The Tutor's Clause

Chapter 6

The exam was three days away when the storm hit.

It started as rain, then turned into something worse, enough that the school announced early evening lockdown, no one crossing between buildings until it passed.

Simona was in the library when the announcement came. George was with her, exam notes spread across the table, both of them too deep into practice problems to notice the sky outside had gone dark.

"Did they just say lockdown?" George asked.

"I think so."

He walked to the window. Rain hit the glass sideways, hard enough to rattle it.

"That's not a normal storm."

"No."

"Guess we're stuck here."

Simona checked her phone. A message from the school confirmed it, no movement between buildings until further notice.

"Looks like it," she said.

"For how long?"

"Unclear. Could be an hour. Could be all night."

George turned from the window, something unreadable on his face. "Well. At least we have exam prep to keep us busy."

"Small mercies."

They kept working, but the storm made it hard to focus, thunder rattling the windows every few minutes, the library emptying out around them until it was just the two of them and a librarian who eventually gave up and went to check on the front desk.

"This is officially the longest study session of my life," George said, an hour in.

"Mine too."

"Do you think they'll bring food, or are we just supposed to starve until the rain stops?"

"I have a granola bar in my bag if you're desperate."

"I'm desperate."

She tossed it to him. He caught it, tore it open, took a bite before pausing.

"Thanks."

"It's a granola bar, not a kidney."

"Still. Thanks."

Another hour passed. The lights flickered once, held. George set his pencil down.

"Can we take a real break? My brain is fried."

"Fine. Ten minutes."

"Fifteen."

"You always negotiate up."

"You always start too low."

They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the storm. Simona pulled her knees up onto the chair, arms wrapped around them, watching the rain streak sideways across the window.

"Can I ask you something," George said.

"You always ask that before asking something you're not sure you should."

"Fair. Do you ever get tired of being the responsible one?"

Simona considered the question. "Sometimes."

"Just sometimes?"

"Being responsible is what got me here. I don't get to be tired of it and also keep the scholarship."

"That sounds exhausting."

"You said that before. About your father."

"It's true both times."

The lights flickered again, longer this time, then came back.

"If the power goes out," George said, "we're stuck here in the dark. Just so you know."

"I'm aware of how power outages work."

"Just setting expectations."

"You're very focused on setting expectations tonight."

"Seems important, given the circumstances."

Something in his tone made her look over. He was watching her, not the window, not the notebook, just her, in a way that made the air in the room feel different.

"George."

"Yeah."

"We should probably get back to studying."

"Probably."

Neither of them moved.

"The thing I said earlier," George said. "About later. About telling you what's going on with my father."

"Yeah?"

"Ask me again. Tonight. While we're stuck here anyway."

Simona's pulse picked up, though she wasn't sure if it was the question or the way he asked it.

"Okay," she said carefully. "What's going on with your father?"

George exhaled, long and slow, like he'd been holding the answer in for weeks.

"He's not just disappointed about grades," he said. "He's decided if I don't get into a specific university, on a specific track, he's pulling his funding from the school. All of it. The boathouse renovation, the scholarship program, everything."

Simona went very still.

"The scholarship program," she repeated.

"Yeah."

"My scholarship."

"I didn't know that part connected to you specifically until Voss assigned you to me. I should have told you sooner."

The rain kept

hammering the window, but Simona barely heard it anymore, too busy realizing how much bigger this had just become, for both of them.