She catches me staring at her and immediately turns away, letting her hair fall forward, drawing in on herself. She didn’t seem to mind my gaze when it was on her while teaching, but apparently that’s not the case now.
When Samantha’s finished and Eden has praised her for how well she did, we move on to the next section. I’m unsure if I should take notes still after her questioning me earlier, but she soon sees me wavering and pauses.
“I said we’d find your learning style, didn’t I?” She’s in teacher mode again, meeting my eye fine. “I have a feeling you’re a kinesthetic learner. The way you’ve been shifting in your seat, tapping at your paper. It’s not nerves. It’s just hard to keep still, right?”
I stare at her. “Yeah.” My parents had me tested for ADHD more than once, but the doctor always said that wasn’t the issue.
“You learn best by doing. Physical pursuits are probably easy for you. And asking you to stay unmoving in a small desk for an hour and a half is torture.”
“It is.” I’ve never heard anyone put it into words before like that, but everything she’s saying is spot on. “It’s hard to keep focused the whole time when you can’t move.”
She nods. “Unfortunately for this type of class there aren’t many hands-on activities we can do, but one thing that may help is to draw a diagram of what we’re discussing so you visualize the connection, the movement between each process. And feel free to get up and walk around if you need to. I know you’re still paying attention.”
“Okay,” I nod, concentrating on doing just that as she continues on. She also makes sure to point out connections between things, this lesson seeming more tailor-made for me rather than Samantha. And true to her word, she keeps right on when I take a quick break to stretch, still listening to her, trying to soak up as much as I can of what she’s saying.
It’s unlike any class setting I’ve been in, and by the time we’re done, I actually want to smile. By some miraculous feat, I understand what’s going on. It almost seems like a trick.
As Samantha closes her textbook, Eden angles her chair toward her, the two girls whispering quietly to each other, occasionally glancing my way. I sit up a little straighter, aware I’m being judged. All I can hope is that I pass. Eden is a miracle worker. I can’t have her stop tutoring me now.
I flash her a smile the next time she looks over, but all it does is make her turn away even more so I can no longer see her face.
They finally break apart and Samantha gives me a subtle thumbs up. My shoulders drop, tension releasing from me. Now I just have to hold up my end of the agreement, though I’m still not exactly sure what that entails.
Eden is silent as Samantha packs up her stuff, waiting until she’s told us goodbye and halfway out of the library before she says, “So, um, this is kind of awkward.” She tucks her hair behind her ears, seeming to shrink in on herself. I guess teacher Eden is gone.
“Why?” I ask, trying to appear nonchalant. She’s right, this next part is a little awkward, but I need her to be at ease if she’s going to continue tutoring me. “You helped me out, now I can do the same for you. Samantha said you want relationship advice. Lay it on me.”
She stares at the edge of the table in front of her, tracing a pattern with her finger along the surface. “I’ve liked this guy for two years, but he’s never paid any attention to me. I want to know what to do to get him to notice me, to like me back.”
My mind momentarily goes blank with a request of this magnitude, my mouth opening and closing, but nothing comes out. Two years and the guy’s never noticed her? What does she expect me to do?
She peeks over at me slowly, reminding me of a stray cat, timid, unwilling to trust, but desperate.
“Well, uh, let’s put liking on the back burner for now. First, we have to get him to notice you.”
She blinks, leaning in a little closer. “Okay, how can I do that?”
“When do you see him?”
“We have Medical Ethics together on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”
“Do you sit near each other?”
“No, he sits in the front, I sit in the back.”
“So go sit by him,” I tell her, the solution incredibly obvious to me.
She makes a sputtering sound, her eyes widening. “I can’t sit next to him!”
“Why not?”
“Because-” She visibly swallows, her gaze darting around the room. “Just because,” she whispers.
“Okay...” I scrub a hand down my face, realizing I’ve got my work cut out for me. “What’s your experience like with guys?”
“That’s- that’s personal,” she stutters.
“I’m just trying to... establish a baseline. Like how I tied in the science?” I grin.
She gives a small smile, her shoulders dropping slightly.
“Any ex-boyfriends?”
She shakes her head.
“Um, have you...?” How do you politely ask a girl how far she’s gotten with a guy?
She seems to catch my meaning, her cheeks flushing. “Let’s just assume the baseline is at zero.”
Zero? What the hell does zero mean? “Kissing?”
“No.”
“Touching?”
“No.”
Good God. “Talking?”
“Rarely. Unless it’s for school.”
I resist the urge to drop my jaw. Did she grow up in a convent or something?
She sighs, letting her hair fall forward to cover her face before sitting up straight and looking me in the eye. “My father’s always been very overprotective,” she explains. “Well, more like strict. I’ve never had many friends. And definitely no male ones. But him sheltering me has put me at an extreme disadvantage now. I can’t- I don’t-” She pauses, struggling for the right words. “I want to experience my college years while I can. I’m running out of time. I want to flirt and go on a date with a boy and have someone like me. Maybe even... love me,” she says shyly. “But I don’t know how to get to that point.”
I study her, the earnestness on her face, the way her hands are folded tightly on her lap, trembling slightly. “This is more than just advice.”
“Yes,” she nods. “I need you to tutor me, the same way I’m doing for you. I’m aware I have a long way to go, but I’m willing to put in the time and effort. I just need someone to guide me. Teach me. I have no clue what I’m doing otherwise.”
The shy girl is nearly gone, her passionate speech about learning overriding whatever timidity she had going on earlier.
“I’m in.” Really, how hard can it be? I show her how to flirt and then pass Biology. It’s a win-win.
“Great,” she sighs in relief.
“But you have to get over being scared of talking to him at some point, okay? There’s no purpose to all this otherwise.”
“Right,” she gulps. “I created a checklist, actually, of different things I’d like to work on.”
She hands me a handwritten list, her penmanship elegant, perfectly legible compared to the chicken scratch I write.
“Yeah, this looks doable,” I tell her, reading it over.