The Tutor's Clause

Chapter 3

The second week of tutoring started worse than the first.

George showed up ten minutes late, phone in hand, jaw tight in a way Simona hadn't seen before.

"You're late," she said.

"I know."

"No excuse this time?"

"Not one I feel like giving."

He sat down hard, phone face down on the table like he wanted it gone. Simona noticed but didn't push, not yet.

"Page fifty," she said instead.

They worked in silence for a while. George's answers were sloppier than last week, careless in a way that didn't match how sharp he'd been on Thursday.

"You're not focusing," she said.

"I'm trying."

"Try harder. This is the same material from Thursday."

"I know what it is."

His phone buzzed on the table. He flipped it over, saw the name, flipped it back down without answering.

"Everything okay?" Simona asked.

"Fine."

"You've checked that phone four times in ten minutes."

"I have a lot going on."

"Clearly."

The phone buzzed again. George's hand hovered over it, then pulled back, like touching it might cost him something.

"You can answer it," Simona said. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I don't want to answer it."

"Then why do you keep looking at it."

George didn't answer that. He picked up his pencil instead, worked through a problem too fast, got it wrong, didn't seem to care.

"That's wrong," Simona said.

"I know it's wrong."

"Do you want to try again, or keep guessing?"

"Can we just skip ahead."

"Skip ahead to what, more wrong answers?"

George dropped the pencil. "Look, I'm not exactly in the mood for a math lecture right now."

"Then tell me what mood you are in."

"None of your business."

"You made it my business the day my scholarship got attached to your grades."

That landed. George went quiet, staring at the table like it owed him something.

"Sorry," he said, finally. "That wasn't fair."

"No. It wasn't."

"I just." He stopped, started again. "My father called. Twice. I don't want to talk to him right now."

Simona kept her voice even. "Why not?"

"Because every conversation with him turns into the same conversation. Grades, rowing, the future, all the ways I'm currently disappointing him."

"That sounds exhausting."

"You have no idea."

"So tell me."

George looked up, surprised. "Tell you what?"

"Whatever it is you're not telling me. You said later. Is later now?"

"Later was a general concept. Not literally today."

"Fine. Then let's get through page fifty without you throwing your pencil at the table again."

A small, tired laugh escaped him. "I didn't throw it."

"You dropped it like it personally wronged you."

"That's different."

"Barely."

They went back to the problem set. George's focus came back slowly, one correct answer at a time, like he was climbing out of whatever the phone call had put him in.

Halfway through the next problem, his phone buzzed a third time. He didn't look at it this time.

"You're not going to check?" Simona asked.

"Not right now."

"Progress."

"Don't get used to it."

She almost smiled. "I won't."

They finished the set in near silence, but it was a different kind of silence than last week. Less tense. More like two people who'd stopped pretending the tension wasn't there.

"Same time Tuesday?" Simona asked, packing up her notes.

"Yeah." George hesitated. "Hey. Thanks. For not making me answer the phone question."

"I didn't make you do anything."

"You know what I mean."

"Sure," she said. "Tuesday. And bring actual notes this time, not sketches of boats."

"They're sculls."

"Whatever they are."

He almost smiled again, that same almost from last time, gone before it fully landed.

Simona walked out first, leaving him at the table with his phone still face down and his notebook still open to page fifty.

She didn't look back to see if he answered it.