Chapter 21
Benson
I wake up before my alarm on Monday morning and lie on my back for a while.
I have not slept right since Friday, and my body is starting to register the deficit.
My phone is on the nightstand. The number for the Camden Athletic Tutoring Center has been waiting for two days now, and it’s burning a hole in my chest. I have to call today because I told my sister I would.
It’s early right now, but I pick up the phone and hit call anyway. It rings twice.
“Camden Athletic Tutoring Center, this is Karen.”
“Hi, Karen. This is Benson Reeve. I’m an athlete in the system. I’m currently being tutored by Lucy Moss for STAT 215, and I need to request a tutor change.”
“Mhm. I know who you are. What’s the reason for the change?”
I say smoothly, “Schedule conflicts.”
“Hold on, let me pull up the system.”
I listen to the computer keys clacking. I wait patiently, staring at the days I blocked out for Lucy. I thought we had much more time than we actually did.
“Benson, are you still there?” Karen says after a minute.
“Yeah.”
“I’m looking at our schedule, and we don’t currently have any other STAT 215 tutors with availability. Lucy’s actually our only senior-level Stats tutor right now. We had two others, but one graduated in May and the other is on a study abroad semester.”
My chest feels lighter. “Oh.”
“I can put you on a waitlist. If a new tutor comes online before your midterm, I can offer you a switch. But honestly, Benson, Lucy is your best option. She’s really good.
I advise you to speak with her directly, come up with a better schedule and then we’ll go from there.
We will approve it because we understand how busy you hockey players are. ”
I’m barely listening because I have Gianna in my head right now, freaking out at me. “Right. Okay. Thanks.”
“Okay, so you’re scheduled tomorrow at four with her.”
My stomach flutters at the sound of that. “Yes. Got it.”
“Anything else I can help you with?”
“No, ma’am. Thanks for checking.”
“Mhm. Have a good day.”
She hangs up, and I set the phone on the desk. My shoulders drop, my chest unclenches, and I continue stretching my arms. I’m relieved like hell that the universe made the decision for us. I already know that I have to tell my sister, so I pick up the phone and text G.
Me: Called the tutoring center. They don’t have anyone else with availability. Lucy’s the only senior Stats tutor, and the others graduated or went abroad. They put me on a waitlist if anyone new comes on. I’m still scheduled with her.
I read it, hit send, and set the phone face down. Two minutes later, it buzzes. I flip it.
G: Bullshit.
That’s the whole text. I let out a tiny chuckle as I stare at it. I don’t bother texting back because there’s nothing to say. She’s right and wrong at the same time.
I look at the home opener. October 9. Friday.
Two weeks and three days. Below it, in my own handwriting, is the smaller note I wrote three weeks ago: DINNER W/ M&D + GIANNA + LUCY (?).
The question mark has been there since Gianna invited her at the apartment.
I erase the question mark with the eraser end of Lucy’s pencil. Then I draw it back in, smaller.
After practice, I go to Econ, sit through it, and take notes that probably won’t be on the midterm.
Walsh and Blue meet me at the dining hall after History, and we eat at the same table we always eat at.
The conversation is easy and light. It changes completely when Walsh’s girlfriend walks over.
I notice they don’t kiss, which makes me feel less awkward.
She holds the entire conversation while we eat.
After lunch, I walk across campus to the math building.
I scheduled the Markham meeting last week, before any of this.
I wanted to go in this afternoon and tell him I don’t need a tutor anymore, but I’m no longer going to tell him that.
He’s in his office reading something with the pen tapping against his lip.
He waves me into the chair across from him without looking up.
“Reeve.”
“Sir.”
He clicks something on his computer. He stares at the screen. He clicks something else.
He says, “I have you in the system at a B-minus.”
I’m surprised but not really, so I nod. “Yes, sir.”
“Up from that D-minus.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Your last quiz, you got a ninety-one.”
I stare at him. “I did?”
“You don’t know your own quiz score.”
“I haven’t checked the portal.”
“Reeve, the quiz was a week ago.”
“I know, sir. I’ve been busy.”
“Mhm.” He looks at me over the top of the glasses. “Your tutor is doing a good job with you.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Keep her.”
I swallow, wishing I could just put her in my backpack and haul her around with me. I think I’d need a bigger bag, but it’d make me happy as hell to have her around all the time. “Yes, sir. I definitely will.”
“Your midterm is in two weeks. If you keep this trajectory, you finish the semester with a B. Coach has told me that a B is the threshold. If you finish at a B, you stay eligible for postseason. If you finish at a C-plus, you don’t.”
Damn. “I understand.”
“Don’t blow it.”
“No, sir.”
He leans back in his chair.
“One more thing, sir.”
“Yes.”
“Anyway I could bring it up to an A?”
He lightly smiles but it quickly disappears. “I’ll tell you what.” He looks around his desk as if he’s thinking. “I will find something for you.” He nods, looking straight at me now. “I know it’ll be challenging for Lucy, but that’ll be the point.”
My heart drops like a pin at the sound of her name.
“I’m a team player, sir.”
He nods. “I know you are, but we’ll see what happens when she doesn’t know the material.”
I look down at my hands. “I wouldn’t underestimate her, sir. She’s a smart girl.” I don’t give him time to respond as I stand up and say, “Thank you, sir.”
“Don’t thank me, thank your tutor.”
Right. I walk out of his office with my chest doing a thing I was not expecting.
I’ve been thinking about Lucy this whole time as a girl I kissed, but she is the only person who is keeping me eligible.
Without her, I wouldn’t pass Markham’s class.
Without passing Markham’s class, I don’t play the home opener.
Without playing the home opener in front of the Vancouver scout, the draft trajectory shifts.
Lucy is the engine of my eligibility. Lucy is, in every way that counts, the person currently keeping my career alive.
I have not said thank you to her in any way that counts.
I’ve only brought her confusion and drama with Gianna.
I even threw punches over her. But I haven’t ever said thank you for what you are doing for me.
It’s saving my ass. Whatever else happens in 3B tomorrow, I am going to find a way to thank her.
I sit through film at three-thirty without absorbing a single shift on the tape, which is unusual enough that Coach catches my eye on the way out and gives me the look that says get your head right.
By the time I get back to Hawthorne, the boys are all there.
Stanley is on the couch yelling something at the TV.
Blue is at the kitchen island. Percy is reading.
Rowan is cooking. We talk about the Saturday game tape and about the freshman who is, by everyone’s view, going to be a problem for our defense if Coach insists on starting him. I go to bed at nine-thirty.
Tuesday morning practice goes well. I’m closer to my reads than I was last week. Coach tells me that I’m better. Honestly, I feel like a person who has been told to show up, so I keep showing up. I’m not better, but I take it anyway.
I shower at the rink, go home to eat lunch, and then I’m off to my Tuesday class. I get back to the house with too much time on my hands. I’m starting to feel shaky every time I look at the clock. I’ve never been this nervous over a tutoring session in my life.
I shower again, even though I showered at the rink.
I shave. I stand in front of my closet for a long time trying to figure out what to wear, which is something I haven’t done since high school.
I pick a clean t-shirt and a good pair of jeans.
I pull on a fresh hoodie because my Camden U hoodie is in Lucy’s hands.
I brush my teeth. I look at myself in the bathroom mirror and feel stupid for caring this much.
I leave the house with too much time and use most of it walking to distract myself from what I’m about to walk into.
I climb the stairs to the third floor of the library ten minutes before the start time.
I come around the corner into the hallway, and I see her in 3B before she sees me.
She is in her usual chair facing the door.
Her hair is up today, exposing her neck.
Her laptop is open in front of her. She’s staring at the screen in deep thought.
On the chair across from her, draped over the back, is my hoodie.
The one I gave her Friday night. She brought it.
I stop outside the door and Camdenthe in. Then I push the door open.
She looks up. “Hey.”
“Hey.” I pause in the doorway. I don’t know about her, but I didn’t think I’d ever see her here again.
The tutoring center not having another tutor was just luck on my end.
I haven’t thought about what I would say, and now I’m staring like an idiot.
I silently clear my throat and then close the door behind me.
I walk to my chair and pick up the hoodie. “Thanks,” I mutter.
“Yeah,” she replies softly.
I fold it once into a smaller bundle and set it on top of my backpack on the floor next to my chair. I sit down in the chair and inhale.
“So, there was no other tutor available it seems,” she says.
I nod. “Seems so.”
Without skipping a beat, she says, “Where did we leave off on Friday?”
“Five-twelve was the last problem I did in front of you. I did the rest of the chapter five practice set Sunday. They’re in my notebook if you want to check.”
“You did the whole chapter on your own this weekend.”
“Yeah.”
She nods. “Okay. Let me see.”
She extends her hand, palm up. I pull out the notebook and hand it to her. She opens it and reads through the work I did Sunday morning at the kitchen island while Rowan made eggs and the rest of the house slept.
After a few minutes, she closes the notebook and slides it back. “Good work.”
“Thanks.”
“We can move into chapter six today.”
“Okay.”
She flips to chapter six. She reads the problems. Her voice is the tutor voice.
Flat. Professional. The voice she had for the first session, before she knew me.
I do the problems. She checks them. I catch myself watching her hand on the page once.
It’s a lot of awkward tension, back and forth.
I look up at the clock, counting down the minutes.
I’m aware that she keeps checking it as well.
“Okay. We have a few minutes. Do the last problem on your own, and I’ll check it.”
“Okay.”
I do the last problem. Five minutes. I get it right and slide it across. She reads it. She nods.
“Good. That’s it for today.”
I swallow. That’s it? “Okay.”
We start packing up, both moving as fast as we can without making it obvious. I pick up the folded hoodie from the floor and put it under my arm. I sling my backpack over my shoulder. She slings her tote. We are both standing now on either side of the table.
I look at her. I have been working on the thing I want to say for the last hour and fifteen minutes. The Markham thing. The thank-you. I have been waiting for the right moment in the session, and the right moment didn’t come, because there was no right moment, because the entire session was wrong.
I clear my throat. “I had a meeting with Markham. He pulled up my grades. I’m at a B-minus. I got a ninety-one on my last quiz. That’s because of you. So.” I look deep into her eyes. “I just wanted to say thank you. For what you’ve been doing.”
She stares back. Her face does something small. It might be surprise, or it might be sadness. I can’t tell. “You’re welcome.”
I stand there, looking at her, but she’s already moving toward the door. She opens and walks out. I watch her go. She walks toward the elevator, and I’m left with my heart pounding in my chest.