MY COCKY BASKETBALL PLAYER

Chapter 2

He led me to a study room off the main hallway. Bigger than my bedroom. Heavy wooden desk in the center, covered in scattered papers, empty water bottles, and an expensive-looking laptop. Basketball posters everywhere. Some signed.

Derek dropped into the chair behind the desk. His feet went up on the wood. His phone appeared in his hand.

I stood there, holding my bag.

"Could you put your feet down?"

He didn't look up. "They're comfortable."

"We're starting now."

"Cool."

I opened my bag. Pulled out my notebook. My textbooks. I hadn't known what level he was at, so I'd brought everything. Algebra. English. History.

"Let's start with something simple," I said. "What subject are you struggling with most?"

Nothing.

"Derek. What subject do you need the most help with?"

He scrolled through his phone. "All of them."

"That's not helpful."

"Didn't ask to be helpful."

I pressed my lips together. Breathed.

"Okay. I'll give you a short assessment. Just to see where you're at."

I wrote out a basic algebra problem. Freshman level. Slid it across the desk.

He glanced at it. Back at his phone.

"You're not even going to try?"

"Not really."

"Why not?"

He looked up. "Because this is pointless. I'm not going to use algebra after high school."

"Then why are you here?"

He shrugged. "My mom thinks I need help."

"What do you think?"

"I think I'm fine."

I stared at him. He stared back. Then his eyes dropped to his phone again.

I tried English next. Read a passage from my textbook. Asked what the author was saying.

"Sounds boring," he said.

"Do you have anything useful to contribute?"

"Not really."

Heat crept up my neck. I wrote another problem. Simpler this time. Addition and subtraction.

He looked at it. Almost laughed.

"That's insulting."

"You won't even try the hard one."

"Because I don't care."

I closed my notebook.

He noticed. "What?"

"You're not listening. You're not trying. You're just wasting my time."

He set his phone down. Folded his arms. "Then why are you here?"

I didn't answer.

"See?" he said. "You don't have a reason."

I had a reason. I wanted to tell him. I wanted to say, I need this money. I need it more than you'll ever understand. I'm here because I don't have a choice.

But I didn't.

I just shook my head. Stood up.

"Where are you going?"

"Somewhere I'm wanted."

He laughed. Actually laughed.

"You're funny," he said. "For a tutor."

"You're not funny at all."

I packed my bag fast. Pen, notes, textbooks. I didn't look at him. I could feel his eyes on me.

"Your mom can keep the money," I said.

He raised his head’s up. "Wait. Seriously?"

I stopped at the door. Looked back. He had a smirk on his face. Grinning like someone who has won a lottery.

"Don't worry," I said. "You'll find someone else to ignore."

I walked out.

***

I didn't stop until I hit the front gate.

The air was cold. I pulled my jacket tighter. My hands were shaking. I didn't know if it was the temperature or the anger.

I walked fast. Cut through the park without realizing it. The trees were bare. Brown leaves crunched under my shoes.

I replayed every second in my head. Every word. Every smirk. The way he scrolled through his phone like I wasn't even there. The way he laughed. The way he said I was "funny."

I hated that I'd even tried. I hated that I'd let him get to me.

I reached my street. My house looked smaller than usual. Or maybe I just felt smaller.

I let myself in. Empty. My mother was at work. I threw my bag on the floor. Sat on my bed. Stared at the wall.

The jar in my closet. The money I'd been saving since I was fourteen. The numbers I'd counted and recounted.

This job was supposed to be the solution.

Instead, it was just more proof that people like him didn't care about people like me.

I didn't cry. I was too angry for that.

I lay back on my bed and closed my eyes.

***

My phone buzzed.

I ignored it.

Buzzed again.

I picked it up. Unknown number.

"You left your notebook."

I stared at the screen.

My notebook. The one with my notes. The one I'd written the problems in. I'd left it on the desk.

I typed back: "Throw it away."

I blocked the number.

I put the phone face-down on my bedside table.

I didn't move for a long time.