Page 48 of Private Tutoring
A groan stuck in my throat. Please don’t let them devolve into another talk about how lucky I was to work with the Dream Team. If the tables were turned, I might have been likely to make jokes too. I understood it on another level now, and I vowed not to be that person in the future.
“That’s right. And remember, we’re here for each other.” Leighona smiled easily, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She scanned the room with a shrewd look. “We should be each other’s support. When you need something, you can come to any one of us.”
She probably meant it, but I also knew that asking any one of these women for help came with its own set of consequences and possible problems. I couldn’t talk to any of them about the musical. As Leighona’s understudy, their loyalty was to her. She had seniority and had been part of the sorority longer than anyone else in our group.
Anything I said would be rejected, turned into a problem with Leighona, and extrapolated into an argument. I hadn’t anticipated any of that when Delilah convinced me to join.
Delilah was the only one I’d ever fully trusted, and now I was hiding things from her. The knot of unease I’d carried since I started sleeping with my professors weighed heavier than ever. The bright pink curtains covering the front windows fluttered when Leighona stood and walked past them. “Now that we have that out of the way, does anyone have anything else to discuss?”
A solemn quiet reigned over the room. Other than the chug from the air conditioner in the window behind Leighona, not a single sound broke through.
My stomach twisted tighter. I’d never admit anything to them, especially about my professors, but there was a part of me that kind of wished I felt like I belonged in this group. We had the same core values. My career was the most important thing in my life.
At least, it had been.
“Well, if that’s all, then let’s dismiss.” Leighona clapped her hands and waved. “Good night.”
I stood and beelined to the kitchen for a snack before I retreated to my room. I’d missed dinner again, but there was no way I could tolerate a full meal.
Delilah stayed behind to talk with Jessica and a few others.
I stopped at the counter, enjoying the blessed emptiness the kitchen offered. A deep breath helped ease the guilt clawing at my insides. I owed it to my mother to do better, to make something of my life. She’d worked too hard—we both had—for me to throw it all away. That was why I worked so hard to bring my grades up.
Was I just deluding myself in thinking that I’d put in the effort and that was why my grades were better?
I dug a banana from the fruit bowl, cracked it open, and took a bite. The soft flavor spread across my tongue, and I polished off the fruit in a half dozen bites. Lifting the lid on the trash can, I threw the peel inside. It landed with aplopon top of a Styrofoam container with my name across the top.
My stomach twisted when I recognized the leftovers of my pizza bowl. Someone had thrown it away…and it hadn’t gone bad. I opened the refrigerator, my curiosity on high alert. Every other container from that night sat on the middle shelf. Every single fucking one except mine.
Someone had taken it upon themselves to throw away my leftovers but no one else’s.
The text I’d received a few nights ago flashed in my mind. I had an enemy.
Throwing away my food was a petty move, and it might have nothing to do with the text, but it was odd. I’d never had trouble with anyone in my sorority. Sure, they ordered Thai even though they knew I didn’t like it. I didn’t expect them to cater every dinner according to my taste.
This was different. I closed the door with an audible thud. My vision blurred.
Fuck. I refused tocryover something so ridiculous. I ran the back of my hand under my nose and left the kitchen. The living room was empty, and I made it all the way to my room without running into anyone. Good. I didn’t want to talk to them anyway.
I crossed to the cheap leather chair tucked beneath my scratched and dented desk I’d rescued from the curb the day I moved in, and I sank into the cracked upholstery. My eyes burned, but I still refused to cry.
My phone dinged. I almost ignored it, but thewhat-ifforced my hand into my pocket. The same anonymous number had sent me another message.
I locked my jaw and opened the text thread.
Stay away from the Dream Team.
I snorted and shoved the phone away. It dinged again. This time, they’d texted in all caps.
IF YOU DON’T, EVERYONE IS GOING TO FIND OUT WHAT A SLUT YOU ARE. SWEET, INNOCENT HARMONY. WHAT WILL EVERYONE THINK WHEN THEY FIND OUT YOU’RE BUYING YOUR GRADES WITH SEX?
My hands shook. I read the message twice to make sure I hadn’t gotten it wrong. My entire body turned numb. I yanked off my sneakers, throwing them toward the closet, then dug my feet into the rough carpet. A prickling sensation swept over the soles of my feet, but that was it. I picked up my phone, dropped it, and picked it up again, holding tight with both hands.
The coldness spread to my fingers, making them feel thick and clumsy on the keys. I had to defend myself. Otherwise, I gave them what they wanted. I proved them right, and I showed them that I wouldn’t fight back.
My thumbs skated over the keys.You’re an asshole, and I’m not doing anything wrong.
I tapped send before I lost my nerve and put the phone on silent. I wouldn’t be able to sleep, but at least I could pretend I’d won. I shook out the cold feeling in my fingers and headed into my bathroom for a long, hot soak in the tub. It might not clear my thoughts or give me a direction, but if I stayed in my room, I’d end up falling into the trap the messages created.
