2. Felix
FELIX
T he lecture hall buzzes with quiet murmurs as students shuffle in, clutching their laptops and coffee cups like lifelines. I take my usual seat near the front, setting up my materials with a precision that would make a drill sergeant proud. My notebook is open, my pen poised, and my laptop is positioned at the perfect angle for notetaking.
Professor Hartford begins the class with his usual monotone, diving straight into the finer points of criminal procedure. It’s a topic I’m genuinely interested in, but today my mind feels unusually restless.
I try to focus, jotting down everything he says, but my email inbox keeps nagging at the back of my mind. I shouldn’t check it—I know better than to let distractions creep in during class. But the temptation is too strong.
Just a quick look.
Sliding my laptop’s browser open, I navigate to my email. Most of it is the usual clutter: updates from the student bar association, reminders about upcoming deadlines, and some spam about a “limited-time offer” for a subscription I don’t remember signing up for.
But one subject line catches my eye:
New Academic Initiative Assignment
My stomach sinks. Great, another thing to add to my list.
Dear Felix Caruso,
As part of Valmont College’s Academic Improvement Initiative, you have been selected to serve as a peer tutor for Julian Greco. This program is designed to provide academic support to students in high-demand athletic programs. Your role will involve one-on-one sessions to ensure the student meets their academic requirements. Attached, you’ll find his course schedule and the topics we suggest focusing on.
This opportunity allows you to further develop your leadership and teaching skills, which will look excellent on future applications. Please confirm your availability by the end of the day.
I stare at the screen, my pulse thundering in my ears.
Julian Greco.
The name practically leaps off the page, taunting me. Star quarterback. Campus celebrity. The face of every promotional poster and social media campaign. He’s the golden boy with an easy smile, a perfect throw, and the kind of charisma that makes professors overlook late assignments. And now, apparently, he’s my responsibility.
I only spoke to him once before our official meeting yesterday. He’d bumped me with his bag, scattering my books across the floor. I expected him to ignore me and keep laughing along with his friends, but he didn’t.
Instead, he dropped to the floor. “I’m so sorry, man. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
Julian gathered my books and handed them to me with that insanely charming smile of his. “Later.”
“Mr. Caruso.”
I snap my head up, realizing too late that the entire lecture hall has gone silent. Professor Hartford is staring at me, his bushy eyebrows raised in expectation.
“Is there something more pressing than my lecture on the exclusionary rule?” he asks dryly, his gaze cutting into me like a scalpel.
“No, sir,” I mumble, quickly closing my laptop. My cheeks burn as a few students nearby stifle chuckles.
“Then I suggest you focus,” Hartford says, returning to the board.
I sink lower in my seat, trying to ignore the heat rising to my face. I force myself to focus for the rest of the lecture, scribbling notes with a vengeance, but my mind keeps drifting back to the email.
Why me?
I’m already juggling a full course load, a part-time job, and an internship application that’s due next month. The last thing I need is to babysit someone who probably spends more time passed out in a sorority house than the library.
As soon as class ends, I pack up quickly and head to the gym. I need to process this somewhere quiet, somewhere I can vent without an audience.
The gym is blessedly empty this late in the afternoon. I find a corner table tucked away from prying eyes and pull out my phone. The email stares back at me like a challenge.
I open the attached schedule and skim through it. Julian’s classes are a mixed bag: Intro to Marketing, Business Ethics, and an elective on the psychology of leadership. None of it looks particularly challenging, which makes it baffling that he needs a tutor.
This has to be some kind of joke.
I can already picture how this will go: Julian showing up late, if he shows up at all, with that trademark grin and some excuse about practice or a game. He’ll flirt, he’ll charm, and he’ll expect me to do all the work. Meanwhile, I’ll be the one pulling all-nighters to make sure he passes.
My stomach churns at the thought.
With a sigh, I text my roommate Ben.
Me: You’re not going to believe this.
Ben: What?
Me: They’ve assigned me to tutor Julian Greco.
Ben: OMG. You’re tutoring THE Julian Greco???
I groan, already regretting texting him.
Me: It’s not exciting. It’s a waste of my time.
Ben: Come on, Felix. He’s, like, a campus legend. You’ll probably get good seats at the games or something.
Me: I don’t care about football.
Ben doesn’t reply immediately, and I take that as my cue to answer the email. I type a curt response confirming my availability and hit send before I can overthink it.
There. It’s done.
But as I sit back and stare at the empty table in front of me, I can’t shake the feeling that this is the start of something I’m not prepared for.
Julian Greco: Hey, Tin Man. When’s our first session?
I stare at the message, my irritation flaring anew. Already with the nicknames? And Tin Man was the one that stuck?
Me: Tomorrow. Library. 10AM. Don’t be late.
Julian: Wouldn’t dream of it. ;)
I throw my phone on top of my gym bag and start wrapping my hands.
My fist hurls into a punching bag, making the chain rattle throughout the empty gym. I would have steam coming out of my ears if that was physically possible.
Just don’t forget to take a break sometime.
Who the fuck does he think he is? Sorry, I don’t have endless money to keep me enrolled here. I have to keep up a fucking scholarship. I have to make sure my grades don’t slip, all while working a part-time job. There is no time for me to take a break .
My knuckles sting with every punch, the bag absorbing each hit with a dull thud. Sweat drips down my temple, the salt stinging my eyes, but I don’t stop. The rhythm of my fists against the bag is the only thing keeping me from completely losing it.
I replay his words in my head, each one more infuriating than the last.
Just don’t forget to take a break sometime.
As if life is that simple. As if I have the luxury of slacking off for even a moment.
You’re cold and acting like you don’t have a heart.
The chain holding the bag creaks under the force of my next punch.
Julian Greco—Valmont’s golden boy, quarterback extraordinaire, and the guy who waltzes through life without a care in the world. He has no idea what it’s like to have the ground beneath your feet ripped away, to have to claw your way back to the surface just to survive.
My jaw tightens.
No. He couldn’t possibly understand.
I step back, breathing hard, my fists clenched at my sides. I catch my reflection in the gym’s mirrors—disheveled hair, a scowl etched so deep it might be permanent, and the shadows under my eyes that no amount of sleep will erase.
This is what survival looks like, not whatever charmed existence Julian Greco is living. And of course the administration decided it’d be a great idea to pair me with the guy whose idea of a hard day is deciding which designer suit to wear after his next game.
The memory of his smirk flashes through my mind, and I feel a fresh wave of irritation. He thinks he’s clever, doesn’t he? Sitting there in the library, acting like he was doing me a favor by gracing me with his presence.
I rub my face with both hands, trying to shake off the frustration.
The punching bag sways slightly, mocking me. I move closer, plant my feet, and deliver another stiff jab.
A small part of me—one I refuse to acknowledge for longer than a second—remembers how his voice softened when he said it, how the low light reflected off his golden hair and tanned skin.
Take care of yourself.
“Idiot,” I mutter under my breath, shaking off the thought.
I glance at the clock on the wall. It’s late, and I have a full day ahead of me tomorrow: classes, work, and—unfortunately—my first session with Julian.
I grab my towel, sling it over my shoulder, and head for the showers.
The knot in my chest tightens as I think about tomorrow. I’ll be professional, of course. I have no choice. But there’s no way I’m letting him get under my skin.
Not again.
***
The study room in the library feels more like a holding cell than a place of learning. The walls are a muted beige, the fluorescent lights cast a clinical glow, and the table in the center feels far too large for just two people. The tension in the air promises this session will be anything but smooth.
I glance at my watch: 10:02. He’s late.
Typical.
I tap my pen against the table like a metronome, each tap marking an increase in the mounting irritation bubbling inside me.
I’ve already set up the materials—a laptop, a stack of notes, and a printed schedule for what we need to cover. I didn’t sign up to tutor anyone, let alone Julian Greco, Valmont’s resident golden boy. But apparently, the administration thought it would be a good use of my time.
The door swings open with a dramatic creak, and Julian strides in like he owns the place.
“Morning,” he says with a cocky grin, as if he hasn’t just wasted two minutes of my life. He’s wearing a Valmont hoodie and joggers, his hair slightly mussed. There’s an air of effortless charm about him, the kind that makes people forgive tardiness and overlook flaws.
“You’re late,” I reply, not looking up from the syllabus I’ve been pretending to read.
“Just by two minutes. You keeping a stopwatch on me or something?” He drops into the chair across from me, sprawling like this is his living room. “Relax, Felix. It’s not like the world will end if I’m a little late.”
“Your grades might,” I mutter, flipping the syllabus to the next page.
He lets out a soft laugh, low and rich. “Fine, you win, Tin. Alright, let’s do this.”
I slide a packet of notes across the table, forcing myself not to lose my head at the idiotic nickname. “This is what we’ll cover today. We’ll start with?—”
“The basics,” he interrupts, glancing at the packet. “Got it. But just for the record, I do know how to read.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
His eyes widen in mock offense, and he covers his mouth to hide a fake gasp. “Wow. Harsh. And here I thought you’d go easy on me, since we’re going to be spending so much quality time together.”
I rub the bridge of my nose, resisting the urge to snap at him. “This isn’t quality time, Julian. It’s an academic requirement. Let’s focus.”
“Fine, fine.” He leans back, but his smirk doesn’t waver.
I dive into the material, explaining concepts with the kind of precision that’s second nature to me. For the most part, Julian listens…sort of. Every few minutes, he interjects with a question or a joke, clearly testing how far he can push me.
“So,” he says at one point, twirling a pen between his fingers, “where ya from?”
“Are you being serious?” I reply curtly.
He smiles, like he has some sort of inside joke he’s not sharing. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
I glance up at him, irritated by his flippant tone. “I’m from here.”
“Here as in Valmont? Or…?”
“Why don’t we focus on the material, hm? Instead of wasting both of our time.” My voice is pinched. I can feel the tension in my neck from trying not to chew him out.
For a moment, something shifts in his expression—an almost imperceptible flicker of something genuine. But just as quickly, it’s gone, replaced by his usual grin. “Relax, Felix. I’m just trying to make this a little less painful for both of us.”
“This isn’t supposed to be fun,” I snap.
His chuckle fills the room, warm and oddly disarming. “You know, you might actually be funny if you let yourself.”
I ignore him, turning my attention back to the notes. “Let’s move on.”
For a while, the session continues without much incident. Julian has a sharp mind when he chooses to use it, and when he finally focuses, he picks up the concepts faster than I expected, making me question why he needs this tutoring in the first place. Still, his charisma is a constant distraction, a magnetic pull I’m determined to resist.
And then it happens.
I reach for a textbook on the table just as Julian reaches for the same one. Our hands brush—barely a touch, the kind of thing that shouldn’t even register.
But it does.
His skin is warm, the contact sending an unexpected jolt through me, like static electricity. I pull my hand back quickly, my heart suddenly racing for no logical reason.
Julian notices. Of course he does. His eyes flick to mine, and his smirk softens into something more curious, more intense.
“You okay, man?” he asks, his voice quieter now, the teasing edge replaced with something I can’t identify.
“Fine,” I say too quickly.
His smirk returns, but there’s a glint of amusement in his gaze. “If you say so.”
I force myself to focus, flipping through the textbook with more force than necessary.
Julian doesn’t push further, but I can feel his eyes on me for the rest of the session, studying me like I’m some puzzle he’s trying to solve. It’s unsettling.
By the time we finish, I’m drained—not from the material, but from the effort of keeping my composure.
Julian gathers his things and slings his bag over one shoulder. “Same time next week?”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
He pauses at the door and glances back at me with a grin that’s equal parts infuriating and captivating.
“Looking forward to it, Felix.”
And then he’s gone, leaving me alone in the cold, quiet room.
I let out a breath now that my space isn’t fully consumed by him. My thoughts are a chaotic mess, but one thing is clear: tutoring Julian Greco will be much harder than I expected.