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My cheeks warm as a smile rises on my lips. What can I say, it feels nice knowing that I’m good at helping people.
“You want me to find Derek and tell him to come see you, then?” I joke, referring to another English tutor here.
“Modesty doesn’t become you, Miss Lockley,” he replies, adding with a grin, “it’s too forced.”
I chuckle. “Alright, what’s this special assignment?”
“We have a student-athlete coming in who needs help with his essay writing. You know how demanding these athletic departments are that they receive gold-plated service. Are you up for an extra session this Monday? Two-thirty in the afternoon?”
I don’t have anywhere else to be at that time. “Sure,” I answer. Extra money is always welcome. Not that it’ll be enough to fix my car, not even close, but it’ll make paying for groceries this week less stressful.
I head home, looking forward to a very low-key Friday night and weekend.
No partying or excitement for me. I’m in decompression mode. I just want to veg out on the couch, maybe watch some mindless reality TV with Salsa, Summer’s boyfriend’s cat who lives with us now, curled up on my lap. Maybe have a glass of wine here and there with Summer while we let our brains rot watching said mindless reality TV.
Earlier today, I finally told my dad that I’m going to have to pass on his offer to come down to Charleston to act in Last Bus Out. At least that’s one thing off my mind. Thanks to the car situation, I’m going to have to forget about acting in Macbeth, too.
Looking on the bright side, at least that’ll make my schedule less hectic. All I have to worry about is finishing this semester, acting in one or two more student productions, and getting ready for my summer internship.
Is that as exciting as starring in a classic Shakespeare production with a professional theatre company in Burlington while I look forward to spending the summer in Charleston and sharing a stage with the hottest stage actor in the country?
Maybe not. But all I can do is play the hand I’m dealt.
I can feel some of the disappointment that this week’s piled on me start to tumble from my shoulders. Yep, after a low-key, reenergizing weekend, I’ll be all good to start next week with a clean slate on Monday.
8
OLIVIA
The weekend was exactly what I needed.
Operation drink wine and rot my brain on trash TV with my bestie was a smashing success. After finishing the schoolwork I had to do late Friday afternoon, I had a perfect weekend of being supremely unproductive and doing nothing of value.
It was exactly what I needed to recharge my batteries from the week beforehand.
Monday’s classes pass like a breeze, and my shoulders are feeling so light that I’m whistling an easy tune as I walk into the tutoring center for my very important two-thirty session with the student-athlete.
“He’s waiting in room five for you, Olivia,” Dr. Galloway calls as I pass his office.
I shoot him a thumbs up and nod in acknowledgment.
That’s a good sign. Shows this one is taking things seriously.
So often, we have athletes sent to us on the orders of their coaches, and it’s clear they want to be anywhere else in the world but here. They act like us trying to help them pass their classes—which, you know, is the whole reason they’re supposed to be here, in college—is some horrible imposition on them.
But this student isn’t just on time, he’s early. Maybe it’s just because of the mood I’m in now, but I have a good feeling about this one.
I push open the door of tutoring room five—and the carefree, optimistic mood that’s been buoying me all day flies away in an instant, like a bird launching itself out of the way of an approaching car.
A heavy weight settles in my stomach.
My eyes are locked on the bright, baby-blue gaze of none other than Tuck McCoy.
For a beat of time, our gazes tether, Tuck’s face blank just like mine as I silently pray for a meteor to strike the tutoring center.
“Oh no,” I manage to lament. The words that escape my lips might be tiny, but they’re charged with a truckload of dismay.
Then, he laughs.
