Turbulence
Page 82
“What are you doing?” I ask. “Go back. Go back right now.”
“I need your help with AP English.”
“I need your help with learning directions. My neighborhood is back there.”
He ignores my comment. “AP English is the only class I don’t have an A in.”
“What? You make A’s?”
“Yes.” He smirks. “I make A’s, except for English. I have a C plus and I need at least an A minus if I’m going to look appealing to colleges.”
“Wait a minute, what?” I temporarily put my annoyance aside. “You’re the star quarterback. You don’t need to make good grades to get an athletic scholarship. You just need to keep playing football. Isn’t that what you want?”
He doesn’t answer that. Instead he sighs. “I need you to help me with the literature components and help me strengthen some of my essays.”
“But why do you want me to help you?”
“Why wouldn’t I? You have the best grade in the class and I’m pretty sure that being a smart ass, which you clearly are, requires quite a few brain cells, so I figure there’s no one better to ask.”
“Maybe, but I’m not interested.”
“I’ll pay you.”
I look at him for a second to see if he’s being serious. “Is that how you normally get what you want?”
“No, that’s not my normal method, but I figured you wouldn’t go for that, so I’m not going to go down that road with you.” That stupid grin is on his face again.
“My services don’t come cheap,” I say. “They’re very expensive.”
“Honestly, I’d be disappointed if they weren’t.”
“Then in that case, I’m sure you can’t afford me.”
“Try me.” He cranks the engine and drives, heading toward my subdivision again.
I contemplate for a moment, unsure of what tutors usually charge. Then I come up with a number I know he won’t agree to pay. “Twenty dollars an hour.”
“Deal,” he says smoothly.
“Deal? Just like that?”
“Why not?”
“Because that’s a lot of money.”
“I’m sure you’ll be worth every penny.”
“Fine. We’ll start in two weeks.” I wait for him to drop me off at the corner, where I told him I lived, but he drives into the neighborhood instead.
Looking over at me, he warns, “I’m not letting you out of the car until you tell me which of these houses is yours. I need to make sure you get home safely.”
“So, now you’re a gentleman?”
“Only for some girls.” He smiles and I roll my eyes, deciding to give in so I can get this ride over with.
“5632...Down a few more houses and on your left.”
He nods and speeds up a bit, eventually pulling right in front of my mailbox.
“Thanks for the ride.” I immediately unbuckle my seatbelt and collect my bag from the floor.
“Wait a minute,” he says. “I need your phone number...For tutoring purposes, of course,” he adds with a sly smile.
He hands me his phone and I reluctantly type in my number. I save it under “For Tutoring Purposes, of Course” and give it back to him before rushing inside my house.
As soon as I make it upstairs to my room, my cell phone buzzes with a text message notification. It’s an unknown number.
This is Dean. Here’s my number, you can save it under “For ANY Purposes, Of Course...”
I should’ve known to stay away from him that very day...
PART I.
The Past
(Don't worry...This won't take too long. It never takes a guy that long to fuck things up.)
Chapter 1
MIA A couple weeks later...
I glance at the clock above the library’s door and groan for the umpteenth time.
I told Dean to meet me here at four o’clock, told him exactly where I would be and how important it was for him to be on time. Yet, unsurprisingly, he’s late. And it’s not even a nice “It’s only five minutes” type of late.
I’ve even texted him about his lateness three times: When he was fifteen minutes late, I messaged, “Are you still coming?” and he said he was on his way. When he was thirty minutes late, I sent, “Have you somehow gotten lost in the school you’ve been going to for the past four years?” And just now, at forty-five minutes past the hour, when I sent him an, “I think we need to try this another day” message, he didn’t even send me an apology. His response? “I don’t. I’m in the hallway.”
Ugh! I should’ve known better than this....
I pack up all my books and push my chair away from the table so I can leave. Just as I’m standing up, Mr. Popular strolls through the door looking unfazed as ever.
“Hey,” he says, walking over to my table. “Why is all your stuff packed up? Where are you going?”
“I’m off to see someone who respects my time.”
“Who is that?”
“It doesn’t matter. You’re damn near an hour late.”
“So?” He shrugs, looking genuinely confused.
“So? No, not ‘so.’ We agreed to meet at four o’clock, Dean. You pay me twenty dollars an hour and I’ve just wasted one of those hours. I’m not going to waste anymore.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way.” He finally offers. “I mean, don’t you have homework of your own? Maybe if you would’ve been working on that while you waited, it would have kept you distracted from looking at the time. Maybe you wouldn’t be so unnecessarily angry right now.”
Is he SERIOUS?! “You know what?” I take a deep breath, refusing to let him get me riled up any further. “Thank you for that terrible half-hearted apology. I guess that makes up for everything, doesn’t it?”
“No,” he says, reaching into his pocket, placing a twenty-dollar bill on the table. “But this does.”
“No, this does not.” I slide it back.
“Wait, what’s the problem here?” He shakes his head. “I said I’d pay you for three hours. You just got paid for one—for not doing a goddamn thing by the way—and once again, as you can see, I’m always looking out for you. But you’re mad because we’re only going to have two hours to spend together?”
“Oh my fucking God!” I can’t hold it in. “That’s not the point, Dean!” I’m seconds away from really going off, but a varsity cheerleader steps right between us.
“Hey, Dean.” She smiles, batting her long eyelashes at him. Then she looks over at me. “Mia,” she says, looking unimpressed.
“I’m leaving.” I step away and head for the door.
“Wait, Mia. Don’t leave.” Dean rushes in front of me and blocks my exit. “I promise to do better next time.”
“There won’t be a next time.”
“Okay, well just give me today. If you honestly can’t deal with me after today, then we won’t have to do this anymore.”
“I need your help with AP English.”
“I need your help with learning directions. My neighborhood is back there.”
He ignores my comment. “AP English is the only class I don’t have an A in.”
“What? You make A’s?”
“Yes.” He smirks. “I make A’s, except for English. I have a C plus and I need at least an A minus if I’m going to look appealing to colleges.”
“Wait a minute, what?” I temporarily put my annoyance aside. “You’re the star quarterback. You don’t need to make good grades to get an athletic scholarship. You just need to keep playing football. Isn’t that what you want?”
He doesn’t answer that. Instead he sighs. “I need you to help me with the literature components and help me strengthen some of my essays.”
“But why do you want me to help you?”
“Why wouldn’t I? You have the best grade in the class and I’m pretty sure that being a smart ass, which you clearly are, requires quite a few brain cells, so I figure there’s no one better to ask.”
“Maybe, but I’m not interested.”
“I’ll pay you.”
I look at him for a second to see if he’s being serious. “Is that how you normally get what you want?”
“No, that’s not my normal method, but I figured you wouldn’t go for that, so I’m not going to go down that road with you.” That stupid grin is on his face again.
“My services don’t come cheap,” I say. “They’re very expensive.”
“Honestly, I’d be disappointed if they weren’t.”
“Then in that case, I’m sure you can’t afford me.”
“Try me.” He cranks the engine and drives, heading toward my subdivision again.
I contemplate for a moment, unsure of what tutors usually charge. Then I come up with a number I know he won’t agree to pay. “Twenty dollars an hour.”
“Deal,” he says smoothly.
“Deal? Just like that?”
“Why not?”
“Because that’s a lot of money.”
“I’m sure you’ll be worth every penny.”
“Fine. We’ll start in two weeks.” I wait for him to drop me off at the corner, where I told him I lived, but he drives into the neighborhood instead.
Looking over at me, he warns, “I’m not letting you out of the car until you tell me which of these houses is yours. I need to make sure you get home safely.”
“So, now you’re a gentleman?”
“Only for some girls.” He smiles and I roll my eyes, deciding to give in so I can get this ride over with.
“5632...Down a few more houses and on your left.”
He nods and speeds up a bit, eventually pulling right in front of my mailbox.
“Thanks for the ride.” I immediately unbuckle my seatbelt and collect my bag from the floor.
“Wait a minute,” he says. “I need your phone number...For tutoring purposes, of course,” he adds with a sly smile.
He hands me his phone and I reluctantly type in my number. I save it under “For Tutoring Purposes, of Course” and give it back to him before rushing inside my house.
As soon as I make it upstairs to my room, my cell phone buzzes with a text message notification. It’s an unknown number.
This is Dean. Here’s my number, you can save it under “For ANY Purposes, Of Course...”
I should’ve known to stay away from him that very day...
PART I.
The Past
(Don't worry...This won't take too long. It never takes a guy that long to fuck things up.)
Chapter 1
MIA A couple weeks later...
I glance at the clock above the library’s door and groan for the umpteenth time.
I told Dean to meet me here at four o’clock, told him exactly where I would be and how important it was for him to be on time. Yet, unsurprisingly, he’s late. And it’s not even a nice “It’s only five minutes” type of late.
I’ve even texted him about his lateness three times: When he was fifteen minutes late, I messaged, “Are you still coming?” and he said he was on his way. When he was thirty minutes late, I sent, “Have you somehow gotten lost in the school you’ve been going to for the past four years?” And just now, at forty-five minutes past the hour, when I sent him an, “I think we need to try this another day” message, he didn’t even send me an apology. His response? “I don’t. I’m in the hallway.”
Ugh! I should’ve known better than this....
I pack up all my books and push my chair away from the table so I can leave. Just as I’m standing up, Mr. Popular strolls through the door looking unfazed as ever.
“Hey,” he says, walking over to my table. “Why is all your stuff packed up? Where are you going?”
“I’m off to see someone who respects my time.”
“Who is that?”
“It doesn’t matter. You’re damn near an hour late.”
“So?” He shrugs, looking genuinely confused.
“So? No, not ‘so.’ We agreed to meet at four o’clock, Dean. You pay me twenty dollars an hour and I’ve just wasted one of those hours. I’m not going to waste anymore.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way.” He finally offers. “I mean, don’t you have homework of your own? Maybe if you would’ve been working on that while you waited, it would have kept you distracted from looking at the time. Maybe you wouldn’t be so unnecessarily angry right now.”
Is he SERIOUS?! “You know what?” I take a deep breath, refusing to let him get me riled up any further. “Thank you for that terrible half-hearted apology. I guess that makes up for everything, doesn’t it?”
“No,” he says, reaching into his pocket, placing a twenty-dollar bill on the table. “But this does.”
“No, this does not.” I slide it back.
“Wait, what’s the problem here?” He shakes his head. “I said I’d pay you for three hours. You just got paid for one—for not doing a goddamn thing by the way—and once again, as you can see, I’m always looking out for you. But you’re mad because we’re only going to have two hours to spend together?”
“Oh my fucking God!” I can’t hold it in. “That’s not the point, Dean!” I’m seconds away from really going off, but a varsity cheerleader steps right between us.
“Hey, Dean.” She smiles, batting her long eyelashes at him. Then she looks over at me. “Mia,” she says, looking unimpressed.
“I’m leaving.” I step away and head for the door.
“Wait, Mia. Don’t leave.” Dean rushes in front of me and blocks my exit. “I promise to do better next time.”
“There won’t be a next time.”
“Okay, well just give me today. If you honestly can’t deal with me after today, then we won’t have to do this anymore.”
