She knows how busy my schedule is, and when the tutoring manager begged me, I didn’t know the name of the athlete until she sent me over the schedule.
“He could be benched,” she says, like she didn’t think she’d ever say those words. “He had to find a tutor as soon as possible. You know how the college is about its athletes.”
I lick my spoon. “I thought you said he was smart.”
She glares at me. “He is.” She huffs loudly, and I think I overstepped. “I don’t know why he’s failing, but I understand why they called you specifically. You’re smart and good at your job. You can help him.”
“I don’t know.”
“I tried to tell himIcould tutor him.”
I think this might be the kindest thing she could do for me right now, and I don’t know how to thank her for it without making it weird, so I don’t.
“But he said it had to be a real tutor through Camden U. And,” she shrugs, “I’m not taking Stat 217, so there’s no way I could actually help him.” She sighs, staring at her phone. She places it down and then says, “He’s my brother, so you’ll probably get along just fine, and you don’t need to worry.”
My throat tightens when I look at the TV console and see another photo of his bright smile, looking right at me. I scoop the last bite of yogurt and nod like a normal person. Deep down, I don’t agree. I don’t want to worry, but I can’t help how I feel.
“Okay,” she says. “Lay it out.”
“What?” I ask, confused. I set the yogurt and spoon on the coffee table.
“Your week. I know you’re already underwater. Lay it out so I can see how bad it is.”
I sigh. The sigh has been waiting in my chest since Saturday.
I open the Notes app on my phone and scroll through my list for the week. “Real Analysis problem set due Wednesday.”
She nods. “Mm.”
“Cog Psych quiz next Monday.”
“Okay.”
I look at what’s next on the list. “Math Club secretary minutes from last week — I haven’t typed them up. They have to go out by Thursday.”
She shrugs, fiddling with her phone case. “That’s nothing, those take you ten minutes.”
“They take me forty.”
Her eyes roll. “They take you ten and you spend thirty making them perfect.”
I continue, “I have the study group I run on Thursday for the intro Stats class.”
“The class you TA.”
I nod, reading the rest of the list. “I have my Wednesday tutoring session — it’s a swimmer, she’s a very nice. That’s two hours. I have Thursday afternoon tutoring — it’s a baseball guy, just one hour. His should be ending in a couple of weeks. I have prep on Sunday for the Tuesday class. I need to go to my mom’s house on Wednesday.”
She winces. The wince is small, but I see it, because I know the geography of her face better than my own.
“How bad is it at your mom’s lately?”
I think about this as I was just there. My mom hadn’t done a load of laundry, didn’t rinse a single dish, or put any dishesaway. Forget about sweeping or vacuuming. The house was a wreck, and it’s embarrassing to tell Gianna about it every week, so I’ve stopped telling the truth. “It was bad. But I don’t know. I noticed she bought some groceries, so we’ll see.”
She gives me questionable eyes but says, “Okay.”
I take a Camdenth. “Also.”
“Mm?”
