The last person she expects to find standing by her locker the morning after her failed homework rebellion is him.

"What do you want?" She glowers at him as she opens her locker.

He looks so neat, with his blue t-shirt and grey hooded jacket and his stupid nice smile on his well rested face. In contrast, she's had a sleepless night worrying about her unfinished homework, and her tired, late-shift working mother, and she's thrown on the first set of clothes she found in her closet. Despite having showered, she feels scruffy and grimy next to him.

"Some help," he says.

The amusement in his voice is at odds with the stupid nice smile still gracing his stupid cute face. It's just an observation; she couldn't care less about his stupid face. "And what do I get out of it, cowboy?"

A look of alarm passes over his face. "Why do you think I'm a cowboy?"

"You're from Texas, what else does Texas have except for horses and cowboys?"

She knows she's exaggerating, and probably being more than mildly offensive, but she doesn't care. Besides, he seems amused rather than annoyed at her stereotypical view of his home state, so she doesn't let it bother her.

"Maybe one day you can visit and see for yourself."

Her head snaps up at that, and he looks stricken and red-faced when he realizes what he's said.

"Uh— I mean— I mean—"

He reminds her so much of Riley's goldfish Chelsea, with his mouth opening and shutting as he struggles to come up with an explanation or a response, that she has to smother a smirk.

"Save it, Heehaw. What did you want my help for?"

"Well, since I'm new here and don't really know much about the school, or about New York, I was wondering maybe if you could show me around."

He edges closer, the cockiness gone from his voice, replaced by a painful, earnest honesty. She wonders why the latter is more appealing than the former. Then she remembers she isn't supposed to find anything about him appealing.

"Why are you asking me? Why not ask Riley? She's the one who does stuff like this, helping people out, and being nice to them, and extending the hand of friendship, and all that crap."

He laughs. "I'm sure she'd be happy to help. But I'm also sure you know a lot more about the school and about New York than she does."

She narrows her eyes, studying him, trying to figure out what his motives are. She doesn't know why he's being so friendly with her, why he seems to want to hang out with her.

He looks at her hopefully, and he reminds her so much of Riley that her resolve to keep him at arm's length crumbles. "What do I get out of it?"

"I could help you with homework?"

She stills as anger grips her. She knows she acts like she doesn't care about school and homework, because it's easier to pretend that than it is to let her classmates learn about her situation at home. But that doesn't mean she wants people like him to rub it in her face.

"What makes you think I need help with homework?" she asks, her voice quietly dangerous.

He must have heard the ill-concealed threat in her tone because he definitely looks nervous as he hurries to explain. "I was at my locker round the corner, and I sort of overheard you and Mr. Matthews talking yesterday after we left history class."

If he overheard her telling Mr. Matthews that she has no one at home to help her with homework, he must have also heard Mr. Matthews say how she goes too far, and gets Riley into trouble. He's probably already made up his mind about her, convinced that she's a troublemaker. The thought both angers and saddens her.

But more, it makes his sudden insistence on hanging out with her suspicious. He either thinks he can be a good influence on her like Riley, and save her. Or he's tired of being such a good southern boy all the time, and wants to break a few rules by doing something that he thinks is exciting and dangerous in this new big city. And he's figured that she, being the troublemaker she is, can help him.

And, she has to admit, the latter sounds a bit farfetched. There's definitely more than meets the eye with him, but overall, he seems to be a rule follower, just like Riley. But she's yet to figure out his motive.

She stuffs some books in her locker before turning around to face him. "You often go around and listen to people's conversations, Goody-Two-Spurs? Didn't your mamma tell you that's not polite?"

"I didn't do it on purpose," he defends himself, his cheeks and ears going a bit red. He looks embarrassed and irritated.

When she says nothing, just raises her brow in question, he shifts uncomfortably.

"Look," he says, "You've been really nice to me ever since I got here. You came up to me and talked to me on the subway, and let me sit with you guys at lunch. I just want to say thanks."

This is the first time ever that anyone's accused her of being nice to them. It leaves her flustered. She doesn't like being flustered.

Before he can so much as blink, she grips the neck of his t-shirt and yanks him closer, pulling his face down to her level. "Let's get one thing straight, Cowboy. I'm a lot of things, but I'm not nice."

"I don't think I'd be talking to any of you if it wasn't for you," he says with utter sincerity, staring unblinking into her eyes.

Unknowingly, he's done something no one's ever been able to do before: he's rendered her speechless. She lets go of his t-shirt without even realizing her actions.

"Besides, didn't you say on the subway that we should hang out sometime?" His cheeky grin is back.

She stares at him, confused and frustrated at her inability to intimidate him. Most people back off when she gets in their face. But he just goes toe to toe with her and plays the game right back.

He stares back at her hopefully, eyes bright, that silly grin still plastered on his stupid face.

She inwardly sighs and reluctantly relents. "Alright. But I'm only doing this for Riley."

When he frowns, puzzled, she rolls her eyes and explains. "Riley likes you and wants us to be friends with you. And you're a Ranger Rick; you'll get mugged if you wander around New York by yourself. And Riley won't like that."

He grins at her knowingly. "Nice to know you care."

She glares at him. "And I don't need your help with homework. I can handle it."

"But—"

"Save it, Hop-Along." She slams her locker shut and saunters off.

He stares after her, sure she's the most frustrating, hard-headed, stubborn person he's ever met.

She doesn't bring up the subject of homework again for the next few weeks, neither in school nor during the couple of times they spend together while she shows him around Manhattan.

But then, the day after Mr. Matthews fails her in their assignment on evolution, she accosts him in the library.

"Hey Ranger Rick, remember how you offered to help me with my homework?"

"You want me to help you?" he asks eagerly.

"Even better," she smirks. "You can do my homework for me."

He sighs. "I'm not going to do your homework for you."

"But you're a huckleberry, you love doing homework and all this school stuff!"

"Maya, no one in their right mind loves homework. Except Farkle."

"And Riley."

He gestures with his hands, as if to say "there you go".

She whines, pouts, threatens, and wheedles, but he sticks firm to his decision, though he's entertained by the increasingly crazy reasons she keeps coming up for why he should do her homework for her.

Finally, she gives out a dramatic, long-suffering sigh. "Fine, Huckleberry, don't get your lasso in a knot. You can help me with my homework."

He rolls his eyes. As if he's the one who's been begging her to let him help, and she's doing him a favour by letting him.

But he's smiling as she pulls him down to sit with her at one of the tables in the library. He's not sure why, but he knows he wants to spend more time with his beautiful, fascinating blonde friend. And he's not complaining even if it's something as mundane as schoolwork that allows him to do that.

Maya's right, he really is a huckleberry.