Chapter Six
Damian
The library door slams behind me and I’m about to march to the apartment I share with Mom, but I stop.
Slowly, I turn around and peer into the window on the door.
If one stands out here, they can see everything that goes on in the library, since the window is a decent size.
And one would have a perfect view of his tutor.
She’s back to reading. She didn’t flee from here the moment our tutoring session ended.
I’d think any student would run to their dorm to have some freedom, but not Sophie.
She’s even more of a goody-goody than I thought.
But she seems totally okay with herself, not like she’s trying to fit in like some kids do here.
She doesn’t hide who she is—she lets the world embrace her exactly as she is.
As I watch her, I feel bad for the way I treated her.
My hand lifts to the door and I want to push it open, head back to her, and apologize for once again being a jerk.
But I shake my head, dropping my hand. What’s the point?
She doesn’t care about me. She’s just tutoring me because my mom asked her to.
I’m just another dumb kid she’ll cross off her list when we’re done.
She probably doesn’t even give me a second thought once we’re done with the lessons.
And the worst part is that I hate that she’s obeying my mom like a sheep. She respects my mom, but Beatrice doesn’t deserve respect. Not from her or any of the kids here. And certainly not from me.
I hope my tutor one day sees my mom for the person that she is. For now, I’ll tolerate this whole tutor thing because I have to.
I make my way to the apartment, which is empty, of course. Mom is probably still at the school office, taking care of her first and only love.
Plopping down on my bed, I stare at the ceiling.
I still can’t get those blue eyes of my tutor out of my head.
She wasn’t offended when I gave her attitude.
She was surprised in the beginning, but then she gave it to me.
Honestly, I didn’t think the goody-goody could stand up for herself. But she did. It was pretty awesome.
I think back to what she said about sneaking into my room and unleashing bees on me.
I wouldn’t put it past her to do just that, despite her being Miss Perfect.
And she’d probably get away with it because she must do no wrong in my mother’s eyes.
I wonder if my mom secretly wishes Sophie were her kid instead of me.
Shaking my head, I decide to stop crapping on my tutor.
As much as it ticks me off that she likes my mom, the truth is she’s just following orders.
I need to take my frustrations out on the woman who gave birth to me and then abandoned me, not an innocent student who’s caught in the middle of all this.
I didn’t have to make an issue about the math problems. The truth is, I don’t want to fall behind in my classes, even though I make it seem like I don’t give a darn.
I’m not sure why I’m giving Sophie attitude—I guess it’s because my mom is forcing me to have a tutor. Like I said, I can catch up on my own.
Getting up, I drop down at my desk and start with the math problems. I understood everything my tutor taught me this afternoon. I could tell on her face that she wasn’t sure if I was following, but she’s very clear and easy to understand. I can see why she’s the number one tutor at the school.
It actually feels good to breeze through the problems. I do make some mistakes here and there, and think about the hints and explanations Sophie gave me. The girl is very talented.
After I’m done, I move on to the rest of my homework, including reading that chapter for chem that Sophie went over today.
No one asked me to, and I don’t have to give the teacher the answers tomorrow, but I want to do them for myself.
Just so I don’t fall behind. Dad always told me it’s best to review what you learned that day in class so you’ll remember it.
My eyes move to the photo of him I placed on my nightstand.
It was taken a few years ago, when I was twelve or thirteen.
We were having fun at the beach and I snapped a photo of him when he didn’t expect it.
His smile is so bright you can tell he was having the time of his life just spending time with me.
Though if you look closely, there’s loss in his eyes.
It’s hard to notice unless you know to look for it.
Dad always thought about Mom. Never once forgot her.
I wish he hadn’t wasted so many emotions on her. She sure as heck didn’t deserve it.
Pushing all that away because I don’t want to think about my dad, I start my history homework. This is easy because history is pretty much the same in every school.
A voice breaks me from my thoughts. Mom has just entered the apartment and is on the phone. Sounds like she’s making plans to have brunch with someone on Sunday. Probably her snooty friends.
Her shoes clack on the floor as she passes my room. I thought she’d maybe stop by to check if I’m alive, but she passes by. Good. Every interaction between us ends badly, so it’s best she forgets that I’m even here.
Ten minutes pass before there’s a knock on the door. Seems like she remembers me after all.
She doesn’t wait for me to give her permission to enter, she just barges in. Her gaze shoots to my bed because she must expect me to be there drawing or scrolling on my phone. She’s surprised when she finds me at my desk with textbooks around me.
A small smile forms on her mouth, something I rarely see from her. At least, not directed at me.
“Good, you’re doing your homework,” she says. “Keep it up.”
The anger I feel toward her starts to dissipate. Maybe she’s trying to show me she’s got some Mom in there?
She inches toward me. “I don’t want to hear any complaints from your teachers.”
I raise my head. “Did anyone complain about me?”
“No, but I know it won’t be long before they do.”
“Right,” I mutter. Because she only thinks the worst of me.
“And I don’t want to hear you giving any student a hard time. No getting into fights and such. Do you understand me?”
Never mind. She’s not Mom. She’s my prison ward again.
“Why would I get into fights?” I whisper-grunt. Have I given her a reason to suspect I’ll hurt anyone?
She steps closer. “I didn’t hear that.”
“Heard you,” I mumble.
She nods in a principal kind of way instead of my mom. “Did you behave at the tutoring session?”
Does she honestly think I’m some criminal?
Just because of…what? The motorcycle? Because I’ve rejected her way of life?
Because I defended my dad to rich snobs when I was younger?
All she probably remembers is me giving her problems. I can’t count how many excuses she had to give her “friends” to explain my behavior.
“Damian? Did you behave?”
“Yeah, I behaved. You gonna verify that with my tutor?”
She purses her lips. “No.” She eyes the textbooks. “But I will be monitoring your progress with your teachers. And with Sophie.”
I don’t say anything, just play with the pen in my hand.
She nods once, turns around, and walks out of my room. “Don’t forget to eat dinner at six.” She shuts the door.
Doubt I’ll go. I’m not really hungry. Maybe I’ll grab something from the kitchen here, like a banana or whatever.
I spend about another hour on homework before resuming my drawing of the landscape outside. Mom doesn’t pop into my room and I don’t see her for the rest of the night. She doesn’t even wish me good night. I wouldn’t want her to, really, but the fact that she doesn’t…
Shoving that away, I climb into bed and try to go to sleep despite all the stormy thoughts on my mind.
***
My tutor is sitting at the same table in the library we sat at yesterday. She’s reading a book, a different one from yesterday, I think.
I’m not late—actually, I’m a few minutes early. Did she come here right after class and has been reading since? What does she see in all those books, anyway? They’re not real.
I drop down across from her. She doesn’t realize I’m here. Not even when several minutes go by. I take out my tablet and continue the drawing I started last night. This one is a cartoon I was just having fun with.
It takes another two minutes before she lifts her eyes from the book. They take in the guy in a leather jacket instead of his school blazer sitting across from her.
“Oh! Hi,” she greets. Her cheeks are a little red. “Were you here long?”
I shrug. “Maybe ten minutes.”
Her cheeks redden even more. It’s kind of cute. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone blush that hard.
“Sorry. I was caught up in my book.” She puts her bookmark in place before carefully, like it means the world to her, closes the book and slides it into her backpack. She reaches for her math textbook and flips to the correct page.
“Did you complete the math problems last night?”
I shrug again. “Nah.”
“Look, I know you don’t want a tutor, but your mom tasked me to help you catch up—”
“I don’t want to talk about Beatrice.”
Her mouth snaps shut. “Fine, but do you care about your grades at all? How are you going to pass your junior year?”
I bend close to her and she shrinks back a bit. “Why do you care?”
“Because I’m your tutor.”
I scoff. “How much is she paying you?”
“Paying me? You think I’m being paid to tutor students?”
I shrug again.
She crosses her arms over her chest. “For your information, I tutor for free.”
“Because it makes you feel good about yourself?”
“No. Because I want to help people.”
I scoff.
“What?” she demands.
“No one is that noble.”
She watches me for a bit. “Haven’t you ever met someone who wants to help you because they care?”
I narrow my eyes at her. “You don’t care, you just don’t want to disappoint my mother, whom you worship like she’s God.”
“I told you yesterday that I’m not Harrington’s biggest fan. But can we just get to the lesson? I don’t have all day.”
I nod. “Yeah, okay. The sooner we finish, the better.”
She continues with math and I listen to every word, even though I let my eyes wander around the library, pretending I don’t care. There are a few kids checking out books and some on the computers, but it’s mostly empty.
I return my gaze to her when I realize she stopped.
“What?” I ask.
“Do the problems from yesterday now. I want to make sure you understand it before we move on to the next chapter. Start with number one and explain to me exactly what you’re doing.”
I give her an are-you-kidding-me-face. She gestures for me to get to it.
Mumbling under my breath, I grab my pencil and begin with the first problem.
She listens to every word like they’re the candy she has been waiting for all year.
When I’m done, she smiles. Such a bright smile that it makes her face shine.
And oddly, it lifts something in me. Something tiny, but strong enough that I feel it.
“So you were listening to me yesterday,” she says.
I don’t respond.
“And you did that problem quickly,” she muses. “Like…you did it already.” Her eyes grow a little larger. “You did do those problems last night, didn’t you?”
She’s smart. And good.
Her smile fades. “Why did you lie when I asked you?”
I lean back in my chair, folding my arms over my chest. “Why not?”
She stares at me for a bit, as if she’s not sure how to respond, then holds out her hand.
“What?” I ask.
“Hand them over.”
“Hand over what?”
She gives me a face. “I know you have the completed math problems with you. So hand them over.”
“Left them at home.”
She lifts a brow, then snatches my closed textbook from my side of the table. She rummages through the pages until she finds the folded paper I placed between random sheets. Sending me a triumphant smile, she unfolds it.
I’m not going to lie. It feels good when she grins and tells me I got them all right. But of course I’m not going to admit that to her. Don’t need her telling Mom I kind of care.
“You know, you’re very smart,” she tells me. “And you clearly care about your schoolwork. Why do you pretend that you don’t?”
“Are you my therapist?” It leaves my mouth before I can stop it. I don’t know why I keep snapping at her. Maybe because I don’t like people analyzing me or getting too close. Or complimenting me when I don’t deserve it.
“Just saying you should be proud of yourself,” she says.
“I’m not.”
“Fine. Are you okay with doing more math problems tonight?”
I lift both brows. “You giving me a choice?”
“I already told you I’m not forcing you to do anything. I’ll give you the problems and you’ll decide if you want to do them. But you’ve clearly seen how helpful doing the homework is.”
Yeah, but I don’t say anything because I’m still not cool with this tutoring thing. I thought maybe she’d get so sick of me and my attitude she’d quit, but as far as I can tell, this girl is not a quitter.
“So you can either send the completed problems to me tonight or hand them in tomorrow. Want my number?”
My lip curls into a crooked smile. “This is the second time you’re offering your number. Sorry, but I’m not the least bit interested in asking you out.”
Her eyes get huge and her mouth practically drops to the floor. Her face is a little red, too. “It’s not…I didn’t…” She clears her throat. “Believe me, Damian Harrington. You’re the last boy I’d ever go on a date with.”
I can’t help but chuckle. “Relax, Goody Two-Shoes. I’m just messing with you.” I get to my feet. “Are we done here?”
She looks like she needs some time to recover from my words. She barely nods and motions that I’m dismissed.
I hold out my hand to her. She stares at it, then slowly raises her eyes to meet mine. She appears more than confused, and a bit worried like I want to take her hand or dance with her or something.
“My math textbook,” I clarify. It’s still sitting before her on the table and her notebook is on top of it.
“Oh, right. Here.” She passes it to me. “See you tomorrow.”
“Yep.”
Tucking the textbook under my pit, I reach for my backpack, sling it over my shoulder, then make my way to the exit. Before I leave, I spin around. She’s got her gaze on me and the second our eyes met, she quickly averts hers.
I wonder if she’s ever had a boyfriend. Doesn’t seem like it based on how uncomfortable she is. And those adorable blushes.
I’ve had some girlfriends, but nothing serious.
This past year, I was in and out of hospitals and doctors’ offices with Dad, so there wasn’t much time to date.
And now? A girlfriend is the last thing I need or want right now.
If I can barely keep myself together, how am I ever going to be there for a girl and give her the attention and care she deserves?
Not to mention most of the girls at school are keeping their distance from me.