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“See me after class,” he said with a tight-lipped smile. And he dove into lecturing. Not sure what he was talking about. It seemed like he was hell-bent on using words that only had fourteen syllables in them. I opened my laptop and sent off those stories to the magazines I wanted, checking that off my mental to-do list. Just two more classes today and then I’d spend the rest of the afternoon and evening in that tutoring place and get a handle on that stupid math stuff.
I opted not to stay after class to listen to his whining. I’d send him an email later, probably. Maybe. The following classes (General Communication and American Lit.) flew by in what I could only describe as that elusive “flow state”. I was absorbing information and, for what felt like the first time, actually enjoying sitting in a classroom. That came to a screeching halt when I realized I’d be spending the next several hours pounding my head into a desk until I learned this math crap.
I got a little lost, but eventually found the building where this free tutoring was supposed to be. I walked through the double doors to find a large open floor plan, with tons of tables scattered about, some models and diagrams on the walls, and a row of computers in the back. There weren’t that many people there, but the tutors all wore polo shirts in the school color (forest green and white). Some were seated at the table with a student or two, others were by themselves, laptops open and working. There was a front desk and a young woman greeted me.
“Hi there, do you have an appointment?”
My stomach dropped. “Uh, no. Sorry, my advisor said this was free and didn’t mention appointments.”
“Oh, you’re good. For some of the higher-level classes we only have a few tutors that can help so we recommend scheduling time with them but drop-ins are always fine. What are you here for? Not Organic Chemistry I hope. The tutor is out sick.”
Relief washed over me. “No, just general math. Algebra. I think the lowest math class offered here, actually.” I chuckled, and the woman smiled.
“I get it. I think people struggle with the fact that all the homework and quizzes are done online, so it’s just a different way to write the answers and a lot more precise. And math sucks.”
“You’re speaking my language,” I laughed. “So how does this work?”
“We have a few tutors here that can help with that—”
“And I’d like to be the first to offer my services,” a familiar voice said.
The woman laughed. “Trask! I was just about to find you.” The woman typed something into the computer. “This is Trask, he is probably the best one to help you out.”
My mouth went dry and for the life of me, I could not look at him. “Okay, sounds good.”
“Follow me,” he said.
And so I did, the image of a failing grade the only motivation pushing me forward. He led us to the tables in the back and sat down, gesturing for me to sit next to him.
“It’s quieter back here,” he explained.
I nodded and took out my laptop, looking for a plugin, and sighed in relief when I found one within reach. My computer wasn’t holding much charge these days.
“So,” Trask started, a wide smile on his face. Damn, how did he get his teeth so straight? They could be a commercial for toothpaste and impeccable genetics. “What do you need help with?”
“Math,” I said.
“Ah, you’ve come to the right place. I was gonna have to disappoint you if you wanted me to look over your essay.”
I scoffed. “Yeah, sure. That will never happen. So, how do I do it?”
“Do what?” He eyed my computer like it was a piece of a fallen satellite.
“Math.”
He laughed and ran his hand through his hair and I caught a glance of his ink-stained fingertips. I licked my lips and looked back at my computer screen. “Look, I’m gonna be upfront, I don’t get math. It makes no sense to me and I’ve tried. Even YouTube lectures and walk-throughs of problems and I just don’t get it. I bombed the first quiz, I’m assuming you’ve taken this class, so you know how it’s set up. I just—” I threw my hands up in the air. “I don’t get it.”
He nodded, giving me his full attention. Then he reached across the table and pulled over a few sheets of paper. “So, let’s walk through some problems.”
6
TRASK
She was getting there. The problems were getting easier for her and she was finally tackling the questions with confidence. She was shy and looked rather stiff and uncomfortable when we first started, gripping the pencil so hard her knuckles turned white. But there we were, hours later, and she finally shed her coat and she tied her unruly, wavy hair up in a bun. She bit her lip and squinted at her computer as she input the answer to the final question of the homework. She squealed when it confirmed she had answered it correctly.
“Yes!” She beamed at me.
I decided right then that I would do nearly anything to get her to smile like that again.
