Page 9 of The Assist
“I’m sorry about the other day. I just assumed . . .”
“That I was a dumb jock who couldn’t possibly get a passing grade without the help of a tutor or tutorsss?” He emphasizes the plural version with a hiss as he trails me out of the auditorium. As we come to the door, he steps close and pushes the handle, swinging it open and holding it with one large hand. A gentleman. Interesting.
“To be fair you haven’t made much of an effort to look like someone who is trying to get a good grade.”
We stop on the sidewalk, and I’m aware of Joel and Zeke hanging back and giving us space. Wes adjusts his hat, lifting it so I get a glimpse of the dirty blonde hair matted down like he’d slept in the damn hat. Right, he had . . . just now.
“I could ace that class even if I never showed up.”
“That’s an awfully bold statement for the first month of class.”
He shrugs. “Any luck finding a tutor?”
“Not yet, but I’m sure I’ll have no problem finding someone who passed statistics with their eyes open.”
His lips part, and his straight, white teeth peek out. “Good luck with that.”
I shove my ear buds in and put on my favorite podcast and head toward the library. By the time I get to the tutor center located on the first floor of the campus library (already knew this without the help of Wes, thank you very much), I’ve turned my humiliation into focused anger.
Okay, so I jumped to conclusions too quickly, but if he can get an A with his eyes closed, surely, I can manage with a whole lot of determination and a tiny bit of help.
I'm still bristling at the way his indigo eyes laughed at me. He could have politely set me straight instead of acting as if I’d personally attacked his intelligence. Okay, maybe I had, but I mean, how was I supposed to know that the guy sleeping at the back of the class somehow magically aced the first test without help, which I’m still not entirely convinced he did.
A text from Gabby momentarily pulls me from my foul mood.
Gabs: Still coming down next Wednesday?
Me: Of course I am! It’s your twenty-first so we’re going out!
She doesn’t text back, which tells me she isn’t exactly on board with my plan to celebrate her twenty-first but knows me well enough to know I’m not going to take no for an answer.
I tuck my phone away as I walk to the tutor center’s front desk.
“Hey, Blair, what are you doing here?” Molly, a sophomore sorority sister, asks from behind the sign in area.
“I have a question for you.” I lean against the counter and pull out my ear buds.
“Shoot.” Molly places both elbows onto the counter.
“What can you tell me about tutors for the athletic teams on campus?”
She scrunches her nose and tilts her head to the side. “Are you interested in being a tutor?”
“No, no. Nothing like that. I just wondered if you could tell me who tutors the athletes. Do they have their own private tutors, or do they come here for help?”
“I’m not aware of any tutoring services specific to the teams on campus. I suppose they could have personal tutors, but I’ve never heard of it. Why?”
“So, they come here?”
“We don’t get a lot of athletes in here despite the assumption they need it. I mean, no more than any other group."
Great, I really am a profiling bitch.
Molly rattles on, "There’s a few guys from the football team that come in regularly. Baseball team, softball team, wrestlers . . . yeah, I guess as far as I know the ones that need help come here.”
“What about the men’s basketball team? Do any of them come in for tutoring?”
She brings her thumb to her mouth and bites on the pad of it while she considers my question carefully. “Not that I can think of.”
