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Yeah.
She felt good to me.
She chuckled. “I’ll consider it. Or we can get you a passing grade and then prove him wrong repeatedly for the remainder of the semester. If anything, that would tick him off.”
Well, I did like the idea of ticking off my teachers.
“You’re supposed to read The Odyssey for tomorrow, yes?”
“I’m not much of a reader,” I confessed. My eyes would zone in and out on the words before me. My eyesight wasn’t the best, both near and far. Half the time, I couldn’t see what was on the whiteboard in front of the classroom, and when it was time to read out loud, I dreaded it. Teachers who made students read out loud in front of their peers deserved a special place in hell.
Here’s looking at you, Mr. Slade.
I probably needed glasses, but I didn’t care enough to get it checked out. My mom was a reader. She loved that shit. I didn’t pick up that trait from her.
“That’s fine,” Starlet replied. “Let me see your cell phone.”
“Are you gonna give me your number?” I joked.
“Yes,” she said matter-of-factly.
“What?”
“I can’t tutor you for all these classes within an hour each day. So we’ll have to be in communication after school, too. Some days, we can meet at the library on the weekends to keep you up to date with the work. The first weeks will be hell, but we’ll get through it.”
I liked that she said hell. It sounded sweet on her lips.
“Oh. All right,” I replied.
She tossed me a stern glare. “Don’t misuse this number, Milo.”
“Wouldn’t dare to do such a thing,” I lied. I was already thinking of the messages I could send her as she pounded her digits into my phone.
“Are you a podcast guy?” she questioned. “You seem like a podcast guy.”
“I do the podcast thing now and again. Why?”
“Sometimes, when people aren’t readers, they are listeners or viewers. We can’t view the books you have to read, but we can listen to them. I’m downloading an app for audiobooks on your phone now. Since you’re not a reader, you can listen to the book. Same concept, better outlet for how your mind works.”
That was…thoughtful.
When I once told Mr. Slade I wasn’t a reader, he told me to suck it up, buttercup.
“Thanks,” I mentioned, a bit thrown off by how thoughtful she was being. Then again, I guessed that was her job. I wasn’t getting special treatment or anything.
“Not a problem. Not everyone learns in the same fashion. It’s best to find out what works for everyone and determine how to prepare steps to get them to the same finish line. I’ll also be listening to the book, and each night you can give me a fifteen-minute call to discuss what took place in those chapters so you’re prepared for anything Mr. Slade might present you with.”
“All right. Sounds good.” Truly, it sounded great. The idea of hearing her voice each night before bed felt like a gift of sorts. Something about the sound of her voice was so appealing. It held a breathy quality, coming out so gently with such a slow tempo. When we were studying, it had an extra dash of distinct assertiveness that I found wildly attractive.
Teach me, Ms. Evans. I like when you do that.
She continued writing a guideline to tackle each class without overwhelming me. That was something I dealt with, too. Sometimes—all the time—I’d let everything pile up so much that when I looked at how much needed to be done, I’d do none because it was impossible to decide where to begin.
Not only did Starlet make it seem doable, but she made it seem effortless. She even scheduled time for me to relax and have a life outside of schoolwork.
“Breaks are needed. That’s when your brain can rest and recover so you can tackle things better. Therefore, Sundays are off for you. No work at all,” she explained.
“You’re shitting me,” I told her.
“I am not shitting you,” she replied. “It’s important. Our hour is up, but please listen to the book's first two chapters tonight. You can text me to discuss it or call any time after seven in the evening. I’ll be back in my dorm and finished with most of my work for the night.”
“They must be paying you nicely to do this for me. That’s a lot of your life taken away from you.”
With a smile, she packed up her briefcase and stood. “They aren’t paying me at all for this. I’m happy to do it for free. I’ll see you tomorrow but hear from you tonight.”
I saw why she wanted to be a teacher. She was good at it. Great, even.
As she left, my eyes followed her exit.
I picked up my phone and went to look at the number and name she had left on my phone.
