.”
 I nod.

Because I think I understand.

I love books.

Actual books.

Not the digital things Indy keeps trying to get me to try.

Real books, with real pages, made from real paper.

Those get heavy.

Especially the big old ones.

I take a sip of my tea and my nose automatically wrinkles.

I hate drinking from a paper cup.

“Coffee no good? Is it one of those over sweetened, crazy concoctions that’s more name than flavor and costs way more than coffee should cost?”

I shake my head, a small smile twitching at my lips.

That was funny.

“It’s tea. Darjeeling is better in a proper cup.”

“Oh, I guess that makes sense. Proper cup like a mug or do you mean more of a porcelain teacup?”

“Proper tea belongs in a proper teacup. Not a mug and definitely not a paper cup?”

He chuckles.

I’m a little surprised.

Not so much that he chuckled but at how easily it was for me to say what I was thinking.

I didn’t even think about it.

I just talked.

That only happens with Indy.

“Your book looks different today. Did you finish the other one from yesterday? It didn’t seem like you were that far.”

I look at the book in my lap. It is a new one.

Nuka sits in the chair next to me this time.

He’s leaning over to look at my book.

He’s very close.

He smells really nice.

Like apples and cinnamon.

It’s a warm smell.

Like cider or pie.

I love apple pie and cider.

“Is that Russian? You can read Russian? Do you speak it too?”

I’m reading Tatyana Tolstaya’s “The Slynx” so of course it’s in Russian.

“I don’t like translations; you always lose some of the words true essence.”

“So…. How many languages do you know?”

I shrug, “languages are easy, I just seem to understand them.”

That sounds like I’m bragging.

I don’t mean to.

This is why I don’t talk.

I don’t like talking about myself.

It never comes out right.

We should talk about him.

I want to know more about him.

I mean…

I sigh.

Deeply.

He’s looking at me now.

I’m sure he thinks I’m full of myself.

That I’m a know it all.

Other kids call me that sometimes.

I feel like we’re off topic.

So, I try and get us back on track.

“Tutoring?”

“Oh, right!” He looks away from me to reach for his backpack. Is that a blush? Is he blushing? “So we’re reading this book and supposed to write about the themes but I don’t get what that means. I’m sure Mrs. Blanchard said what themes are but I don’t remember and after my last assignment she said I should think about a tutor if I want to keep my grade up. So here we are.”

He finally finds a book in the mess that is his backpack.

Seems like he shoves everything in there with no thought to were it lands or if it gets messed up.

It’s all very chaotic.

He drops the book on the table in front of us.

Jane Eyre.

“Have you read it?” He asks looking back at me.

His eyes are really nice.

They are really dark brown.

Like dark chocolate.

I’m staring again.

Fuck.

I’m acting so fucking creepy.

I need to answer.

That’ll make it less weird.

“When I was 10.” I answer with a nod.

I had found it on my Mom’s bookshelf.

I started raiding her library when I was 6.

She has a big library.

My Dad built her a room to make into a library as a wedding gift.

And my Mom has a book buying addiction.

Which is great for me.

Cause I get to read them too.

I’m actually how she justifies it to Dad, that and being an English professor.

She says she is buying them for me.

Encouraging my interests.

I’m not sure if that’s true or she just really loves to buy books.

Either way, I get books.

“You’re serious? 10? And you understood it?”

I try not to be offended.

Easier said than done really.

But I do try.

I just nod in response.

I think I’ve said enough for today.

“And you remember it? Or do you wanna look through it? Ya know, refresh your memory?”

It doesn’t sound mean when he says it.

I think he’s being genuine.

Not making fun of me.

I shake my head.

“I have an eidetic memory. I can remember everything I’ve ever read perfectly.”

And it sounds like I’m bragging again.

When am I gonna learn, just don’t talk.

“It’s not perfect. Some things take more effort to remember than others. It doesn’t mean I don’t like to reread things either. It might be why I’m good with languages. I just know if I read something once, I can remember it….. and it sounds like I’m showing off. I don’t mean to. I’m sorry.”

Nuka looks shocked for a second before he smiles at me.

That smile is so nice.

“No wonder Mrs. Blanchard suggested you as a tutor. You’re quite the Little Genius aren’t you?”

“I’m not little.”

Nuka just laughs.