5. Laura
5
LAURA
I paused on the hurried walk to get to my advanced organic chem lab when my phone buzzed. Without looking down, I grabbed it and checked the message that came in, hoping it’d be an email from the bioengineering department. I’d asked about their program, even though I doubted I could change majors. It was just fanciful daydreaming.
It was a text instead.
Dad: Meet me at my office. Promptly at 12:30.
I winced, checking the time. On a normal day, I had to hustle to get from my last class to organic chem. There was just enough time to squeeze that lab in before my next class later on. I hated that this was the only open slot where I could cram organic chem into my day, so he was asking a lot.
No, he’s not even asking.
He demanded. Ordered. Expected.
Never a please .
I sighed, knowing and hating that I’d just have to be late to my lab.
As I switched direction to get to his office, I wondered what could be so imperative for him to contact me at all. Yesterday, he canceled at the last minute on me. He’d texted me to disregard speaking with him in his office, and I figured that would be the end of it.
It wasn’t like he ever needed me. Or wanted to talk to me. Honestly, I was surprised—again—that he’d try to make time for me in his busy day. As the dean, and a former surgeon, he was an important man in demand. He’d also made it clear that I shouldn’t ever expect differential treatment from him on campus. Kristin used to point out all the examples of nepotism that he showed with Mai when she was a student here. But she stopped bringing it up once she realized how depressing it was.
On the walk to his office, I sighed at the reminder that my dad never showed me differential treatment at home either.
It was always Mai, the good one, the perfect daughter who could do no wrong. And it’d been like that since I was born. When I once watched the video of my first baby steps, it was the saddest demonstration of my parents’ favoritism that I could’ve imagined. They were recording Mai playing on a baby piano, just banging away and not acting like a toddler musical prodigy like they make it sound like in the video. In the background, there I was, taking my first steps.
And then my mom asking my dad, “Wait, has she walked before now?”
They hadn’t even known, or cared, focusing the camera right back on Mai playing on the piano while I toddled around in the background, blurred out and dismissed.
I cringed, trying to stay positive.
It won’t always be like this.
It just feels so depressing because I still live with them.
I couldn’t wait to graduate and move for med school. I didn’t want to go to med school, but I was becoming obsessed with the idea of not living with my parents anymore.
I arrived at the office and his secretary motioned for me to enter. Seeing that he was on the phone, I stayed silent and sat in the chair across from him.
Then I waited.
And waited.
And waited.
He acknowledged me with a glance, but he didn’t show any sign of getting off the phone. Sure, his time was more valuable than mine. He had bigger things to worry about. But each time I checked the time, I wanted to cringe at how far past 12:30 it was getting. I was already late for my lab, and by the time I could run back there, I’d be grossly late to the point I may as well skip it—which I never did.
Finally, he hung up. “Laura.”
That was it.
No apology to keep me waiting.
No smile.
No hello or how are you sort of indication.
Just my name.
“You are expected to tutor a student.”
Of all the bombshells he could’ve dropped on me, that one sucked. Big time.
I blinked, trying to process this out-of-the-blue news. “Tutor?”
“Yes.” He looked down at the papers on his desk. “You seem able to maintain decent grades.”
I almost have straight As, you asshole!
“And you’ve tutored plenty of students before.”
Only because you force me to.
“Yes, but I can’t.”
He arched one brow, glaring at me.
“I can. I mean, I am capable of tutoring, but I don’t have the time in my schedule to take on tutoring anyone.”
“That’s your own fault.” He steepled his fingers and sighed, like I was such a problem. “If you stuck with the coursework that is expected for your pre-med program, you would have ample time to tutor whomever I assigned to you.”
I bit my cheek, holding in the shout that I wanted to sling at him.
“It is your own fault that you are overwhelming your schedule with all those unnecessary courses that won’t make an impact on your degree.”
He meant all the classes I signed up for voluntarily. The ones like organic chem and others that would look impressive if I wanted to switch my major to bioengineering. Of course, he’d see them as a frivolous waste of time.
I swallowed hard, unsure how to stand up for what I wanted. He’d conditioned me to behave and never talk back. Taking the classes he deemed unnecessary was my passive-aggressive act of defiance.
“I thought, um, after the last student I had to tutor, that we realized how unsuitable I am to tutor, though.” It was a weak excuse and we both knew it.
He snorted. “Then work on not being so shy. Gain some skills to better communicate with others.”
I cringed, almost panicking now.
“You will make time to tutor this student since you like to waste your time on those classes you don’t need to practice medicine one day.”
No. Just stop. Don’t you ever hear yourself and realize how cold you are?
“And if you don’t agree to tutor, I will contact your instructors and drop you out of those classes myself.” He sighed again, like he was counting down the seconds until he wouldn’t have to deal with me again. “Because in my opinion, those courses won’t do a damn thing for your standing to get into my alma mater.”
He was giving me an ultimatum. Just when I thought I couldn’t despise him any more…
It’s not like it would last. I wasn’t bluffing or making up an excuse when I reminded him how ill-suited I was to tutor. None of the other students I’d been forced to tutor lasted for very long. They gave up quickly, not caring about their grades. And then I was off the hook and spared the obligation until he or someone else in the recovery program thought I should assist someone else. It was just one more way that they'd made me the pushover that I was.
“Okay,” I agreed weakly, giving in.
Just show up and they will quit quickly.
“Good. You’re dismissed. I have another call to make.” He didn’t even look up, treating me like I were a student, not his child, a blood relative.
I looked at the time again.
Nope. There wasn’t any way I was making it back across campus for my lab now.
I held in a sigh and stared at him, wondering what I’d ever done to deserve his cruelty.
“Who am I tutoring, and when should I begin?” I asked, not even trying to sound enthusiastic.
He glanced up with a bored expression. “Jason Reeves. You can begin tonight at the library, where he’s expected to meet you.”
Oh, fuck no.
I froze, trying to let this sink in.
Did he just say Jason Reeves ?
I blinked, willing my mouth to move so I could ask him to clarify.
This had to be a joke.
He wanted me to tutor the campus bad boy who was trying to hit a record for virgin conquests, as his frat brothers called it?
The asshole who hosted infamous parties and didn’t care about studying at all but loved being mean and bullying those he thought were weaker?
“Did you say…” I cleared my throat as dread pooled in my stomach.
Please no. Not him .
“I said tonight, Laura.” He raised his pen to indicate the door. “You’re dismissed.”
Fuck.
I turned to leave, my stomach tense and my heart racing in trepidation of having to spend a single second with Jason Reeves.