But if Mom really wanted to close it? If it would make her happy to get a normal job working for someone else without the stress of running her own business? I guess I’d be okay with the idea, so long as it made my mom happy. But I know that deep down she wouldn’t be happy at all. And she’s only thinking these things because money is tighter than tight and the store is doing worse than it ever has. I close my eyes and draw in a deep breath, pretending I’m on a tropical beach instead of in the classroom listening to a lecture on Texas History.
It doesn’t work very well.
***
As much as I want to forget all about my first tutoring session today, I know the AP would have my ass if I skipped it. I even remembered to bring along the stack of extra credit worksheets my teachers gave me. I’ve put them in a folder and all together, it’s about an inch thick. There is no possible way I’ll ever get through them all.
Lugging my textbooks along, I make my way to the library after the final bell rings.
Sterling High’s library isn’t as modern and large as some of the other high schools I’ve seen on TV, but it’s okay. The aisles are long and tall and filled with books that actually have interesting material in them, unlike the library at our junior high which is from the seventies and has mostly old smelly books.
I chew on my lip as I look for Jonah in the crowd. Most people are here for detention, which takes place in a classroom off the side of the library. To the right, the rows of bookshelves split in half and there’s a few tables in the middle of the library.
I find Jonah sitting at one, bent over his iPad. He’s got a TI-84 calculator next to a fresh notebook and pencil sitting next to him. His messenger bag is on the seat to his left, so I go to his right and dump my backpack on the floor.
“Hey.” I pull out the chair and sit next to him. “What are you so enthralled with?” I ask, leaning over to peek at his iPad. I was hoping for some juicy snapchats or something, but no, of course not. He’s looking up microphones on some website.
“Hi, Natalie.” Jonah smiles at me, his eyes meeting mine. It’s such a friendly gesture it makes me feel bad for how much I totally hate that I have to be here with him for two hours. It’s not his fault he got stuck as my tutor. He probably doesn’t want to be here any more than I do.
Jonah closes the leather case over his iPad and tucks it into his messenger bag. “You ready to get started?”
“Not really,” I say, grabbing his calculator. “Let’s do something else.”
“Something else?” he says slowly. I press random buttons on the calculator, and he watches me, looking as though he’d really like to tell me to stop. He’s such a nerd he can’t even ask for his calculator back. I roll my eyes and set it on the table.
“Yeah, something else.” I look around conspiratorially. “How about we sneak out of here and go get a snow cone next door?”
He frowns. “Natalie, we have to study.”
I give him my best innocent look. “Or we could not study and pretend that we did?”
He ignores me and turns to his notebook. “You’re failing math, chemistry, and history,” he says, pointing at each subject as he says them. “You’re also hovering by with a seventy one in English so we should work on that one, too.”
“What is this?” I say, snatching the notebook from his hand.
“Hey!” he says, but his voice is meek because we have to be quiet in the library. I know he’s too nice to steal it back from me, because all nerds are too nice. I almost feel a little bad at how his manners restrain him so much.
I stand up so he can’t even try to grab the notebook back. He doesn’t leave his chair, but he is staring at me, his dark eyes more serious than I’ve ever seen them.
I look over the page in front of me. My name is at the top, handwritten in neat letters.
He’s listed out my classes with my last progress report grade next to them. No doubt this information was given to him by the assistant principal, much to my chagrin. He’s highlighted my failing subjects in blue and English in yellow. That must be his code colors for MISERABLY FAILING and ALMOST FAILING.
Underneath that, he’s written the dates we’re tutoring.
“Natalie, please,” Jonah says, his voice one level above pleading. “Please give it back.”
I shake my head and turn to the next page, finding another student’s name and grades, as well as their tutoring schedule.
The pages before mine are filled with more of the same, only these must be old students because after the original grades, he’s written in new grades which are much higher than what they started out with.
“Natalie…” Jonah says. “Sit back down. Let’s get started.”
I’m starting to feel a little bad for stealing his notebook and goofing around when we should be working, but I can’t help myself. No one actually takes these things seriously, right?
I walk back to my chair and flip the notebook to my page. That’s when I notice the upper right hand of the page has been dog-eared.
Jonah reaches for the notebook. “Hand it over, please.”
