Page 9 of Apparently, I’m Torture

“I have to if I want to get into an Ivy League school,” she muttered. “According to my mom, anyway.”

I shifted back, studying her. Jessica wasn’t a bad student by any means. She was quiet in class, attentive, and always handed in her work. She had dark brown eyes and jet-black hair, a fast metabolism and a penchant for winged eyeliner.

She was a social butterfly and loved school. She thrived here.

But it wasn’t a faculty secret that her mother wanted her to buckle down and raise her grades. I mean, I hadn’t had the pleasure of a Jessica-Hernandez-parent-teacher-dressing-down, but it was clear from this conversation that my blissful ignorance was coming to an end.

“Is that what you want?” I asked. “You still have the rest of high school in front of you. Besides, Ivy League schools are a lot of work. The load is intense.”

She lifted a shoulder, and that was my answer. “Jessica, if you don’t want to study at an Ivy League school, you don’t have to. Didn’t you want to study filmography?”

Again, another shrug. “Is that still what you want?”

She nodded. Finally. A different nonverbal answer.

“Why don’t you just tell your mom that?”

Jessica chewed the inside of her cheek before opening her mouth to speak.

“Mom says I should do my best just in case I change my mind. But I know what she’s really thinking. If I bust my balls to get into an Ivy League school, then I’d be stupid to turn it down. I’d have to pick something worth studying at one of those places. Like law or medicine.”

I frowned. “Lots of different universities teach filmography, though.”

She rolled her eyes. “No one goes to an Ivy League school to study movie-making, Miss Fares.” Ah, teenage sarcasm. I wouldn’t miss this for ten weeks.

“Anyway, my mom asked if you’d tutor me. You know. During the summer break.”

I straightened and shook my head. “I’m too close to the syllabus to be able to tutor you, Jess. It’d be unethical.”

Her straight nose flattened against her face as her bottom lip trembled. “Please, Miss Fares? I need to get her off my back. She won’t let me see my boyfriend until I start getting better grades.”

I groaned, knowing well what freedom to date meant to a teen.

The afternoon Mike Woolly kissed me became the precursor to one of the worst periods of my life. I could remember how sweaty his hands were, and how he thought visiting the library with me was the most romantic date he could’ve taken me on. It was sweet, he was sweet. Until my mom got sick. Then Mike became a stranger to me almost overnight, and whatever small pecks we shared lost their honeyed edge.

“I could arrange for someone else to help. Would that be okay?”

Her eyes widened, features froze, and she nodded. “I think mom might be alright with that.”

“What about your other subjects?”

Ah great, she was back to shrugging.

“I’m doing better in my other classes. I just can’t wrap my head around literature. I thought I aced the last exam, but my results weren’t so great.” She made a face, like she was horrified. “Mister Atkins told me I was almost dropped into remedial.”

Disappointment pierced my chest, but I kept my face neutral. Maybe Trevor, otherwise known as Mister Atkins, was right. Maybe my methods weren’t working. If a kid as studious as Jessica wasn’t getting it… what hope did the rest have?

“I’ll figure it out, don’t worry.”

I wanted to pat her on the shoulder and tell her she was going to be fine regardless of her grades, but touching students was another big no-no. So instead, I nudged my head back toward the class and opened the door for her.

Monday Morning

Verra Convention Center

Manhattan, NY

Lilly