Page 21 of If We Say Goodbye
My mouth drops open. “You want me to do what?”
She jumps a little at the harshness in my tone. “It’s only three hours a week.”
I laugh, standing to pace in her tiny room. “Me?” I point at myself. “I’m failing most of my classes right now.”
“Except,” she holds her finger in the air. “Algebra II.”
I shake my head. She can’t be serious. Me, a tutor? Some people are born to teach and others, like me, are born to sit under a rock—far away from humanity. I have no patience. Me tutoring would result in Hurricane Becca. “There has got to be something else.”
“It’s either tutor three hours a week or do the required one hundred hours. The choice is yours.”
My nails dig into my skin. “That’s not fair.”
She leans back in her chair, eyes challenging me. “Tutoring is a very generous option. It’ll reduce your hour requirement by more than half.”
“But I . . .” I say, looking for something I can argue, but at this point, I’m grasping at straws. “What if I’m bad at it?”
“Then, I’ll help you,” she says. “But I want you to try your best. Remember what’s on the line.”
My shoulders sag, and I drop my gaze. I’m not going to be able to get out of this. She’s holding my diploma and my chance of escaping this city for ransom. I have no choice but to meet her demands.
“Don’t worry,” she continues. “It won’t be too hard. I promise.”
“Who will I have to tutor?” I ask.
She smiles, pleased with the crumb of interest I showed. “I have a couple of students in mind, but I’ll have to speak with them to see who would be the best fit. I prefer to only assign one student per tutor.”
I nod, blinking away my frustration and tears. “Is that it? Are we done?” I need to get out of here and think about something else to suppress the tears that want to fall. I don’t want her to see me cry.
I can tell she wants to say more. But she gestures to the door. “We can be done for now. I really appreciate you coming in, and I’ll let you know what I decide soon.”
I move to the door, hoping she won’t say anything else.
I’m halfway out when she calls my name. “Becca?”
I pause, keeping my back to her. “Yes?”
She’s quiet for a moment. “You don’t have to talk to me about your brother, but at some point, you’ll have to talk to someone.”
I walk out.
CHAPTERSEVEN
By the timelunch rolls around, I’ve had enough. My social battery has run out, and I still have two classes left. Part of the problem is that the closer I get to the end of the day, the closer I get to my problem again. I don’t have a ride home.
Instead of following everyone into the cafeteria, I duck into the bathroom. I pull out my phone and dial Dad. He’s the only person I want to see anyway. He’s the only one that won’t poke and prod me to try and uncover my feelings. He’ll pick me up with no questions asked, and we can sit in silence while we drive home. He might turn on the radio and listen to a talk show, but that’s okay.
The phone rings. And rings. And rings. Until it doesn’t. “You’ve reached Gregory Jacobs, I’m unavailable. Please leave—”
I end the call, not bothering to leave a message. What’s the point? He won’t call back. Expecting him to answer in the first place was wishful thinking.
My only other option is . . . Mom.
When I dial her number, she picks up right away. “Hi, baby, what’s up? Are you okay?”
Dragging my feet, I begin pacing in front of the stalls.
“I was just wondering if you’d be able to pick me up after school?”