Page 2 of Tutoring the Bad Boy
“No joke. I don’t think I’ve ever seen your mom’s face so red in my entire life.”
Ronnie isn’t kidding. The last argument my mom got into with my Shakespeare Studies teacher was the worst to date. If there’d been mud, I could have charged admission. No need for a full-ride scholarship after that, for sure. “Right?”
Dixie drops her file back in her purse and stands, shouldering it, and picks up her books. “Mind taking my trash?” she asks, and I point to my tray. She tosses it on and smiles. “I gotta fly. See you two later.”
We say bye, and she floats to the music annex. She’s been spending more and more time over there. Ronnie and I have asked about it, but when she dodged it, we stopped pressing her. Everyone needs their…thing.
It’s my turn to leave too. I stand and shoulder my bookbag. “You’re spending the weekend, right?”
“Yeah. Dad’s working late, and mom is flying to LA to audition for a commercial.” Ronnie’s lips turn down for the briefest of seconds. If there’s one thing she’s good at, it’s hiding the fact that she wishes she had a mom who wanted to be a mom.
I smile. “Okay. Mom just wanted me to make sure. It’ll be Friday, so you know what’s for dinner.”
“Cauliflower-shell spaghetti tacos? Really? Is she ever going to give up?”
I lift one eyebrow. “I’m not sure she knows how. Just bring provisions, and we’ll both make it out alive.”
She pats her gym bag. “I’ll stop for donuts on the way over.”
My mouth waters. I know Ronnie hates her mom flying off, but I can’t say it doesn’t work in my favor. “That’ll work. See ya later.”
As I head inside for class, I chuck my trash into the bin on the way in. Walking the halls this year feels weird. It’s felt weird since senior year started three weeks ago. I know it’s my last year. I know college is on the horizon. Things are changing, and while I’m excited, I’m also scared.
My mom has controlled me for so long that I wonder what life will be like without her twenty-four-seven influence-slash-surveillance. What will it be like to make my own choices? What will it be like to live my own life? What will freedom feel like?
Not that my mom is horrible. She’s not. As a single mom, she’s worked hard for everything she has…wehave. Starting when I was just a baby, she worked to get her degree and fought for every step of success. I know she just doesn’t want me to struggle as she did.
Part of that is falling for the wrong guy, which is how I came to be. Mom thought he was the love of her life—and my dad isn’t a bad guy, either. He just didn’t know how to grow up. His dreams were always over-the-top and out there. When I came along, he didn’t know how to deal. But who knows how to deal with things when their head has never been anywhere but in the clouds?
As I reach Mrs. Yates's classroom, I get a handle on the things weighing on my mind. Apparently, I finished lunch earlier than I thought, and I’m the first one to arrive at my AP Shakespeare Studies class. “Hi, Mrs. Yates.”
“Ms. Gray, nice to see you on time for once.”
“I really am sorry for being late last time. I went off campus for lunch, and I got a flat tire. It wasn’t planned; I promise.”
“That wasn’t the point. You were late the entire week, and I told you the consequences. And yet, it didn’t matter. I’m not even sure why you show up for my class. It isn’t like your mother won’t make sure you pass.”
Deep breaths. She’s not mad at me, necessarily, she’s mad at my mom…and, to be honest, I don’t blame her. “I like your class. In fact, it’s my favorite this year so far.”
My teacher eyes me and then gets this sparkly glint. “Is that so?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I cross my heart with my finger. “Not that I’m a scout, but totally and honestly.”
“Prove it.”
My mouth drops open slightly. “How?”
“Tutor one of my students. He’s whip-smart, but he’s in my afternoon regular Shakespeare Studies class and it seems to be eluding him. He wants to be an architectural engineer. He’s decent at math, but with his dysgraphia and dyslexia, he struggles. You have dogged determination and patience, and if you really mean what you say, you’ll do this. He needs someone in his corner. Someone unexpected.”
Tutor? I did a little of that my sophomore year, and I was okay at it. I’d had to cut it because of volleyball practice.
As my silence lingers, and the glint in Mrs. Yate’s eyes dulls. “Exactly what I thought. All talk.” My teacher stands and holds herself with one arm while she waves the other. “‘My daughter is absolutely subject to the same rules as everyone else, but she’s a great student. She had a flat tire. There was no way she could’ve planned for that. As for the other tardiness, a girl must eat lunch. Her team depends on her to be healthy.’” She mimics my mom’s voice so well, and I hold in a giggle.
Tutoring. It’s the only thing that will get me into the good graces of my Shakespeare Studies teacher, and I’m desperate. “I’ll do it.”
She eyes me a second. “Really?”
“Yep, I’ll tutor your student.” I pause. “I can do this.”
