19 - Fallon
~ 19 ~
FALLON
“One-hundred ten out of one- fifty?”
Trey sat there, giving me the same look of hopefulness that he had when he first presented his test paper to me. I shot him down.
“That’s not terrible ,” he mumbled. “Right?”
I frowned at him. “Are we shooting for ‘not terrible’?”
“No,” he admitted, his look growing sheepish. “But that’s like a B-minus. Isn’t it?”
“Trey, this is a C at best.”
He sighed, leaned back in his chair, and almost fell over. He shot his arm out, grabbed the desk, and saved himself at the last minute.
“Come on, you need to be serious,” I admonished him. “You can’t get your average up with grades like these.”
“I… I know.”
“Did you watch those videos we went over together?”
“Umm… yes?”
“No you didn’t,” I said sharply. “I checked your laptop.”
“Fine,” he relented. “I didn’t.” As he let out a long sigh, his brow furrowed. “Wait, how the hell did you get into my laptop anyway?”
I smirked at him. Trey slapped his forehead.
“You didn’t,” he sighed.
“Nope.”
“And I admitted it anyway.”
“Bingo.”
His shoulders sank, as he opened his laptop and waited for it to boot up. Trey was doing markedly better in statistics, and for that I was proud of him. But his second math class was dry, boring, and a hell of a lot tougher. He had zero interest in it, and a thousand more pleasant distractions.
I suddenly had the idea that maybe, I could be one of them.
“Wanna hear a wild proposal?” I asked.
Trey’s interest was suddenly peaked. He stopped rubbing his eyes.
“Sure.”
“Your next exam is at the end of the week right?”
“Pretty sure, yeah.”
I smiled deviously. “Well, if you score better than an eighty on your next exam… let’s just say I’ll do something for you.”
He’d been drifting before, but now I had his full, undivided attention. “ Do something?”
“Yes.”
The linesman arched an eyebrow. “What will you do?”
I reached out and tore two tiny scraps from the bottom of his exam paper. After tapping the pencil against my lips for a few moments, I wrote something on both pieces, then tucked them into my palms.
“Pick one.”
Trey reached out, carefully considered my left hand, then ultimately touched my right. I opened my fist, and he unfolded the paper.
His entire face turned pink as he read it.
“Well? What does it say?”
He was too embarrassed to say it, so he held it up:
Slutty, no-talk, midnight Blowjob
I grinned fiendishly. “Cool. That’s what you get if you bring me an eighty.”
He gulped, then smiled. “O—Okay.”
I buried my face against his ear “It’ll be real slutty, too,” I whispered hotly. “All filthy and hot. And wet. And sloppy…”
With that I bounced to my feet, and pointed back at the laptop. Trey, who was still somewhat in shock, nodded numbly.
“That’s a good boy.”
I kissed him briefly on the cheek, then headed for the door. I was almost to the hallway when he called out.
“Fallon?”
“Yes?”
“What did the other piece of paper say?”
I paused, smiled and shrugged. “Keep getting good grades, and maybe you’ll find out.”
Feeling pleased with myself, I slipped back into the hallway and headed downstairs. I didn’t know how Trey’s other tutors did things, but I was fairly sure I’d incentivized him in all new ways.
I was halfway down the steps when I heard Emerson raising his voice. And not in a good way.
“Did someone put you up to this?”
I stopped dead in my tracks and crouched down. He wasn’t talking to Dalton, I knew, because Dalton had run out for more building supplies. Peering down through the foyer, I could see Emerson was at the front door. A kid no older than twelve or thirteen stood on the other side, standing toe to toe with him.
“No,” the kid said nervously. “I—I wanted to come. I wanted to see you.”
Emerson stuck his head out the door, then looked left and right. His whole upper body was covered in sawdust.
“Why?”
“I told you why.”
Emerson brushed more sawdust from the hair on his arms and growled. “Well tell me again! Because I don’t think I heard you the first time.”
The kid didn’t back down an inch. And he was big, too. Tall for his age.
“I wanted to see you… because you’re my brother.”
My hands shot over my mouth, just in time to stifle a gasp. I crept back up a step, for fear of being caught eavesdropping.
“Trust me,” Emerson said, coldly and evenly. “I am not your brother.”
“But you are though,” the kid whined. “You’re Emerson McKinnis, St. Thomas Aquinas High. All-State, all-county, division one, Florida.” He smiled. “I’ve stood in the trophy room, back home. I’ve seen what you’ve done.”
“Home?”
“Yes.”
Emerson suddenly looked rattled.
“Kid, I don’t know who you are, or where you came from, but—”
“You had forty-seven receptions in your senior year. Six-hundred seventy-two yards. Ten touchdowns. And this year alone, you—”
“Stop.”
I crept down two steps to get a better look at the kid, who couldn’t have been out of junior high school. He had exceptionally long arms. Dark, shaggy hair. He was dressed in a dark blue Cowboys jersey, with a football tucked under one arm.
“I want to play like you,” the kid expressed, transferring the ball nervously to his hands. He began spinning it against his palms. “I was hoping you’d want to throw the ball around with your little brother. Maybe show me a few—“
“You are NOT my brother!” Emerson yelled.
“Yes I am!” the kid shot back. “And you know it, too!”
The kid’s face turned suddenly angry. I knew the look immediately. By the expression of recognition on Emerson’s face, so did he.
“Our father is—”
“NO!”
The door slammed so fast, so hard, I gasped in surprise. Emerson’s head whipped around. He caught me red-handed, crouching down, right in the center of the staircase.
I swallowed hard.
“Hey,” I croaked softly. “I—I just…”
He stormed off so fast my words landed in an empty foyer.