I think back to what she said about sneaking into my room and unleashing bees on me. I wouldn’t put it past her to do just that, despite her being Miss Perfect. And she’d probably get away with it because she must do no wrong in my mother’s eyes. I wonder if my mom secretly wishes Sophie were her kid instead of me.
Shaking my head, I decide to stop crapping on my tutor. As much as it ticks me off that she likes my mom, the truth is she’s just following orders. I need to take my frustrations out on the woman who gave birth to me and then abandoned me, not an innocent student who’s caught in the middle of all this.
I didn’t have to make an issue about the math problems. The truth is, I don’t want to fall behind in my classes, even though I make it seem like I don’t give a darn. I’m not sure why I’m giving Sophie attitude—I guess it’s because my mom is forcing me to have a tutor. Like I said, I can catch up on my own.
Getting up, I drop down at my desk and start with the math problems. I understood everything my tutor taught me this afternoon. I could tell on her face that she wasn’t sure if I was following, but she’s very clear and easy to understand. I can see why she’s the number one tutor at the school.
It actually feels good to breeze through the problems. I do make some mistakes here and there, and think about the hints and explanations Sophie gave me. The girl is very talented.
After I’m done, I move on to the rest of my homework, including reading that chapter for chem that Sophie went over today. No one asked me to, and I don’t have to give the teacherthe answers tomorrow, but I want to do them for myself. Just so I don’t fall behind. Dad always told me it’s best to review what you learned that day in class so you’ll remember it.
My eyes move to the photo of him I placed on my nightstand. It was taken a few years ago, when I was twelve or thirteen. We were having fun at the beach and I snapped a photo of him when he didn’t expect it. His smile is so bright you can tell he was having the time of his life just spending time with me. Though if you look closely, there’s loss in his eyes. It’s hard to notice unless you know to look for it. Dad always thought about Mom. Never once forgot her.
I wish he hadn’t wasted so many emotions on her. She sure as heck didn’t deserve it.
Pushing all that away because I don’t want to think about my dad, I start my history homework. This is easy because history is pretty much the same in every school.
A voice breaks me from my thoughts. Mom has just entered the apartment and is on the phone. Sounds like she’s making plans to have brunch with someone on Sunday. Probably her snooty friends.
Her shoes clack on the floor as she passes my room. I thought she’d maybe stop by to check if I’m alive, but she passes by. Good. Every interaction between us ends badly, so it’s best she forgets that I’m even here.
Ten minutes pass before there’s a knock on the door. Seems like she remembers me after all.
She doesn’t wait for me to give her permission to enter, she just barges in. Her gaze shoots to my bed because she must expect me to be there drawing or scrolling on my phone. She’s surprised when she finds me at my desk with textbooks around me.
A small smile forms on her mouth, something I rarely see from her. At least, not directed at me.
“Good, you’re doing your homework,” she says. “Keep it up.”
The anger I feel toward her starts to dissipate. Maybe she’s trying to show me she’s got some Mom in there?
She inches toward me. “I don’t want to hear any complaints from your teachers.”
I raise my head. “Did anyone complain about me?”
“No, but I know it won’t be long before they do.”
“Right,” I mutter. Because she only thinks the worst of me.
“And I don’t want to hear you giving any student a hard time. No getting into fights and such. Do you understand me?”
Never mind. She’s not Mom. She’s my prison ward again.
“Why would I get into fights?” I whisper-grunt. Have I given her a reason to suspect I’ll hurt anyone?
She steps closer. “I didn’t hear that.”
“Heard you,” I mumble.
She nods in a principal kind of way instead of my mom. “Did you behave at the tutoring session?”
Does she honestly think I’m some criminal? Just because of…what? The motorcycle? Because I’ve rejected her way of life? Because I defended my dad to rich snobs when I was younger? All she probably remembers is me giving her problems. I can’t count how many excuses she had to give her “friends” to explain my behavior.
“Damian? Did you behave?”
“Yeah, I behaved. You gonna verify that with my tutor?”
She purses her lips. “No.” She eyes the textbooks. “But I will be monitoring your progress with your teachers. And with Sophie.”
