MY COCKY BASKETBALL PLAYER

The note came folded into fourths, slid across the library table like a secret. "Tutoring. Derek. Pays really well. You in?" I looked up from my textbook. Gemma was already grinning, chin resting on her palm, waiting. "You're joking." "I never joke about money." I unfolded the note again. Derek. Star player of the basketball team. The one who made the crowd scream his name. I had seen him in the hallways, always surrounded, always laughing too loud, always looking like the world had been designed for him. "Why me?" "Because you're the smartest person I know. And his family is desperate. His grades are bad. His mom called my mom crying." I wanted to say no. I opened my mouth. But then I did the math. Once a week. Saturdays. Three hours. The amount Gemma whispered under her breath was more than I made in two weeks at the café. I calculated it again. It could cover a whole semester. I closed my textbook. "Fine. Tell them yes." *** I walked home the long way, cutting through the park. I liked this route. Fewer people. More quiet. Our house was small. My mother worked evenings at the hospital, sometimes double shifts. I let myself in, dropped my bag by the door. The fridge had a note. "Leftovers in the microwave. Love you." I ate standing up, staring out the window. I had been saving money since I was fourteen. Birthday checks. Holiday tips. Whatever I could scrape together. It sat in a jar in my closet. I counted it sometimes when no one was watching. It was not enough yet. This tutoring job could change that. I did not tell anyone why I really needed it. Gemma thought I was just being responsible. My mother thought I was just being cautious. I let them think that. It was easier. *** That night, the phone rang. "Is this the tutor Gemma recommended?" A woman's voice, warm and polished. "Yes," I said. "Wonderful. I'm so glad you agreed. He is a good boy, really. He just needs someone patient." I did not know what to say. I had never met this woman. I had never met her son. "I will do my best." The mother laughed, relieved. "Saturday at two?" I hung up. I stared at the phone. Then I wrote in my planner. Saturday. Two PM. Tutoring. Underneath, smaller. Money. *** I lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling. I did not know much about him. I had seen him in the hallways. Everyone had. He was the kind of person who demanded attention without trying. Tall. Always moving. Always with someone's arm around his shoulder. I remembered last year, the big game. Gemma had dragged me. I had stood near the back, trying to disappear. He had been on the court, weaving through players like they were standing still. The crowd had screamed his name. He had looked up, grinned, and waved like he was accepting an award. I had rolled my eyes. That was the only memory I had. A boy who waved to a screaming crowd. A boy who did not know I existed. Tomorrow, I would be sitting across from him. I wondered if he would be rude. If he would mock me. I had heard stories about boys like him. They thought they were untouchable. But I reminded myself. It was just a job. I was there to earn money. Then I would walk out and never think about him again. I closed my eyes. *** Saturday morning came gray and quiet. I woke before my alarm, lay there, then got up. Jeans without holes. A sweater that did not look years old. I looked in the mirror and saw a girl who belonged in a library. That was fine. I left a note on the counter. "Tutoring. Back by 5. Love you." The walk took twenty minutes. I had memorized the address. I liked being prepared. The neighborhood changed as I walked. The houses got bigger. I passed a house with a fountain and tried not to stare. His house was the biggest. White. Clean. A driveway that could fit four cars. I stopped at the gate. I took a breath. I pushed it open. *** I knocked three times. The door swung open. His mother. Beautiful in that effortless way rich women seemed to be. Her smile was warm but practiced. She grabbed my hands. "Thank you so much for coming. I cannot tell you how grateful we are." "It is no problem." She led me through a hallway bigger than my whole house. Photos on the wall. Him at every age, always smiling, always surrounded. Six, holding a basketball. Ten, with a trophy. Fourteen, taller than his father. "He is upstairs. He knows you are coming. Can I get you anything?" "No, thank you." I sat on the couch. I looked at my hands. I counted the seconds. Footsteps on the stairs. Heavy. Slow. He appeared at the bottom. He was taller than I remembered. Or maybe he just seemed taller now that he was not moving through a crowd. Hair messy. Hoodie and sweatpants. He looked at me the way you would look at a textbook you did not want to open. "So you are the tutor." I stood. I made myself meet his eyes. "Yes." A beat. Then the corner of his mouth twitched. "This should be fun." I did not smile back.