Page 19 of Tutored in Love
“Shunned by the weekend, overshadowed by gloomy Monday, ignored by hump day. I always enjoyed a humble Tuesday.”
“Past tense?” she asks.
I nod my confirmation. “Now Tuesday is worse than Monday. It’s like... the day of terrible, torturous torment.”
“Ah, I see where you’re going with your fancy alliteration skills. Tutoring day, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” Joking aside, it’s all I can do to keep from tearing up. “It’s terrible Tuesday.”
“It can’t be that bad,” she says.
It is. Three weeks have passed, and I’m still within an inch of failing the only class I have to pass. I did okay on the last quiz, but those early scores have left me no wiggle room.
Ihatemath.
Ivy reads my thoughts and moves from her couch to mine. “Aw, Lou.” I must look pitiful for her to stoop to using my childhood nickname. We didn’t even know each other as kids. “Are you lost?”
“No,” I say. “Noah’s really good at figuring out where I don’t understand things and helping me see them in ways that make sense.” So good I’ve started using some of his methods when I’m volunteering. I’ve even been able to help some of the kids with their math, of all things.
“But?” Ivy says.
Sigh. “My math midterm is Friday.”
“And you’re not ready?”
“He says I am. But I don’t feel like it.” I grimace against the root of my problem. “What if I don’t pass, Ivy? What if, even with all this help, I freak out and bomb it like I did on those quizzes? I’ve wasted years of my life and my parents’ money pursuing a degree that I can’t finish because I’m a math idiot.”
“Did you tell Noah you don’t feel ready?”
I scoff. “I’m not allowed tofeelin there. He’s like the coach from that women’s baseball movie. There’s no crying in math lab! I’m pretty sure he would refuse to tutor me anymore if I stopped doing exactly what he says like a little soldier. I don’t think he even has emotions. Or a life outside of his equations.”
Ivy stifles her laughter. “Why is that?”
“We’ve been meeting for, what? Seven weeks?”
She shrugs.
“Seven weeks, and I know nothing more about him than I learned the first day.”
“Why?”
“He refuses to talk about anything but math!”
“Isn’t that what you’re paying him for?”
“Ha. My mother is paying him.”
“So ask him some questions.”
“Believe me, I’ve tried. I asked him what brought him to Oak Hills, and he said, ‘Scholarship. You missed a significant figure on problem four.’”
“Hmm,” Ivy says, holding back a laugh.
“Also, I don’t think he can stand me.”
“Oh, come on. Everyone likes you.” She gives my shoulder a squeeze. “You’re the fun friend, always game for anything, even when you hate it.”
“Except math. And that’s apparently the only language he speaks. Remarkably well, but still. Any time I mention anything about myself or anything nonmathematical or ask him about himself, he clams up and gets all awkward like he was on that first day. It’s weird.”