Chapter 2: Tutor For The Outcast
1577 Words
CALLA
The worst part about heartbreak isn’t crying. It’s showing up the next morning and pretending nothing happened.
The hallway is loud with lockers slamming and laughter echoing through the building. Senior year banners and hockey tryouts posters are taped above the lockers and on walls. Of course the Falcons, Blackridge High’s hockey team is the face of the school. Everyone looks excited for the new year, especially seniors for their last year.
I feel hollow.
My phone is still in my hand. I shouldn’t have checked i********: again before walking in. I shouldn’t have looked at the picture twice. Three times. I shouldn’t have zoomed in on the timestamp just to confirm what I already knew.
Miles will always run back to Sabrina; cheerleader, captain of the girls' basketball team, head of the drama club, member of the student council... In short, the girl who shines in everything she puts her hands on, and the biggest part? The face of the Falcons. She is always at the games front row.
How could I ever compete with that?
“Calla!” Brina’s voice cuts through the noise.
She is leaning against Miles’ locker, all effortless confidence and perfect hair. She looks radiant as always, and tanned. She was in Spain for the summer. Miles stands beside her. He looks exactly the same as he did last night, except for the clothes.
“Morning,” I say, tucking my hair back.
Brina smiles too wide. “I didn’t see your comment.”
My stomach tightens. “My comment on what?”
She laughs lightly. “Our post. Couple goals? Ringing a bell?”
I feel Miles’ eyes on me before I look at him. I refuse to. I focus on the dent in the locker behind her instead.
“Oh,” I say, forcing a casual shrug. “I haven’t logged in yet.”
Lie.
Brina tilts her head. “Really? That’s weird. You are usually the first one stalking us.”
Her tone is playful but her eyes are not. In another world, Sabrina and I wouldn't be friends. But because of Miles, we are. Or we pretend to be.
I smile. Not too big, just enough to convince. “Guess I was busy.”
“Busy with what exactly?”
Miles shifts beside her.
“Brina,” he says quietly.
What is that tone? A warning? A request? She ignores him. Of course she does.
“You could have at least dropped a heart,” she continues. “You know, support your friends.”
Friends. The word burns, but of course.
“I will,” I say. “I promise.”
I finally look at Miles. Big mistake. His expression is calm, studying me. There is something there. Not guilt exactly, and not regret. It is more like assessment, like he is checking to see how much damage he did. He is wearing the team’s jacket, his duffelbag with his gear at his side. His teammates acknowledge him as they pass, some too loud to tolerate.
We lock eyes. For half a second, the hallway fades. Last night flashes between us. The porch light, his hand on my wrist. Then the question, we are good?
I break eye contact first. Coward.
“You good?” he asks quietly.
The nerve!
“Of course,” I say, almost too quickly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Brina slides her hand into his, possessively.
“Well, that’s that. Should we head to class?”
I have been in love with Miles Bennett for most of my life. I have defended him in every argument. I have supported him and chosen him in every fight. I’m not about to stop now. Besides, I made him a promise so I play along.
Then suddenly, the hallway shifts. Whispers travel faster than sound, right before
Ryder Monroe walks in. Everything in me tightens automatically.
“Whoa! Power forward is back.” Someone says down the hallway.
“He looks rough. I hope the ice is insured this year.” Another one adds and the whole hallway rumbles with laughter.
Ryder doesn’t pay attention. He hasn’t changed. He has the same steady stride, same unreadable expression, same way people move out of his path without being told to.
He was suspended for a semester before summer, branded as violent and unstable. That’s the word everyone used. Some even said he was committed into a rehabilitation facility.
I remember the day it happened. The boys’ locker room, everyone shouting, someone recording the video, blood on the tile floor, Miles on the ground, and Ryder standing over him. The case was so big that even the police were involved.
In the end, Ryder was the one who left because he was the guilty party. Miles never pressed charges. He said he didn’t want to “ruin someone’s life.”
That made everyone love him more but he never talked about that incident again.
Ryder doesn’t look at Miles or Brina. He looks at me for whatever reason.
It’s brief but calm, not threatening. That’s what unsettles me. There is no apology in his face. No anger either.
Brina scoffs under her breath. “Unbelievable! Why would they let him back in school?”
Miles goes still beside her. I notice it because I always notice him.
His jaw tightens and shoulders lock.
“Are you okay?” I ask quietly.
Brina answers before he can.
“Of course he is not,” she snaps. “Who would be after what Monroe did? I hope they don’t allow him back on the team.”
Her fingers tighten around Miles’ hand.
I swallow. I remember the bruises on his jaw, and the split in his lip.
I remember sitting in his room while he said, “It’s fine, Cal. I handled it.”
I believed him. I always do.
Ryder keeps walking. He doesn’t react to the whispers or to Brina’s loud comment. He doesn’t even glance at her. He just keeps moving. For a second, I wonder why he looks so unaffected.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I check it. “Please report to the principal’s office immediately.”
My stomach drops.
“Everything okay?” Miles asks.
I nod. “Yeah. I just got called to the office.”
Brina raises an eyebrow. “Already? It’s the first day and you are already in trouble? This might be your year, Calla.”
“I guess I’m special,” I say, starting to walk toward the administrative wing.
My voice sounds distant even to me.
When I open the door after knocking, my pulse spikes. Ryder is already there. This is a coincidence. It has to be.
I step inside.
Principal Harris sits behind his desk, his glasses low on his nose. Ryder is already seated in the chair beside the window. He doesn’t look at me immediately and when he does, he doesn't look surprised to see me.
I stay near the door. “You wanted to see me, sir?”
Principal Harris folds his hands. “Yes, Calla. Thank you for coming.”
Ryder turns his head. Our eyes meet properly this time. Up close, he looks older than he did last year. He doesn't look wild or unstable. He looks controlled.
“As you know, this is Ryder,” the principal continues. “Mr. Monroe has been reinstated this semester under specific academic conditions.”
My chest tightens, not really sure what that has to do with me.
“Due to his extended absence, he will need assistance catching up.”
Silence stretches for several seconds, and then—
“You have been selected as his academic tutor for the remainder of the semester.”
Everything inside me drops.
“I’m sorry… what?”
Ryder doesn’t smile but something shifts in his expression.
Interest? I look away quickly.
Principal Harris continues, unaware of the earthquake he just triggered. “You are one of our top students, Calla. You are responsible and reliable. We believe you are the right fit.”
The right fit. For him? How does that even make sense?
“With all due respect,” I say carefully, “I don’t think—”
“It’s non-negotiable, Miss Pierce,” he interrupts gently. “This arrangement works to both your benefit. You are in need of additional academic credit this semester, are you not?”
Heat floods my face. I nod yes, because while my grades are strong, my extracurriculars are weak. I don’t do clubs. I don’t do sports. I just study and that’s it.
“This tutoring position fulfills that requirement,” he continues. “Declining would mean forfeiting the credit.”
There it is. A choice without choice. I look at Ryder again and the air feels heavier.My pulse spikes severely until I drag my eyes away from him.
“Understood,” I say because I don’t have an option. I really need the credit.
That means every day or every other day with Ryder Monroe. The boy who nearly destroyed my best friend. The boy everyone calls dangerous. The boy who is still watching me like he knows something I don’t. Just like that, my entire senior year tilts on its axis.
Ryder leans back in his chair, calm and unbothered. Senior year was supposed to be simple. It was supposed to be about surviving Miles and Brina one last time. Not this. Not him.
- Writer
