You Auto-Complete Me

Chapter Three-1

CHAPTER THREE

YOU LOGGED ON

DRU EMILY MARIE WILLIAMS! You can’t just tell me you met a hipster with a goatee and dreads, and you’re going back to the hellhole that is high school, and almost killed your father, and then leave me hanging! Tell me everything!

DRU Every.

DRU Single.

DRU Thing.

EM Hold on there, girlfriend, I said I’d text you as soon as I got back. Where was I?

DRU I flail my hands at you!

EM Hee hee hee. OK, I’ll start with the best bit first: the professorial meet and greet at Oxwills University. Or rather, one of the colleges.

I know, it’s confusing—I thought Oxwills was a college, but it’s like a mega college, and there’s all these little colleges within it. I think. I wasn’t really paying attention when Brother was going on and on and on about it on the way to Oxwills. Aidan of the goatee wasn’t at the party, which made me a bit sad.

DRU And why are you not telling me about him? What are you hiding?

EM I’ll get to him. Be patient.

DRU Gah.

EM The meet and greet was a bit on the sad side as well, with no one under fifty except me and the daughter of a Latin teacher, who was about fifteen or sixteen. The daughter, not the Latin teacher.

“Hi,” I said, parking myself next to the girl. She was vaguely Goth in a black top and leggings, and wore a really sad expression. No one was paying her any attention, and she had that look on her face that you get when you’re not sure if your tampon has leaked or not, and you don’t want anyone to look at you just in case it has.

She eyed me for a minute before saying, “Hullo.”

“I’m Emily,” I said, holding out my hand.

She stared at it like it was made up of bull testicles. “Holly Alton,” she said, finally giving my hand a little shake.

“You have a parent here, too?” I asked, nodding at the herd of ancient ones who were milling around meeting and greeting and whatnot.

“Yes, my mother is a Latin professor, and my father teaches religious studies.”

“Ugh. Oh, sorry if that came out rude, but neither of them sound like much fun. The subjects, not your parents. I’m sure they’re a barrel-of-monkeys sort of fun.”

Holly gave a little one-shouldered shrug, still eyeing me in a considering sort of manner. “They aren’t. Are you a tutor?”

“Me? No, my dad is a visiting professor, and I came along to take a year of foreign college. I’m having trouble picking a major. So far, I’ve thought about psychology, English, art history, and justice, but none of them really are for me, although I was pretty good with the English composition classes. And the criminology classes I had at a community college were a blast. We got to go to the morgue and everything.”

“Oooh.” Her eyes widened, and she warmed up to me a bit. “Those all sound so interesting, except the morgue one.”

“I’m thinking of archaeology next, or maybe something sciency. Do you go to school here?”

“No, I’m in the fifth form. It’s too bad you’re not a tutor—my parents are trying to find one for me, since ...” She stopped and, biting her lip, looked away.

I sensed a mystery and, Dru, you know how I love me a good mystery!

DRU You do. You love mysteries. Especially my old-time pre–politically correct Nancy Drew books that I used to get at garage sales. You know, the ones you stole from me.

EM I didn’t steal them—I borrowed them. Reading is good for you. A mind is a sad thing to waste and all that.

DRU Dude.

EM ?

DRU You still have them. My books. The ones I spent my allowances on every month. The ones I loved and petted and which are hard to find, and now are worth a fortune on eBay.

EM You’re delusional. What makes you think I have them?

DRU I saw them when I helped you pack, remember?

EM You must have hit the c***k pipe particularly hard that day. Anyway ...

DRU I have never smoked c***k!

EM ANYWAY! There I was at this party with a Goth girl going all emo.

“Since what?” I asked her, realizing that I was being a bit pushy, but what’s the use in having everyone think you are pushy just because you’re American, and not taking advantage of that bias?

Her gaze flickered away from me, and she gave another half shrug. “I don’t do well at school.”

“That’s too bad. I didn’t mind high school, myself, but I know that sometimes people can be d***s and make you hate it.” I felt an odd sort of sympathy for Holly. She reminded me of that girl who was in our sophomore class for a couple of weeks before she left because she was bullied by the cheerleaders. Do you remember her?

DRU Marvella. Weird name, great hair. I think she was into corset training.

EM That’s right. She passed out once in gym class and told Miss Miller it was because she had tightened her corset down another level, which I always thought sounded incredibly uncomfortable. The corset, that is. But boy, her boobs never moved during track.

DRU Better than a sports b*a, that’s for sure. Go on with telling me what happened with Goth Holly. Did she faint?

EM Nope.

“Those are my parents, there,” I told her, nodding toward them. “My mom is in the yellow dress, and my father is next to her.”

“The one with the—” She made a gesture indicating the hair horn.

“Yup, that’s Brother.”

She blinked at me.

“I know, it’s confusing,” I said, giving her an apologetic smile. “My father has always been called Brother. Evidently his sister started calling him that when he was born, and it stuck. Even my mom and my grandma call him Brother. It’s a bit kinky, but what can you do?”

“That is ... different.”

“Yup. Hey, what does tutoring involve? And ... uh ... I hate to be crass, but does it pay much? I need a part-time job while I’m going to college, and if all you need is some help with your classes, I could probably do that with one hand tied behind my back.”

Holly brightened just a little. “I don’t know what my parents are paying, but I can ask them. Would you really take the job?” For a second she looked horrified at what she said, and then her gaze dropped to her hands, and she muttered something about being presumptuous.

“Look, babe,” I said, giving her a pat on the hand. “Any girl who can use the word ‘presumptuous’ in a sentence is a chick after my own heart. I’d be happy to be your tutor so long as we can come to an agreement about money. I don’t need a ton, since Brother is paying for my classes and books and stuff, but I do need some clothes, and since my driver’s license was taken away because I ran into a cop car, and the judge got all bent out of shape because the insurance company didn’t tell me they turned the autopay off—anyway, because of all that, I have to take the driving test here in order to get a license. And that costs money.”

“I’ll go ask,” Holly said, and, without waiting for me to tell her she didn’t have to do it right that second, scooted off to find her parents.

DRU Aww. You made a new friend. A needy friend. That’s awfully sweet, Em.

EM A job is a job. But I will admit, I liked Holly. She reminds me of a lost puppy.

DRU You always were a sucker for a lost puppy.

EM Long story short (I know, too late): I am now the official tutor of one Holly Alton, sixteen-year-old troubled girl. I almost backed out when her mom cornered me and asked me what experience I had with depression and self-harm, but after explaining to her that I was never into that because I was horse-crazy until I was fifteen, and didn’t have time to be moody and depressed, she gave me a huge smile and said I was hired.

DRU That doesn’t make any sense at all.

EM Right? But then, people really don’t, do they?

DRU So is that why you’re going back to high school? And why? You hated it when you had to go, so why would you repeat that now when you’re in college?

EM Mum Alton said she really wanted me to be more of a friend to Holly than anything else.

“She has trouble at school interacting and communicating with the other children,” Mum A. said, patting her perfectly coiffed hair. “Holly feels things so much, you know. The headmaster is willing to allow an advocate to attend some classes with Holly in an attempt to get her through this trying time.”

“Attend classes?” I said, my voice all high and squeaky and probably able to cut glass at close quarters. “Whoa. I’m in college now! I graduated high school almost three years ago, and I’m not going back for anyone. I mean, Holly seems like a nice kid, but—”

“No, no, I phrased that poorly. You wouldn’t be expected to attend the classes in that way—you’ll simply be with her certain days of the week, anonymously sitting in the background and monitoring the situation so that Holly will be able to focus on her studies and not worry about any bullying, of which she has in the past been the target. The school is quite willing to work with us on this, and I’m certain will tell everyone that you are there in a nonstudent capacity. I’m sure it will be quite suitable for you to do your own studying during such times.”

“Oh.” I thought about that for a few minutes.

DRU The only way anyone could get me back into high school would be to pay me a metric butt-load of money. Metric. Butt. Load.

EM “Naturally, we would compensate you for your time and trouble above and beyond the standard tutoring rate,” Mum A. said, which clinched the deal.

DRU Ha! Called it.

EM “Holly is rather withdrawn with others her age, so it will be a relief to know she is under the watchful eye of someone so mature.”

“I’d be delighted,” I said with my best trustworthy smile, and after haggling just a little over the salary, we settled it all, and I start tomorrow, before the college semester begins.

DRU You have balls of steel, girl.

EM Ovaries. We shouldn’t base strength on male personal equipment. I have ovaries of steel. Wait, that sounds ...

DRU Yeah. Uncomfy.

EM Balls it is.

On the way home, I noticed a sign on the side of the road that said piddlington-on-the-weld 1 mile. I was just starting to snicker to myself about all the poor people that live in Piddling when Brother pulled off at the POTW exit.

“Hey,” I said. You know me, never one to pull my punches.

DRU People with balls of steel never pull punches. Fact.

EM “What are you doing? Taking a shortcut to Ghoul Central? How come we’ve turned off here?”

“We live here, Emily.”

Honest to Pete, I just about piddled on the weld (whatever that is). “What? You said we live in a town called Alling! No one ever said anything about a town that describes someone peeing on something!”

Brother glared at me in the rearview mirror. “Piddlington is a suburb of Alling. The town name has nothing to do with urine. Many British towns bear old and ancient names dating back ...”

I groaned to myself and tried to stop listening. Whenever Brother gets going on anything ancient, he can talk until the end of time.

DRU So, you live in a town called ...

EM Piddlington.

DRU Hoo. I’m really sorry.

EM As if things weren’t horrible enough, now I am forever going to be cursed for being known as “Emily of Piddlesville.”

DRU Could be worse.

EM I don’t see how.

DRU My mom is from a place in Kentucky called Big Bone Lick.

EM I retract my objection.

Now on to the main subject. “Aidan,” I hear you saying with those narrowed eyes that you get whenever I go off on a tangent.

DRU I never!

EM Look at yourself right now.

DRU I ... it’s ... the sun is in my eyes!

EM Uh-huh. All righty, the tale of Mr. Hipster Aidan. Picture it: We’re standing in Brother’s library, and Brother and the dean are talking about something (probably ancient brass stuff or medieval tortures or those horribly dull books he insists on dragging us to see), and in walks Aidan. Now, I’m being very dignified. I didn’t drool on him, or throw myself on him, or remotely look like I wanted to ask him if he’d like to go up to my room and take care of that pesky virginity problem I have.