The Tutor I Didn't Ask For.
929 Words
At exactly four o'clock, I decide Leon Fischer is officially dead to me.
At four fifteen, he walks into the library.
Alive.
Unfortunately.
I check the clock.
Then I check him.
Then the clock again.
“You're late.”
He drops his bag onto the chair.
“I know.”
I stare at him.
“That’s it?”
“Yes.”
Wow.
Amazing apology.
Five stars.
I close my notebook.
“I've been sitting here for fifteen minutes.”
“I know.”
I blink.
“How?”
He points at my phone.
“You've checked the time twelve times.”
I slowly look at my phone.
I have.
Traitor.
“I was checking my notifications.”
“You don't have any.”
I lock the screen.
“Privacy.”
He sits down.
I stare at him.
He looks up.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You're staring.”
“I’m thinking.”
“You do that loudly.”
I gasp.
“Was that a joke?”
“No.”
“It sounded like one.”
“It wasn't.”
“Right.”
The universe hated me.
I open my history textbook.
Our project is about the Berlin Wall and how it affected ordinary people.
Apparently, knowing when a wall was built isn't enough.
We need feelings.
Personal experiences.
Social impact.
Basically, Mr. Weber wants us to suffer academically.
Leon pulls out his notebook.
“Let's divide it.”
“Fine.”
“You do the social impact.”
I look at him.
“Why?”
“You're better at writing.”
I pause.
Was that a compliment?
From Leon Fischer?
Surely the apocalypse was coming.
“And you?”
“Political history.”
“Because you're boring?”
He looks at me.
“Because I'm good at it.”
“Fair.”
We start working.
And, annoyingly, he's actually useful.
His notes are perfect.
Mine look like they were written during an earthquake.
He glances at my page.
“You write like you're running from the letters.”
I look down.
“This is personality.”
“This is barely readable.”
“People pay extra for authenticity.”
His mouth twitches.
I point at him.
“You almost smiled.”
“No.”
“You did.”
“No.”
“I saw it.”
“You imagined it.”
“I have excellent eyesight.”
He goes back to his laptop.
I smile.
Got him.
One point for Amara.
A few minutes later, he points at my textbook.
“You highlighted the wrong paragraph.”
I look.
He is right.
Of course he is.
I erase it.
“That's unfortunate.”
“You missed the important part.”
“I was distracted.”
“By what?”
I look at him.
He looks at me.
Silence.
Why did I say that?
Why did my mouth betray me?
I clear my throat.
“By you being late.”
He looks away first.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
I immediately decide not to think about it.
My brain has other plans.
Outside, Berlin is getting darker.
The courtyard is filling with students leaving for home. Most of them have nice coats, expensive shoes, and probably parents who don't have to calculate whether they can afford something before buying it.
I pretend not to notice.
Leon notices me pretending.
“You're cold.”
“No.”
He looks at my hands.
I hide them under the table.
“I'm not cold.”
“Your hands are shaking.”
“I'm dramatic.”
“You're cold.”
“I am perfectly fine.”
He takes off his scarf and puts it on the table.
I stare at it.
Then at him.
“What am I supposed to do with that?”
“Use it.”
“I don't need it.”
“Okay.”
He reaches for it.
I grab it.
“I'll use it.”
He says nothing.
I wrap it around my neck.
Warm.
I hate that.
Mostly because I like it.
“So,” I say quickly, “your family must really love this school.”
He stops typing.
“Why?”
“You transferred here.”
“Yes.”
“From a private school.”
“Yes.”
“You're rich.”
He raises an eyebrow.
“That obvious?”
I laugh.
“You wear shoes that look like they have their own security guards.”
“They're shoes.”
“Exactly what a rich person would say.”
He shakes his head.
And there it is again.
That almost-smile.
I pretend I didn't see it.
His phone rings.
He checks the screen.
His whole face changes.
The smile disappears.
“I have to go.”
I look at the clock.
“We're not finished.”
“I'll come tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow is Thursday.”
“I know.”
“You're coming back?”
He looks at me.
“I said I would.”
Then he leaves.
Just like that.
I stare at the door.
Then at the scarf around my neck.
Then at my unfinished notes.
Why do I suddenly feel like something is wrong?
My phone buzzes.
Unknown number.
I open the message.
Don't trust Leon.
I frown.
Another message appears.
I know what happened at his old school.
My stomach drops.
I look toward the library doors.
Leon is already gone.
And suddenly, the history project is the least important thing in the room.
Because apparently, my annoying new partner has a secret.
And someone wants me to find out what it is.
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