Tuesday, September 21
“Alex? Alex? Alex, are you listening?” my math teacher asked from the whiteboard. The hands on the clock moved like a snail, my pencil getting spun around my fingers. I jumped when my teacher spoke to me. The pencil fell onto the desk as I slowly looked up. Since she didn’t care where we sat as long as we paid attention in class. As a result, I chose my seat wisely, making sure it was the farthest one in the back of the classroom.
Ms. Thompson was the most strict teacher in the school. Her green eyes were seen through oval shaped spectacles. She always wore a simple dress of some sort, with the same scarf every day. Her light blonde hair had visible grey hairs that students liked making fun of her for. Every person in the school knew her for her grumpy attitude towards students.
“Alex!” she scolded as I spaced out again.
“What?” I asked, hearing some giggling from girls on the other side of the classroom.
“Could you explain how to solve this problem?” she asked. I stared at the whiteboard, and blinked at the numbers and signs that were unknown to me.
“I can’t,” I said, picking my pencil up and started scribbling ‘notes’ on my papers.
“Come see me after class, Alex,” Ms. Thompson said, turning around and writing on the whiteboard.
“Dude,” the boy sitting on my left whispered. Deep brown eyes were seen between strands of his black hair. Declan Buckley was my best friend since 2nd grade, and got average grades. “You gotta at least pretend to pay attention.”
“Shut up, Declan,” I muttered under my breath.
The clock ticked slower than before, making each second feel like an hour. It was 2:40 now, and there were thirty more seconds until school ended. The pressure in the classroom during those thirty seconds got people inching out of their seats.
Riiiiiiiiing!!!
Everyone jumped up, murmuring and chatting while sweeping their stuff off their desks and into their bags. I threw my bag over the shoulder and tried to blend in with the crowd as they filtered out of the class.
“Alex,” Ms. Thompson called out, stopping me. She pointed at the desk closest to her own. I slowly shuffled over and dropped my bag on the ground as she came over to sit in the desk next to me.
“Ms. Thompson-”
She put her hand up before I could say any more. “I know you have practice. You’ll have to miss it today.”
“Ms. Thompson!” I protested. “I can't do that!”
“Why not?” she asked. “If you have enough energy to go to soccer practice, then why didn't you have enough for today's lesson?” I didn't answer. Ms. Thompson sighed, shaking her head once. “You’re grade right now is a D, and I have a feeling it’s the same for other classes. If you play a sport, I’m almost 100 percent sure you have to have above a C to go to practice and games.”
“How can I bring it up?” I asked quietly, looking down at the desk.
“My nephew,” she said, standing. “He's in your grade, and is passing all his AP classes with high marks. Until your math grade comes up to a C+ or higher, he will be your tutor.”
Wait.
What?
There’s someone in our grade related to Ms. Thompson?
And they have to be my tutor!?
“I don’t believe he’s in any of your classes except AP Chemistry,” Ms. Thompson said as if reading my thoughts.
“I’m going home, Ms. Thompson!” a voice called from the door. I looked up to see a short boy, probably around 5’2, looking at us. He wore slightly ripped jeans, red sneakers and a large grey hoodie. His chocolate brown hair was a little long, and he brushed his bangs aside to see a little better. Those dark brown eyes that captivated me with one glance. I felt like I’d seen them before.
“Come here, Paul,” Ms. Thompson said. “Alex, this is my nephew Paul Simon. Paul, you know-”
“Alexander White,” Paul said, avoiding eye contact. “Senior who sucks in school, varsity soccer team captain, and hasn’t had a girlfriend since the end of freshman year.”
“Hey!” I shouted, getting up and walking over to him. “Don’t think you’re so smart just because you know all those little details, nerd!”
“Alright, you two!” Ms. Thompson said, pushing us away from each other. “Stop the arguing this minute!” Paul shoved his hands into his pockets and turned to leave.
“I’m outta here,” he muttered, taking a step forward.
“Come back, Paul,” Ms. Thompson said in a menacing voice. Even during the most crucial times, I’ve never seen Ms. Thompson get so scary before. Paul stopped in his tracks, but didn’t turn around to look at us. “You will stay here and tutor Alex.”
Paul spun around and looked at Ms. Thompson. “You think I’m going to teach that… that idiot!?” He didn’t seem to find any better word to describe me, but I still took offence after the insult.
“Excuse me?!”
“Come here, Paul,” Ms. Thompson said, pulling Paul into the hallway. The door shut behind them, and I could see them arguing about something. Ms. Thompson said one final thing, and the two came back inside.
“Fine,” Paul said. “I’ll tutor you.” I opened my mouth in celebration. “But if it doesn’t work out, then I’m stopping, alright!?” He glared at Ms. Thompson.
“Well then!” Ms. Thompson said cheerfully. “I’ll be on my way now. Be sure to get home safely, Paul.” Ms. Thompson gathered her things and left within a minute, leaving a confused look on my face.
“Come on, then,” Paul said. “I have to do my own homework, you know.” We sat at one of the desk pairs and I showed him my last test scores on my phone. He frowned and then looked up at me like I had three heads. “What the hell?” he muttered. “I mean, Honors Calculus I understand, but how the hell did you get such bad grades in all of your other classes?” His voice was showing true astonishment.
“Uh… talent?” Paul blinked, and then burst out laughing, dropping my phone on the desk. He clutched his chest with both arms, trying to stop himself.
“Oh my God… you really are talented, Alex!” Paul laughed.
“Sh-shut up!” I stammered, grabbing my phone and slipping it into my pocket. I took out my math binder and notebook and put it in front of him so he could see my-
“What are all these terrible scribbles?” Paul asked, flipping through my notebook before I even noticed what he was doing.
“It’s called art!” I snapped, snatching it from him. “You would know that if you were an artist like me.”
“Is this what you call art?” Paul asked, making me nod my head. “I don’t know if you have enough brain cells to get higher than a C in any of your classes.”
I glared at him. “Then why are you still here? You can easily just leave and I can go to practice.”
“Nice try,” Paul said, looking at the content of the notes. “Do your teammates know you’re flunking your classes?”
“A few,” I muttered, clenching my fists under the desk.
“Then why-” Paul was cut off by Declan running through the hall. I heard his sneakers squeak on the floor as he came back to the math class and looked at us.
“Dude,” he said. “Who’s the kid?” I heard something snap, and looked at Paul who got up and walked over to Declan. A broken pencil rolled on the desk.
“Paul!” I exclaimed, grabbing his wrist. “Paul!! Calm down!” Paul took a few deep breaths and I let go of his wrist. He slung his bag over his shoulder, and started towards the door.
“We’ll continue this tomorrow,” he said, walking past Declan.
“Who was that?” Declan whispered, genuinely scared of the boy.
“Ms. Thompson’s nephew,” I said. Declan opened his mouth, but I looked at him. “He’s supposed to be my tutor until my grades go up.”
Declan laughed at me. “Sorry, dude, but that’s not gonna happen anytime soon. I’d rather sit on the bench-”
“I can’t just casually go up to Coach and be like ‘oh hi Coach. Sorry, but I can’t make it to practice anymore because I’m failing my classes.’ He’d take my head before giving a response!”
“Alright, alright,” Declan sighed. “I’ll try and talk to him. I don’t know what I would say, though.”
I grinned, swinging my arm around my best friend’s neck. “You’re the best, Vice-Captain!”
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