"Hey," he said in a lackluster voice.
"Same old crap?" I asked, not needing to clarify.
"Yeah," he said, pulling up his sleeve to reveal a bruise in the shape of a handprint circling his wrist.
"Bastard."
He nodded, accepting the only form of sympathy I knew how to give.
"Just till grad," I said, attempting to be reassuring.
"I guess," he answered, pulling the sleeve of his hoodie back down to cover the mark. He stared off at nothing, lost in thought.
"You want to hang out after I get out of tutoring?"
"I thought that was a one-day thing?"
"Nah, Whore Cat is making me do it all week," I lied.
"Oh," he said, still distracted. "I can't come over anyway."
"You sure?"
I asked.
"Too big of a risk.
It's better if I just go home."
I didn't pry. I knew from personal experience that the last thing he needed was me nosing into his business. We spent the rest of lunch in silence. After awhile, he seemed to relax a little, and his shoulders didn't droop quite as much. Like I said, we were silent comforters.
"See you tomorrow," I said, slinging my backpack over my shoulder.
"See ya," he said, heading toward the science building.
My afternoon classes dragged after lunch, and I found myself watching the clock more than normal. It loathed me to admit that I was excited about tutoring. It was like someone had granted me an hour in Willy Wonka's Chocolate factory. It was wrong to think of it like that, but for the brief hour, I was allowing my feelings a pardon from the tight lockdown I normally kept them under. For one hour, I was going to let myself talk to someone in something other than one-word answers. For one hour, I was going to enjoy myself. I was going to be normal.
Dean was waiting for me at the same table as yesterday, only he was already sitting on the side we had shared.
"Hey, ready for some more World War II?" he teased.
"Uh, sure," I said with a mouth that felt like it was suddenly stuffed with peanut butter.
I discreetly moved my chair over to put distance between us before sitting down. I pulled out my book and the crumbled study guide. I should have been embarrassed at its wrinkled state, but I kind of enjoyed seeing his reaction.
"Okay, we left off on question twenty-nine," he said, smoothing out the paper.
I looked down at the table wanting to smile more than I had in years. Something about his expression made me almost happy, and his obsessive-compulsive behavior was kind of cute.
We spent the first half an hour of tutoring much like the previous day. Dean would read the question in his radio voice, and then provide the correct answer while I jotted it down. I never enjoyed schoolwork like I did at the moment. Maybe that's where the school system had effed up. They should have hired radio personalities to teach the classes. Grades were bound to skyrocket.
"So, what college are you going to?" Dean asked out of the blue after asking me which city suffered the most devastation after the war.
"What?" I asked confused, forgetting the answer I was jotting down.
"Got a college picked?" he repeated.
"No," I answered shortly, looking back at the textbook for the right answer.
"'
No
,' you haven't picked one, or '
no
,
' you don't know where you want to go?" he asked, pointing at the answer in the book.
"No, as in no college in their right mind would be interested in a student like me," I said.
"Sure they would," he said, looking at me with an intensity that made me uncomfortable.
"It's not like I have any
interest in going to college anyway," I said sarcastically, pulling my shield firmly in place.
"I'd help you. You know, tutoring and helping you study for exams."
"What is this, save-a-loser day?" I asked, making it clear I wanted the conversation to be over.
"You're not a loser," he said, looking like I had offended him somehow.
Someone at a nearby table shushed him.
"I am, and guess what? I don't give a shit. Got me? I'm
a nobody
. You don't need to save me. No one does," I said.
My tone took the wind out of his anger. "I can help you," he repeated calmly.
"Look, scholar boy, I don't need your help. I just don't care about this stuff. Don't take it personally."
"Why?" he asked, looking down at the book.
"Why, what?"
I asked, trying to cover my impatient sigh.
"Why don't you care?"
I eyed him, wondering if he was yanking my chain. "Seriously, either you're trying to be an ass or you're dumb as one," I said, tapping my pencil on the table in aggravation that we were even having this conversation.
He raised his eyebrows at me before answering in short drawn out words.
"I. Want.
To.
Help.
You.
Got me?"
"Do I have '
charity case
' stamped on my forehead? Or wait, are you trying to punk me?
Because seriously, I've seen all the movies.
Pretend to befriend a social outcast and then just when she starts to trust you, throw pig's blood or something equally as macabre on her in front of all your cronies. I'm not a fool," I said, dismissing him as I jotted down the next answer on my worksheet.
He remained silent, and after a moment, I couldn't resist chancing a discreet look at him beneath the veil of my hair. His eyes clashed with mine, and I swallowed the sudden uncomfortable lump in my throat from the hurt look on his face.
I actually felt a little guilty which
was a shock
. I didn't do guilt anymore. I may pay the price for my sins for the rest of my life, but I'd vowed I'd no longer get trapped into feeling guilty. I didn't ask for anything. I didn't owe anyone anything. Anger replaced the guilt that was making me feel emotions that were dead to me. Damn him. Why couldn't he take pity on some stray animal or something? Wasn't there a whale to save or some dolphin with a broken fin that needed attention?
The silence between us stretched on uncomfortably, and I tried to ignore it as I continued to scratch the answers out on my paper. I waited for him to move on to the next
question, but he remained stoically silent with his arms crossed over his chest. I knew this game. He could sit there like that until hell froze over for all I cared. I would not cave.
And that's pretty much how the rest of tutoring went. I searched for the answers while he sat silently next to me, never moving a muscle. When the hour ended, I stood up and gathered my things, preparing to leave without a word.
"Same time tomorrow?" he said, leaving before I could.
I stood there shell shocked. He didn't really think I was coming back again? I'd pretty much chalked up the whole experience as a failed attempt at being normal.
Dean was long gone by the time I finally shook myself out of my stupor and headed out of the library with the clearly aggravated librarian on my heals. I was tempted to tell her to get a grip. So she had to stay five extra minutes while I stood like a guppy with my mouth open. You didn't see me bitching that I was forced to stay late at the bane of my existence. Shit happens. Get used to it.
I wasn't surprised when she left me on the sidewalk outside the front doors of the school without a word, hurrying off toward the lone car in the parking lot.
People didn't enjoy being sucked into the shadows that were my constant companion. They wanted perky, cheerful and butterflies out the ass as they danced beneath rainbows and singing birds. They didn't want silence and darkness.
The two-mile walk home went fast as I contemplated the disastrous tutoring session. I mentally kicked myself for even saying anything. I'd broken my code by opening my mouth. One thing was for sure, he could wait all afternoon for me, but I wouldn't be there the next day. No way in hell.
***
He was waiting for me the next day when I strolled in five minutes late. I wasn't going to come. All day I told myself I was going to leave him high and dry. I didn't need his psycho-analysis shit. I'd been heading out of the locker room, intending to head right home, but my feet seemed to have a mind of their own, and here I was. I convinced myself it was because we had unfinished business. My plan was to basically tell him to
eff
-off and then I'd leave.
Quick and clean.
No harm no foul.
My
eff
-off moment never came though because he threw me for a loop.
"Hey, I'm really sorry about yesterday. I know I came across as do-gooder-asshole," he greeted me, raking a hand through his short dark hair. It stood up slightly from his touch, giving him a rumpled just-woke-up look. "I can be pushy sometimes. Forgive me?" he said, holding his hand out for me to shake.
I stood there, looking at his outstretched hand, not sure what to say or do. I didn't do touching, but for the first time in forever, I wanted to break my rules. My hesitation was blatant and after a moment he dropped his hand and stuffed it in the pocket of his low-cut jeans.
"So, am I forgiven?" he asked, grinning at me.
"Uh, sure.
It's no big deal," I said, confused that he was still hanging around. Years ago, I would have given a limb to have someone like him pay attention to me, but now it seemed off. I couldn't help wondering if I really was being punked.
"Sweet.
Okay, here's my plan. You're basically done with the study guide, so I figured we could go outside to study. You know, enjoy the weather now that the humidity won't suck the life force out of us," he said, still smiling.
He had a point. Living in Florida seemed appealing to Northerners, but in reality, eight months out of the year was spent combating the hot, sticky, tropical temperatures that made you wish for a freak snowstorm. The small window of cooler weather was pretty much a joke compared to what winters were like up north, but as Floridians, we really didn't know better. Thankfully, November was just a few days away and normally kicked off the "that's right, we don't live in hell" season, which usually started late November and lasted until February.
"I guess that works," I said hesitantly, not sure I wanted our private tutoring sessions to be on display. Thursdays were a popular day for extracurricular activities, especially now that the weather was cooler. Ordinarily, sitting outside was no big deal. No one paid attention to me anyway, but being with Mr. Popularity would change that. I could just imagine their scrutiny. The scandalous gossip I was sure they wouldn't be able to resist. Their golden boy being tainted by the "shadow" was sure to make several of them go scrambling for a paper bag to breathe into.
"Ready?" Dean asked, waiting expectantly for me to finish the inner dilemma going on in my head.
"I guess," I repeated a little more forcibly than I intended.
He looked at me questioningly, but I returned his stare indifferently. It wasn't my reputation on the line. I could handle the stares and snarky comments. The question is could he?
If Dean thought my behavior was odd, he didn't comment about it as we strolled down the hallway.
"Are you going to the memorial service tomorrow?" he asked out of the blue.
I shrugged my shoulders, focusing on the trophy case we were slowly passing. I was pretty sure our trophy case rivaled that of any other school, but I guess that was the point. "Go big or go home" seemed to be our school's motto. I didn't need to check the dates on the basketball trophies to know that Dean was responsible for two of them winding up behind the glass. I waited for him to admire and pimp his successes in front of me, but he didn't even give the case a second look. I was shocked. Acknowledging the glory case was the highlight of any student who graced its shelves. Most of the Jockheads would camp out there in front of the case between classes, flexing their muscles as they pointed to their accolades. It was disgusting. The fact Dean didn't even look did something odd to my stomach.
"Are you?" he repeated.
"Uh, yeah, I guess," I said, answering his question. "It beats finishing the day in study hall," I added. Principal Douche was giving the student body the option of attending the afternoon memorial service or spending the time in study hall. He had threatened detention to students who skipped both, which was laughable. It wasn't like they'd be able to do attendance, and I was quite confident half the student body would be starting their weekend early. I had planned on going anyway. I needed to see the closure to Mitch's actions. I had to make sure I'd made the right decision.
"You?"
I asked as he led me past all the typical outdoor hangouts.
"Yeah, my folks feel it's important, but I would have gone anyways," he said surprising me.
I wanted to ask him why. Why would he trouble himself for someone who'd meant nothing to him? But I decided not to probe. What do I care if he goes or not?
We were on the far outskirts of the campus when Dean finally tossed his backpack on the grass beneath a magnificent oak tree that I never realized was there. It seemed out of place, surrounded by all the Florida sand pines and palm trees that littered the school grounds. The grass beneath it was lush and thick. It was unlike the patches of sparse grass that were beat down by countless sneakered feet taking shortcuts to classes.