Chapter 3
THREE
My tutoring commitments don’t start up until the second week back from break.
On the first day we returned, the administration sent out a mass email to have all of the tutors and students confirm participation by midnight that night.
I immediately filled out the form because those credits are just as important now as they’ve ever been, and I got another generic email saying they would let me know the next day if my assigned students had also confirmed.
I didn’t hear back from them again.
At first, I was pissed that they forgot, but that quickly turned into relief as the days went on, and I stupidly assumed Ash and Blaise must have dropped out of it.
I should’ve known better.
Six a.m. the next Monday morning, that fantasy is utterly destroyed by an email hitting my inbox.
Without a single acknowledgment of the fact that they’re six days late, I’m informed I have two students signed up, and I’m once again committed to three tutoring sessions per week.
I have to take some long, deep breaths to not completely lose my shit over it, mostly because I’ve already rearranged my own study schedule around not having to deal with Ash’s shitty mood and Blaise’s… well, Blaise .
With a coffee in hand and a foul mood brewing, I arrive at the library early only to find a guy I don’t know sitting at the table I claimed at the start of the year.
Clearly, after losing the ‘social pariah’ label, other students aren’t so scared of sharing space with me, but that doesn’t feel like a good thing at all.
I like that spot.
Fuck, it’s childish, and I’m not about to start a fight with some rich dick about a space in the library, for God’s sake, so despite the prickle of irritation, I head to a different table. Grumbling at myself to stop being so stubborn, I almost miss the trespasser calling out to me.
“Aren’t you Eclipse Anderson?”
I grimace then turn back to him. Taking a better look, I still don’t recognize him, but he definitely looks younger than I am. “I go by Lips.”
He smiles at me and I’m struck by the niceness of it. Not that I’m attracted to him, thank God, because I have enough trouble containing my hormones around three specific assholes as it is, but he doesn’t look like he’s aiming for anything. He’s just smiling.
I don’t know what the hell to do with that.
“I’m Lance. I signed up for your tutoring; the librarian told me this is your table.”
I let out the breath I’m holding and pull out my chair instead.
He watches me, still smiling, and I glance at the work spread out in front of him.
The syllabus for his literature class is sitting on top, and the word ‘freshman’ stands out from where it’s stamped in the corner.
There’s only one teacher who does that; Ms. Bateman.
She is the only thing at Hannaford more ancient than the school itself, half the students here think she’s a vampire.
It probably doesn’t help that her lipstick of choice is blood red, stark against her sallow skin, and her clothing choices could be described as either ‘Victorian’ or maybe ‘matronly’.
I don’t care about any of that, though, and if anything was going to sway me into believing in supernatural bullshit like that, it’s the fact she has the knowledge base of a woman who has studied her field of choice for four or five centuries.
She remembers the exact sequence of events in the Iliad, can recite Shakespeare from memory, and loves nothing more than forcing her students to rewrite assignments again and again until she’s satisfied.
I heard a rumor that the record is nine attempts, and the kid still didn’t pass.
His parents pulled him out of the school and made a lot of noise about suing over his emotional distress, but how much of that is true, I don’t know.
What I do know is that, despite all of her intelligence, the woman still can’t remember my name.
Most of the time, she just waves a hand in my direction and makes a confused sound like she’s trying to figure out how the hell I appeared in her classroom.
Naturally, she’s my favorite teacher.
It also means that he’s probably telling the truth and really is here for tutoring, because failing Ms. Bateman’s class is a form of torture worse than death in my opinion.
Glancing up, the guy is still just sitting there, smiling away at me, and when I eye him warily, he’s quick to offer a friendly explanation.
“I’m a scholarship student as well. It’s the first time Hannaford has had two at the same time, no one else has made it past freshman year, so you’re also the first junior.
I know you only started this year, but I heard you’re at the top of every class, so the late school entry can’t have been that much of a disadvantage.
Anyway, I thought it would be nice to meet the other kid fighting for their academic life in this shark pool, maybe see if you had any pointers for me? ”
Staring back at him does nothing to stop the full display of pearly whites I’m getting, and it really starts to creep me out. Guys don’t smile at me like that, and I don’t have time to deal with this little… situation. Or whatever the hell is happening right now.
I’m already giving him my standard resting bitch face, so it’s an easy shift to glare at him instead. “Get as far ahead in your classwork as possible, don’t accept drinks from anyone, and stay away from the Beaumonts.”
That stupid smile falters as he grimaces, finally looking normal instead of some sort of puppy, and I take the opportunity to start unpacking my bag. “So they roofie drinks at parties here, do they? Typical rich brats.”
I look up to answer him as the library door opens again, and in strides Ash and Blaise. I swear under my breath and silently pray they’re here for something else.
The universe does not listen.
“Mounty! Lovely to see you again, though I’m a little disappointed you’re not in your party clothes.
Such a shame,” says Blaise as he drops down into the chair beside me.
I roll my eyes in his general direction.
He doesn’t mention our meeting at breakfast last week, which isn’t all that weird, but it makes me think he hasn’t told his best friend about it.
Ash glares at Lance as he stands over him with a malicious look. “Move. You’re in my seat.”
The freshman plasters on that friendly smile again and moves across the table while Blaise chuckles under his breath at Ash’s shitty attitude.
“Is there a reason you’ve signed up for another year of pointless tutoring?” I raise an eyebrow at the arrogant dick, but he just stares me down.
I’ve only had two sign-ups for tutoring, but there isn’t a doubt in my mind that Ash is the one who did, and Blaise is tagging along.
No doubt he doesn’t want me to have an out for when he inevitably starts throwing around his usual ‘stalker fan’ taunts.
Plus, Ash wants the leverage of being formally assigned.
When all Ash and I do is glare at one another, Lance’s eyes dart between us and then he breaks the heated silence. “I’m Lance. Nice to meet you both.”
Neither of the guys even bother to look at him, so I sigh and say, “This is Blaise Morrison. Don’t insult his music or beat him in choir or he’ll get pissy and you’ll be miserable for the rest of the year. And this is Ash Beaumont.”
As subtle as a brick to the face, Lance just fucking blurts out, “Ah. A member of the family I should stay away from?”
Blaise’s face has this little smile on it that makes me want to scream.
I keep my focus on Lance as I answer. “Yes. His older brother is insane, violent, and easily bored, which everyone with two brain cells to rub together should know is a dangerous mix. His sister can and will destroy your will to live without breaking a sweat. Ash, here, could beat the life out of you then run a marathon, just for shits and giggles. Or just pay someone else to bury you; he’s richer than God,” I say in my most monotone voice, while I sort through Blaise’s assignments.
We’ve only been back at school for two weeks and he’s already behind; I feel like this is his true skill in life.
Which is saying something because he’s a musical genius.
I manage to wrangle them all into working on their assignments quietly for the hour, which I count as one of the top five hardest things I’ve ever done.
Ash is moody and petulant, and he looks at me with obvious suspicion.
I try not to let it get to me, but I feel his moody gaze on my skin like a scouring pad.
I’ve never been so relieved to hear the class bell ring to free me from this torture. Of course, I’m not let off the hook that easily.
“How do you stay away from the Beaumonts if you’re tutoring one of them?” Lance asks as he packs away his work. Ash glowers at him. Blaise is watching them both with that dark gluttonous need they all have, like he’s feeding on the inevitability of blood being spilled.
“I don’t. Avery is my best friend and roommate, I tutor Ash even though he hates me, and Joey is hellbent on murdering me. I’m saying you should stay away from them if you want to survive the year.”
“You think you’re tougher than me?” He grins and I get the feeling he’s trying to flirt with me. I’m not exactly great at picking up on that sort of thing, and I don’t need any more guys following me around. How the hell do I discourage it without resorting to my usual method of violence? Fuck.
“Have you ever broken the bones in a guy’s hand in half a second, one-handed?” Ash drawls. I forgot I even did that. Lance frowns at him and shakes his head. “Then she’s tougher than you.”
Lance blinks at me.