The first week of tutoring with Havana doesn't go without its bumps in the road -- for one, she loves doing this thing where she relates a few Trig terms to football/other sports terms, and if I've established anything about myself off the bat, I am not in favor of either. Or I'll try to relate a problem to something more up my alley, like a book, but it's one that Havana hasn't heard of. Speaking of which, during one of our sessions in the Purgatory Room, Mrs. Loren comes in and surprises us with some donuts and two barrels of Little Hugs.

"From the Book Club meeting," she says. " I figured you hard worker bees deserved to have some refreshments!"

"Thank you so much," Havana and I express at the same time, catching us off-guard for a moment.

"Do you have a flavor preference?" Havana asks me in reference to the Little Hugs. 

"I mean, not really," I answer. In my opinion, I can't distinguish the flavors between these things well when all I can taste is barrel plastic. So, Havana takes the blue and I take the purple. 

"How's everything coming along, ladies?" Mrs. Loren inquires, smiling warmly. I don't know if there's a particular stereotype about librarians, but whatever the positive spin on them is, that's Mrs. Loren. A stout lady painted in freckles galore, anyone who interacts with her -- whether to check out a book, get help with the printers or be a part of her Book Club, you don't walk away without a smile. I was a part of that club, actually, for two years and had the time of my life. Talking about books and then walking out with a whole new perspective from like-minded people ... if only every class I had was like that. I knew Mrs. Loren always took a few leftovers and gave them to kids who were either in the library, those in the rotunda who stayed after school for various reasons, or in my case those who were studying and/or being tutored in the Purgatory Room. It's just one of those little things that let a peep of joy shine in the monotony of this whole thing.

"Everything is going pretty well," Havana starts. "Zora is really determined. Much different than the last person I tutored."

"Last person?" I turn to her. "I wasn't aware this was a regular thing for you."

"Oh, it's not. I only take up like, three to four people a year," Havana says nonchalantly. "And the last one? Talk about the stubbornness of a bull."

"Ah, but she did graduate, so you did something right," Mrs. Loren chimes in. I shake my head in disbelief. Havana's tutored people above her, too? The one part of me can't be shocked, admittedly she's done a fine job so far. On the other hand, though, I feel like I'm sitting next to a mastermind, and I feel a bit meek about it.

"Zo, did you happen to finish Parable of the Sower yet?" Mrs. Loren asks me.

"Oh, I did!" I answer giddily. "Loved it -- long live the belief of Earthseed." 

"Wonderful!" Mrs. Loren beams. "When you get a chance, I'd love to talk further about it. I have a few highlights I'd like to share during my next meet with the club."

"Absolutely -- does tomorrow at lunch work?"

"I don't see why not!" Mrs. Loren claps her hands in confirmation, then she gets up from her seat. "I'll leave you two be for now. Remember, we close up in 30 minutes!"

"Yes, ma'am," Havana and I acknowledge. I'm smiling from ear to ear just thinking about everything I want to discuss with Mrs. Loren about Parable of the Sower, especially when it comes to Lauren's born-into-family vs. found family dynamics. 

"So, Parable of the Sower, huh?" Havana speaks. "I don't think I've heard about that one. What's it about?"

"Oh, uh ... it's a bit complicated to explain," I say. "It's an apocalyptic story set in the 2020s, basically."

"Wow, really? The 2020s ..." Havana exasperates, almost unbelievably. I get her reaction -- it's a bit unfathomable even to me that a whole new century is around the corner. And if it becomes anything like what I read about, I'll start making my own prep kit like Lauren now. 

"So, you and Mrs. Loren talk books a lot, huh?" Havana asks. Before long, I feel like a lamp will shine right in my face and I'll find myself in an interrogation room. I guess our tutoring can't involve all math all the time, but the small talk has been just that -- small. Insignificant in the grand scheme of things, you know?

"I-I suppose," I stammer. "I used to be in the book club, so she still updates me on what stories they read."

"Used to? What happened?" Havana continues to interrogate. I know it's all innocent, but my god it doesn't seem to end. For as much as I'd love to entertain this further, I don't much feel like bringing up why I had to skimp on Book Club as of late. There are some things Havana doesn't need to know, amongst a long, long list of things.

 "I-I don't feel like talking about it," I admit. 

"Oh, okay," Havana accepts. I tap my pencil in Mallory-esque fashion, stumped on the next question.

"Um ... so I keep getting 8 here ... is that right?" I finally break the silence. Havana leans in close -- and when I say close, I mean super close. Closer than any two strangers (for all intents and purposes) should be to where I can smell the Olive Oil shampoo lingering in her head. Mallory loves that scent ... 

"Okay, so show me how you ended up here," she instructs me. This is the part I undoubtedly hate the most; there are some things I can get away with by using the calculators, but the whole point of the tutoring is to wean me off of them like a baby to a mother. This is because the End-of-Course state tests we have to take require a "No Calculator" section, which in my opinion is just silly -- everyone in life relies on calculators, and not just for math homework! Nonetheless, I show Havana my thought process, and all she does is nod. What a misleading action, that nod. What's the point of  doing that if all she's gonna say is --

"So I see where you're going with this." Every. Time. Without. Fail. "Here's the thing, though --  this side over here is the adjacent, not the opposite, and so --"

"Okay, I get what you're saying," I feign, sparing myself from hearing the same spiel I've heard at least 20 times this week. I quickly corrected the mistake and slid Havana my sheet. As she goes over it one last time, I eat my donut in shame. Hearing earlier that Havana tutored older people, I can't help thinking that if this were any other subject, this would be reversed right now. Not that I've ever tutored anybody, but if I did I'd be a killer at it. As per protocol, Havana signs off on my sheet and hands it back to me.

"Thank you," I say simply, then hastily pack away my things in my backpack.

"No problem," Havana says. "By the way, Zo ..." I turn to look at her, wondering what she's going to say. 

"I do believe you're doing a good job with all this, but I think we should set something where you get more practice at home?"

"Practice ... at home?" I repeat, almost flabbergasted. 

"Nothing too crazy, promise," Havana "reassures" me as if this wasn't the most insulting thing to hear already. I thought that the purpose of tutoring was to knock out all my faults within the 45-minute, 3-times-a-week timeframe. Now that's not even enough? I can't even focus on what Havana is trying to outline to me -- all my senses are filled with red.

"Is that okay?" I finally hear Havana speak. My jaw is locked tight, but hopefully not where I'm showing it.

"Y-yup. Understood."

*********

School life. I love it. 

Not a lot of people will say this, either because they truly despise it, don't care for it enough, or do but won't admit it for the world to know. Not that I have many people to admit it to,  but I truly do love it. There's a certain air to not having to do guesswork about the day that takes a lot of weight off my shoulders. I go to four classes in the morning, have lunch with Mallory, get through the next four, and boom -- done! Now, tutoring has ... affected the breeziness of this schedule, to say the least, but I can stomach an extra 45 minutes in the school if I have to. These days, stalling the process of going home isn't such a detriment. 

All that said, I've made a detour in the schedule myself today -- I let Mallory know that I couldn't join her for lunch, which is all good with her since she said she'd go and watch the theater kids rehearse. Instead, I make my way to the library for my Parable chatting session with Mrs. Loren. I can't help but notice my body jumping and skipping with every step -- and I'm not a skipper! Maybe it's because of the unlucky hand I've been dealt as of late, but I needed this. A break from the overwhelming stress that's plagued my being. Momentary peace.

Except for the fact that the library is always bustling with students during lunchtime. Really any time that isn't class time, and despite its purpose, you'd be hard-pressed to find a bunch of students reading. CoolMathGames has found a surge in popularity recently if you can get to a computer before anyone else, gossip runs high in the back tables (what's said in the library stays in the library type deal), and various clubs come to gather for a bit -- today, the Academic Decathlon group practices a few rounds of World Geography. Mal and I used to come in every morning before 1st period started, which is how I found out about the book club in the first place. I feel a twinge of pain remembering the euphoria, but no time to dwell on it -- I'm already skimping on lunch as it is, so the hunger pangs already make the day go slower.

I walk in scanning the area, but I don't immediately see Mrs. Loren. My best bet is that she's again in the Purgatory Room, so I come up to Mr. Strutte and ask if I can go in.

"Sure thing, youngin'. Loren had to step away for a moment, but she should be back any moment now," he informs me. I thank him and enter the room, all in its eerily peaceful glory. Whilst I wait, I bring out the book to go over all my talking points. I can feel the corners of my mouth hurting something serious, but I can't stop smiling -- I don't think I felt this happy since I first got my hands on If You Come Softly... like any other book, I felt myself transported in the world of Washington Heights, feeling every yearn and wrongful turn of Jeremiah and Ellie's relationship. Unlike that book, I've yet to be in a relationship, and my biggest worry wouldn't involve being with someone far removed from my background ... but the plights of being in love as a lesbian feel just the same, even if I haven't exactly "come out" to anyone but Mallory. I don't even think that counts because I've never actually said it to her -- she just points out how "gay" I am, and I don't shoot her down. So if anything, she might just think I'm going along with the bit ... 

Clearly, I've had too much thinking time on my hands, but not for much longer as I hear the door creak open. I turn my head, excited and wide-eyed like a baby doe, for all what felt like a millisecond. My blood runs cold, and I'm frozen.

"Oh, Zo! So glad you could make it," Mrs. Loren beams. "Amazing work convincing Ms. Sommers here to read along!"

At this moment, all I hope is that my stare isn't iced out, too.