1
Jake
“I expect better next time, Mr. Fulton,” Professor Brinson sighs as he drops my graded quiz from last week on my desk. A glaring red D is in bold across the top and I quickly turn it over to hide the grade.
Not that anyone normally expects more from me in the brains department, but it’s still embarrassing.
I glance around, trying to spy what everyone else got. C, B minus, C plus. All better than me. Fuck.
“Nice job, Ms. Chambers.” He hands the girl next to me her quiz back, a bright red A along the top, and she smiles before tucking it away in her bag.
“Hey,” I whisper across the aisle. “I’m Jake.” She side-eyes me and I rush to add, “I’m not hitting on you, I promise. I saw you got an A.” Throughout the three weeks of the semester so far I’ve watched her reject no less than three guys asking her out, never in a mean way, but it’s still been brutal to watch.
Her face transforms from distrustful to excited. “Yeah, can you believe it?”
Dr. Brinson calls for the end of class and she grabs her backpack, heading out of the classroom. I catch up to her in the hallway, knowing I don’t have time to waste anymore. “Could you tutor me in Biology? I really need to do well in this class.” I’ve tried the last few weeks to understand what’s going on by myself, but I’m still clueless. And I’m starting to get desperate.
“I don’t think I can,” she says gently, turning away from me.
“Wait, please,” I reach for her arm and she automatically steps back, her eyes narrowing. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to-”
“What is it?” Her tone is hard now, completely different than her normal demeanor in class.
“It’s Samantha, right?” She nods. “It’s my second time taking Biology,” I whisper, hating to admit that, but it is what it is. “I can’t fail this again. If I do, I can’t graduate. I’m just looking for someone to help me out.”
She frowns, her stance softening. “I wish I could help you, really. But honestly, I owe it all to my friend who tutors me. She understands all this stuff. Without her, I’d be just as lost as you.”
“Could she tutor me too?” God, I sound eager. Nothing like a failing grade to give you some humility.
“I don’t know,” she hedges.
“Does she charge? I’ll pay her more than whatever her going rate is.” Seriously, I have to start doing better. This semester is supposed to be about turning things around, upping my GPA. I only have a year to get it under control.
“I mean, she doesn’t officially tutor or anything.”
“Here.” I grab my notebook out of my backpack and flip through till I find a blank page. “Just give her my number. If she’s interested, I can pay her.”
She takes the paper I rip out, folding it up and putting it in her pocket. “I don’t think she needs the money.”
“Then I’ll... do something for her in exchange. Teach her...” What am I good at? “I’ll teach her baseball.”
She looks at me, unimpressed. Yeah, I’m not too impressed with myself either right now.
“I’ll ask her,” she promises. “Maybe she’s always secretly wanted to learn how to play,” she laughs, sauntering off down the hallway toward the stairs.
I slump against the wall, blowing out a long breath. If this doesn’t pan out, I need to find a tutor for real. Apparently, I’m too dumb to rely on myself any longer. But then I’ll have to ask Dad for money to pay them, and I’d rather not admit to him I’m doing poorly in school still. I promised him I’d get my act together.
At least I have a plan now. Sort of.
I push off the wall, making my way down the staircase and out of the building, heading toward the student center to meet up with Logan and Rachel for lunch.
I drag my feet the last few yards before reaching the table they’re sitting at, the two of them close, her brushing something out of his dark blond hair.
“What happened to you?” I ask Logan as I get close enough to see his arm.
He runs his hand across the purpling bruise on his forearm. “Stray ball at practice.”
“You gotta be quicker to catch,” I say lightly, ignoring the now familiar pang that goes through me at any mention of baseball practice.
I’m off the team this year. A torn meniscus in my knee last May during a game put me out for the rest of the season. After surgery and months of physical therapy, I decided not to continue playing baseball. It’s the second time I’ve injured the area, and the risk is too great of it happening again. Right now my knee is fine, but I’m still technically in my recovery period. And if I’m being honest with myself, I’m secretly terrified of injuring it again. Next time there won’t be any cartilage left to work with. I could lose function of it, hobbling around with a cane at the ripe old age of twenty-one.
No, it’s better to quit while I’m ahead, even if it means missing playing competitively. And I don’t want to admit to Logan how much it bothers me to listen to him talk about practice. That’s not fair to my best friend to have to censor what he says.
It just makes it hard to be around him sometimes now.
I drop my backpack at the table and head over to the McDonald’s on the other side of the student center. We finally got a Taco Bell after years of Big Macs and Chicken McNuggets being the only option for fast food, but I already had a chalupa and gordita yesterday. I’m kind of taco’d out.
A flash of tall blonde catches my eye as I get in line and I watch as Samantha walks hurriedly over to a table of girls and pulls the paper with my name and number on it from her pocket, waving it around. Well, I guess she took my request seriously. I’ll have to thank her during our next class.
She lays it out in front of one girl who leans in close to look at it, her glasses nearly falling off her nose before she pushes them up. Brown hair. Pale skin. Petite. She doesn’t look familiar, but from this distance, her features are generic enough that she could be any number of girls on campus.
But there’s a seriousness surrounding her, even from this far away, that’s apart from most girls I’ve met. I don’t know if it’s just the thick-rimmed glasses, but she certainly appears to be smart. I wonder if this is the tutor then.
It must be as she takes the paper and stuffs it in her large backpack. Should I go over and introduce myself? Would that make things better or worse?
“It’s your turn,” the guy behind me in line says, pointing in front of me.
“What? Oh.” I turn and step up to the counter with no idea how long I was actually staring at the girl like an idiot. At least she didn’t see.
As I return to Logan and Rachel, I glance over once more to the table where Samantha says something to make the girl smile. The action transforms her face, going from generic to something much more... arresting.
“Watch where you’re going,” a lanky guy shouts nastily at me, shrinking back when I glare at him.
I continue on to my table, shaking my head at my earlier thought. Arresting? What the hell am I thinking?
I sit in silence eating my burger as Logan talks about his hopes to sign with the Tampa Bay Rays after a scout came out to watch their practice this week. Rachel nods her head supportively at her boyfriend’s words, but I can tell most everything is going in one ear and out the other. She’s heard it all a hundred times before. So have I.