The Tutor's Clause

Chapter 7

"Say that again," Simona said.

"Which part?"

"The part where my scholarship depends on your grades, and it also depends on your father's mood, and you knew that and didn't say anything."

"I didn't know all of it. Not until Voss assigned you specifically."

"That was three weeks ago."

"I know."

"Three weeks, George."

He held up both hands, like that might slow her down. "I was trying to figure out how to tell you without it sounding like I was making it about me."

"It is about you. Your father, your funding, your ultimatum."

"And your scholarship. Which is why I should have told you sooner. I know that."

Simona stood up, needing to move, though there was nowhere to go in a locked-down library during a storm.

"So this whole time," she said, "every session, every joke, every time I told myself this was just tutoring, there was this hanging over both of us and I didn't even know it."

"I didn't want to scare you before I knew for sure it was real."

"Is it real now?"

"He told me himself. Last week. That's the phone call I kept avoiding."

Simona sat back down, slower this time, the anger draining into something heavier.

"So if you fail," she said, "not just the rowing team. The whole program. My scholarship, and every other scholarship kid here."

"Yeah."

"That's a lot of pressure to put on one calculus exam."

"Tell me about it."

She looked at him properly then, really looked, past the careless reputation and the doodled boats in his notebook.

"Why didn't you tell your father no?" she asked. "That it's not fair to hold an entire program hostage over your grades?"

"I did. He doesn't care about fair. He cares about results."

"That's awful."

"Welcome to my family."

The rain hadn't let up outside, but the storm inside the room had shifted into something quieter, something that felt less like an argument and more like two people finally being honest.

"I'm sorry," George said. "For not telling you. You deserved to know what you were actually walking into."

"You're right. I did."

"I know."

"But I get why you didn't want it to be about you. That part I understand."

George looked surprised by that, like he'd expected her to stay angry longer.

"You're not still mad?"

"I'm still a little mad. But I'd rather know the truth than keep thinking this was just about a grade."

"It was never just about a grade. Not for either of us, I don't think."

Simona didn't answer that right away, aware of how close they were sitting, how the library had gone almost fully dark except for the emergency lights along the shelves.

"So what happens now," she said. "If you fail."

"I don't know exactly. But I'm not planning on finding out."

"Good."

"Which means I actually need you. Not as a service hour. As an actual tutor who might be the only reason I pull this off."

"I already knew that."

"I know. I just wanted to say it out loud."

The lights flickered again, then steadied. Somewhere outside, thunder rolled, quieter than before, the worst of the storm passing.

"We should probably go back to studying," Simona said, though she didn't move.

"Probably."

Neither of them opened their notebooks.

"George."

"Yeah."

"Why does it feel like you just told me something a lot bigger than a scholarship problem."

He was quiet for a second, choosing his words carefully.

"Because I did," he said. "I'm not used to telling people the real version of things. You're kind of the first person I've told all of it to."

Something in Simona's chest tightened at that, not quite fear, not quite anything she had a name for yet.

"Well," she said, keeping her voice steady even though she didn't fully feel steady. "For what it's worth, I'm glad you told me."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

The storm outside had softened to a steady patter now, less violent, almost peaceful. Neither of them reached for their notebooks.

"Page eighty," Simona said eventually, though her heart clearly wasn't in it.

"In a minute," George said.

She didn't argue.