Avix Inquirer:
Spotted, The Playboy Pitcher charging up the steps to the library. We know he’s not grinding the books, so maybe ‘grinding’ something else? I’d bet five fins he’s discovered the dusty, dark corner we call Romp-her Row. Poor Librarians.
Right on time, a bag is slammed onto the desk, and not with gentle hesitation like before.
“Good morning to you too.” I grin, lifting my eyes to her, and frowning when I do.
She looks worse than she did last night. Wet hair in an ungroomed ball on her head and even darker circles beneath her eyes, but this time, they seem slightly swollen and red, like not only did she not sleep much but maybe cried a bit. She’s wearing the same garbage sweater again, and this time, there’s a stain, probably spilled beer, right along her right breast that wasn’t there yesterday.
“Rough night?”
She tenses, a blush creeping up her porcelain cheeks, but says nothing.
There has to be something wrong with this girl, and as much as I want to call her out on it, I have class soon, so time to get moving.
Apparently, she thinks so, too, ‘cause she gets right to it. “Did you happen to get anything down last night?”
“Sorry to disappoint, but I don’t go down.”
Her hands freeze over her keyboard a moment, but again, no response comes.
Man, she’s no fun. Not a laugh or a flirty “oh, but I do” comment meant as a not-so-subtle offer.
Nada, nothin’.
A frown builds. “I did the first couple questions before I got distracted.”
Last night, when I got home, Echo and Drew had company, like I knew they would, and like good teammates, they made sure there were extras.
I was hoping for a reaction, it’s really the only reason I told her, to tease her a bit. To make her anxious or nervous or fuck, I don’t know, blush. Show signs of the real-life girl that’s got to be in there, and cut back a bit of the robot mode she’s stuck in.
Of course, I get nothing.
“That’s good.” She nods. “A little effort is better than none.”
Little effort?
Little effort?
I sit forward and knock my knuckles on the tabletop right in front of her.
Her eyes dart up to find mine angry and annoyed.
“Clearly, I hate school, hate classwork, but I did manage the past three and half years of it on my own. I’m not some unmotivated asshole. I get up by five every morning to work out before working out with my team. I practice my craft, in some way, every fucking day. Watch game film, study stats. Every. Single. Day. I hold records for the shit I’ve accomplished because I work my ass off and am now that fucking good as a result of that effort. Despite what you read in the paper, princess, that ain’t me. So, don’t treat me like some frat boy fuckup.”
Her brows snap together, her fingers curling into her palm. It’s as if she’s trying to figure something out, but what is lost on me. I can’t gauge this chick for nothing.
Finally, she nods. It’s slow, small, but it’s there.
I’m sure that’s all there will be of that, but then her eyes meet mine, and the shine in them has my anger fading.
“I didn’t mean it that way,” she nearly whispers, not once looking away like she did every five seconds last night. “I know how much work you put into your craft; I didn’t mean to insult you.” Her features pull, as if she’s struggling in some way, with what I don’t know. “Being an athlete is life consuming and I’m supposed to be here to help, not stress you out or add any new problems, so if it’s okay, let’s get started. I don’t have too much time this morning.”
Funny. She’s sorry for her comment, but no retraction of the statement, huh?
“I’ve got you for two hours.”
“It won’t take us that long. I expected—” She stops herself and speaks again. “I’ve printed all the pages we need, and highlighted the key terms from the questions, so all we have to do is read and paraphrase.”
“I’ve got you for two hours.”
“You have to turn these in, in two hours.”
“Don’t much care right now.”
She sighs and drops her head, rubbing her temples with her fingertips. “Could you please just start the work?”
“What’s your problem?” I cross my arms and drop back against my chair. “I never met you before our first session, but you act like you’ve got me pegged and can’t stand the thought of helping me out.”
A strange, tangled expression sweeps over her, as if she’s at battle with her own mind and has no idea what she’s even thinking, making it impossible for me to guess.
And I’m kinda feeling like being a dick.
Tutor Girl wants me to hurry, huh?
I scoot my chair back to stand and her eyes follow my every move. “I’m gettin’ a coffee. Be back.”
She begins to say something, but I don’t wait around to hear it. I walk toward the front of the library, where a coffee bar sits.
Unfortunately, it doesn’t take as long as I hoped, and I’m back to our dreaded table in minutes.
I set coffee in front of her, and she stares at it like it’s the best and worst thing she’s ever seen.
Her brows pinch and she drags out her next words. “I really shouldn’t…”
“You askin’ or tellin’?”
“Definitely not asking,” she says with a soft chuckle, looking to me as she wraps her hands around the paper cup. “Thank you. That was … thoughtful of you.”
Thoughtful? Me? I’m not sure anyone’s ever called me that. I’m not even sure why I bought her a coffee in the first place, but she was on my nerves, so when I got to the counter I said, “two fancy coffees that taste good” instead of one. Weird, since I’m not exactly a coffee drinker.
Yeah, I know, that makes zero sense, her pissing me off and trying to get rid of me shouldn’t make me wanna buy her shit, but I did, and it’s done.
Maybe now she’ll thaw a bit.
She takes a few small sips, her eyes closing as she does and when she opens them, it’s with a small twitch to her lips. We go over the questions and highlight the key points of each one and then she sits back in her chair. “Okay, why don’t you get started while I check my emails and I’ll review as you go.”
Or maybe not, and now I’m irritated again.
“So, tutoring consists of you doing shit on your computer and supervising while the student does their work alone?”
I don’t know why I’m arguing. I don’t want to be here any more than she does, right? She’s the one who didn’t want to tutor me, and sure, I could have done this shit at home, avoided this entire session, but why should I?
I expect her to snap at me, but she doesn’t.
Instead, she offers a small smile and gently closes her laptop. “Maybe we haven’t worked together enough for that yet.”
“So, when you get comfortable, you just do your own thing and count the dollars coming in?” Why am I being such a dick?
The girl pulls a breath in through her nose. “I’m not trying to make this easier on me, I swear.” She shakes her head. “But we did go over the prompts already. The next step is to read and that’s independent work. I’ll be reading over each answer to make sure you have all you need and help you get there if you don’t. You will get full credit for this, I swear, but it’s up to you to read the passage.”
My frown deepens, but she keeps going. “When you have an exam or an essay, things will be a lot different. We’ll have to be extremely collaborative, but this isn’t that type of assignment.”
“Whatever.” I set my coffee down after a single sip and start the damn questions.
Despite her earlier claim, she’s completely involved throughout the entire assignment. I’m no idiot, but I can admit I have a hard time focusing on schoolwork when the subject holds no interest to me, something she seems to understand.
“This is good and should put you above the mark to play tomorrow. It might even allow you a tiny bit of leeway on the exam coming up, but that will depend on your professor. You might want to remind your teachers you need it graded stat.”
“Oh, they know. Coach Reid made sure of it; the man always has our backs.”
“When it’s convenient,” she mutters to herself, but I’ve been known to have supersonic hearing.
“You realize you only have this job because of him, right? He’s the athletic director. You tutor athletes.”
She shoots to her feet, a bit of sass I didn’t expect following.
“I’ve been working for the school since my freshman year. I came in as a student tutor, in fact, long before I was moved to the athletic department. So yeah, now I work strictly with athletes because their passing somehow became more important than the guy trying to make grades to keep his scholarship or a single mom who can’t afford to fail because she hardly has the time to be here in the first place.”
“And athletes don’t have those same problems?”
“Some do, yeah.” She tosses her bag over her shoulder. “Just like some don’t, and I don’t see how an athlete, who has no desire to do anything other than go pro after college, meaning they throw away all their years of learning here, some who are here at no cost to them, is priority over those of us who want more in life. But sports are heaven and Coach Reid is God, so who cares about us poor peasants.”
With that, she storms off, and I find my ass on my feet, trailing hers.
“Yo! Wait a minute.” I move to catch up with her, which only takes a few steps since my legs are twice the size of hers. “I said hang on now.”
She stops on the second step, and I place myself in front of her, moving down a couple spots, so we’re eye level.
I gently grab her arm to hold her there, but when her eyes shoot to mine with undeniable concern, I quickly let go.
“Look, sorry I said all that, all right? But I don’t appreciate you bad-mouthing someone who’s like family to me.”
Her jaw sets, her lips pressing tight. “I can … respect that.” She swallows. “We’ll avoid the topic to cut out the problem.” She speaks quietly, gives a tight-lipped grin, and walks on past.
I turn and watch her walk away, which is a total waste of time, since I can’t make out the shape of her ass hidden by all that cotton.
It’s maddening, and you know what? So is she.
Swear she does all this to irk my nerves.
Speaks but says virtually nothing.
Stares but hides her every emotion.
Wears that stupid fucking sweater.
It’s almost as if the girl lives in some sort of invisible box, one she keeps locked tight around her, and if I were to try to punch past it, I’d be met with a triple layer of bulletproof fucking glass. My knuckles would be reduced to fractured fragments first try.
Not that I’d try.
If I did, though, I already know she’d simply keep doing what she annoyingly does.
The exact opposite of what I expect her to.
Meyer
I hustle away from Tobias as quickly as possible, biting the inside of my cheek to keep my emotions in check. Emotions that seem to be all over the place.
Having to sit and listen to him praise his beloved coach isn’t something I factored in, nor is it something I can stomach.
It was clear, right there in those blue eyes of his. His coach means a lot to him. The man is obviously an important part of his life.
I bet he’s supportive and uplifting, maybe even a father figure for him, like a good coach would be.
Like a good man would be.
I wonder what he’d say if he knew, if his opinion would change.
Not that it matters.
Reality is as sad as it is serene.
Speaking of the devil, a text comes through demanding my presence at the man’s office, so off I go.
Of course, he’s on the phone when I get in, and leaves me to wait there for several minutes without so much as acknowledging I’ve entered the space
I stand several feet away from the wooden desk, fighting a frown as I stare at the plaque proudly displayed at the edge of it.
Coach Thomas Reid it reads in bold, golden letters, Coach of the Year printed in cursive just beneath it.
The sole qualification must have been having a winning season.
“Meyer,” he snaps, and my head jerks up.
“What?”
“Are you hearing me?” he asks, but he’s not looking for a response, his obnoxious sigh quickly follows. “I said I’ve pulled a few of your guys and gave them to that other girl.”
My muscles clench and I take a step closer. “What do you mean you pulled a few of my guys?”
“I mean, I pulled some of your ‘students’ and assigned them to the girl you recommended.”
“You said you needed another person dedicated to your department. I never would have introduced her if I had known she would be taking from my schedule.”
“I did need someone, and now I have her, and I’ll give her whoever the hell I wish.”
I take a deep breath, look at the one and only potential bright side here and hope that just maybe …
“Tobias will take precedence.” He kills my thought quickly. “The others you can fit in wherever so long as they pass their classes and can play, but you had too many blocked out days for the hours my pitcher requires.” He tosses a paper my way.
It falls to my feet, so I bend to pick it up, noting Tobias is slotted Monday through Saturday now, doubling our time together.
“This …” Anxiety begins to build, making my skin warm and itchy. “This isn’t normal. This is more time than the students with learning disabilities are allotted.”
He shrugs, daring me to object.
I quickly scan along the page, my head shaking frantically.
“You took four.” My eyes dart up to his. “I’m being cut four students to accommodate one?”
“The time has been filled in.”
“Time?! I’m paid per student. If I have him six days a week, I’m losing a quarter of my income. I’ll have to find another job and—” I stop abruptly.
He leans forward, his light blue eyes hard and disgusted. “Not my problem, is it? Your job is to tutor the boys I need you to, that’s what you signed up for, and I need you to tutor Tobias Cruz. Our schedule is getting tougher, we have Cal Poly coming up in three weeks, and I need to know school won’t be a stress for him.”
“This is beyond your usual lack of caution.”
The corner of his mouth lifts in a nasty smirk. “There is no risk here because you are who you are, and he is who he is. You’ll never be on his radar without the beer it takes to get there, honey, and he’ll continuously have his hands full of something better.”
Wow.
I want to scream and cry, to demand he apologize and start over from scratch.
But mostly, stupidly, I wish he’d look at me like he used to.
Even if I could never do the same.
It’s with that thought in mind that I go home, open my computer, and do what I should have done months ago.
I submit my transfer application to the University of Florida.
