Page 2 of Lessons in Faking
Odd enough that I must’ve made a face, because he went on to say, “Poor Princess Pressley.” A note of amusement lingered within his otherwise dismissive tone. “Can’t believe someone wouldn’t be thrilled to spend time with her.”
My last attempt at civility was letting that comment slide. By now, I’d been called far worse thanPrincess. He scanned through the few notes I’d collected in the first weeks of the semester, and I glared at him despite the fact he wasn’t looking at me.
“Jesus Christ.” His silence had been far too short. “How did you pass Statistics I like this?”
I didn’t need confirmation to know he’d found the midterm that had gotten me into this predicament in the first place.
Passing the Statistics I final last semester hadn’t been as hard as taking the class. Blind as a bat, and with his long greasy hair hanging into his face at every given opportunity, how would Professor Shaw have noticed little old me—with my phone under the table—snapping photos of the questions and sending them to someone whodidknow the answers? Exactly.
My brother, uptight and smart enough for the both of us, would probably call that cheating. I’d call it being resourceful. The person on the other end of the phone had been paid handsomely, and I’d passed my class. A win-win.
The problem: My performance in the last class and my final, acceptable grade, didn’t correlate.Ha, Statistics.And though Shaw hadn’t had any proof of my cheating last semester, he sure had been determined to catch it this time around. Hence the seating chart he’d introduced in our first lecture of Statistics II and why I was seated in the front row. It forced me to take my midterm fair and square, and well, here we were.
With a D.
McCarthy snorted with amusement, as if he’d heard my inner monologue and knew my answer to his question, even before it formed on my tongue. “Of course.” He nodded knowingly. Rolled his eyes. “When do the Pressleys not throw Daddy’s money at their problems?”
“It’s Mommy’s, actually.” I ignored the way my insides clenched at the mention of my parents and smiled innocently, watching him place my notes on the desk between us so we could see them from either side. “And clearly,” I continued, “this is me not throwing it at my problems, or you’d have noticed by now.”
“That’s funny.” He didn’t laugh.
And after he didn’t laugh, he cleared his throat like we were really doing this. Like he would really teach meA-B testsandbandit algorithms. And like he really expected me to get it.
“Why would you want to torture us like this?” I hoped my words would divert us from the path toward hypotheses and variables. “You’re out of your mind if you think—”
“It’s my job, Pressley,” he said, face straight. Then the right corner of his lip twisted, just the tiniest bit, in a cruel yet irritatingly intriguing way. “You know,” he teased, “that thing where you show up, do what you’re told, and get money for it at the end of the month? With your background, I don’t know if you’re familiar—”
“Wait.” I was just beginning to get it. “You’re TAing for Shaw? Why?”
“Why not?”
“You don’t need the money,” I assessed, green eyes narrowing slightly. Very quickly, they flicked to the watch on his wrist that had probably cost as much as the pair of Miu Mius in my closet.More.“You definitely don’t need the money.”
“And yet here I am.”
And yet here he was.
So on I went. “What happened to the cute senior from last year? I liked him.”
“Believe it or not—hegraduated.”
“And you just had to be the one to replace him?” The smug smile on my lips was a complete lie. A front that kept the realization from manifesting on my face. My chances of getting another tutor had been slim before, but knowing McCarthy was TAing for Shaw had just reduced them to zero, and I was dying inside.
There was no way he’d bother assigning me anothertutor when he had McCarthy—hisTA—to do it. “No one else up to the task?”
“They dodged a bullet.” He was beginning to get annoyed. I could feel it. In the way he impatiently drummed his fingers on the wooden desk and fumbled with the papers between us, to steer my attention onto them. “Now, if you don’t mind—”
I leaned back into the uncomfortable chair, and his exasperated groan almost made me laugh. “TAing for Shaw, huh?” I sighed. “Must be the worst.” The bags under his eyes told me he couldn’t have slept more than a few hours last night. Still, somehow he looked more put together than I did after a full night’s rest. “Do you get in trouble if you can’t get the job done?”
He leaned his forearms onto the desk. His dark hair fell into his face, and the glimpse of a smile played on his lips—not an amused or happy one. Challenging. “That depends,” he said softly. “Will you get in trouble if you fail his class?”
“Do you get your pay cut? Overtime?” I swallowed hard, smile still on my lips when my head tilted. “Could I get you fired, McCarthy?”
I could see the gears in his head turning. Crossing his arms in front of his chest, he shrugged as he leaned back into his chair. “I always get the job done.” His gaze cut to a door I hadn’t previously noticed. Just for a second. “And just so you know, that door connects to Shaw’s office. In case you want to make sure he can hear your insults, speakup just a little more next time. You can guess how thin these walls are.”
I tried to prevent the panic currently seeping through every fiber of my being from showing on my face. I shifted my eyes from theallegedconnecting door.
“Right,” I said. “You were saying? About...” My voice trailed off, reading the half-hearted notes I took in the last lecture. “About ‘two-sample comparison’?” When I looked up, I saw the victorious smile I’d expected, and I almost regretted caving.
