I pause, considering it. Maybe that would be a benefit. If he’s so incredibly out of my league, I might not clam up like I usually do around guys. I’ve gotten better around Levi, Samantha’s boyfriend, but that’s because he talks even less than I do to people he doesn’t know well. Plus, he’s so obviously devoted to her, it makes me feel safer around him.
And I’ve only met Natalie’s boyfriend, Evan, a handful of times. She went back home for summer break, so there hasn’t been the same opportunity to hang out together until recently.
“Sorry I’m late,” Charlotte says, rushing up to our table and pulling out a seat, her long, dark hair fanning out behind her.
“No worries Miss fancy grad student,” Samantha smiles.
Two years older than the rest of us, Charlotte started her doctoral program in the English department this year.
“What did I miss?” she asks, unzipping her lunchbox.
“Eden has a unique opportunity.”
I roll my eyes, appreciating Samantha’s playfulness objectively, just not when it’s at my expense.
“Oh?” Charlotte turns her head in my direction, expecting me to elaborate.
“You know the Biology class I’ve been helping Samantha study for? Well, this guy in there apparently wants me to tutor him.”
“That’s flattering,” she says easily, dipping a pita chip into a container of homemade hummus. Normally, I’d ask for a bite, but I’ve lost my appetite. Even my Italian sub in front of me is no longer appealing.
“He said he’d pay her,” Samantha chimes in, “or some kind of other exchange.”
Her emphasis on other and accompanying sly smile has Charlotte’s head whipping toward her. “Are you saying he’ll sleep with her if she tutors him?”
“No!” Samantha, Natalie, and I all shout in unison, causing everyone nearby to stare at us.
I lean forward, letting my hair curtain my face, heat burning my cheeks.
Charlotte’s are noticeably pinker too, looking sheepish. “Sorry,” she mumbles. “It just seemed like that’s what you were implying.”
“I promise, I’m not trying to prostitute you out,” Samantha says seriously, all playfulness gone. “I would never do that.”
“I know.” I cover her hand with mine, squeezing it lightly to assure her I didn’t take it that way.
“I just thought it might be like a safe space to learn about how to talk to guys, build up your confidence. Maybe he can give you some pointers about what guys like or something.”
I mull it over, acknowledging her point. “And you think he’d be a good guy to, um, do that with?”
“He’s popular. Obviously has experience with girls. But I’ve never had an issue with him being gross. Doesn’t seem like a womanizer or anything. If you want, I could sit in on the session, at least the first time.”
Something in my stomach unclenches that I didn’t even realize was tense to begin with. “Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. Like a trial run. I’ll start out tutoring you both and see how it goes from there.”
“Awesome,” she claps her hands. “Are you gonna tell him or should I?”
“Um, you can.” I pull the paper with his number back out of my bag and hand it to her, relieved that I don’t have to call the guy. “Maybe you could negotiate the terms too?”
“Done,” she smiles. “And if you’re uncomfortable at all, I’ll kill the whole deal.”
I nod, glad when her outgoing nature works in my favor.
“Samantha will be your agent,” Natalie grins. “Only the very privileged may study with Eden,” she says in a snooty voice.
“Make it seem exclusive when you tell him,” Charlotte adds.
“Better than revealing the socially awkward freak I really am,” I mutter.
Three separate sounds of protest greet my ears, and I sink down further in my chair, sorry to have made the comment at all.
Charlotte hugs me into her side, her hair tickling my shoulder. “You’re in good hands with Samantha.”
“Don’t worry.” She taps the side of her head theatrically. “I’ve got a strategy already.”
“Me too,” Natalie beams, bouncing in her seat, restless with energy.
Yeah, that’s what I was afraid of.
I TAKE A SIP OF MY water the following night at dinner, the sound of my glass clinking against my plate as I return it to the table overly loud in the silence of the room.
Dad looks over at me sharply, seemingly annoyed, but says nothing. He’s perfected the art of conveying his disapproval with merely a look over the years. “You said you had a big test last week, right?” he asks, buttering his roll. “What class was it in?”
“Medical Ethics.” I take a bite of the creamed spinach he made as a side dish, not caring for how slimy it is, but being picky isn’t an option. I’ll just have to wait till it’s my turn to make dinner tomorrow to have something I like. At least the baked chicken isn’t too dry tonight.
“And how’d you do?” He chews his roll, a glob of butter stuck in the greying hairs of his mustache, but I don't dare tell him about it. No good could come from pointing out something wrong with him.
I choke down the spinach, quickly taking another sip of water to clear out the taste. “I got a ninety-two.”
He makes a noise of dismissal and I can only imagine what he’s thinking - Why wasn’t it a one hundred?
I scarf down the rest of the meal, listening as he boasts about how everyone in the Intro to British Literature class he teaches at Suncoast failed the pop quiz he gave them today. He seems to relish lording his superiority over others, no matter that it’s college students who probably don’t even want to be in his class to begin with.
“Can I be excused?” I ask, showing him my empty plate, hating his rule that’s more suited to a child of five rather than a twenty-year-old.
“May I be excused,” he corrects me. “And yes. Make sure to do the dishes before bed.”
“I will.” As if I don’t know my own chores by now.
It’s nights like these that have me wondering what it’d be like if he and my mom had never divorced - whoever she is. I don’t remember her at all, and Dad never speaks of her if he can help it, unless it’s to say something generally disagreeable about her.
I hurry to my room, my one sanctuary in the house, vowing to do the dishes later, and lay down on my bed, mentally going over again everything Samantha proposed at lunch yesterday. I have to admit, the idea is appealing the more I think about it. This school year so far has brought nothing with it other than a sense of... restlessness.
All of my friends are settled down with their boyfriends, paired up and happy. I’m the outlier, still alone, still afraid to approach the guy I’ve had a crush on for the entirety of my time at Suncoast University. Maybe this really is the perfect opportunity to gain the skills I need to finally take that step. I want what they have - a man who loves them, someone they can depend on. A partner in life. Don’t get me wrong, I love my friends, but the idea of a boyfriend seems different. Closer, somehow. Someone to confide in, bare your soul to. A bond like no other.