Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 109505 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109505 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Unfortunately, it doesn’t take as long as I hoped, and I’m back to our dreaded table in minutes.
I set coffee in front of her, and she stares at it like it’s the best and worst thing she’s ever seen.
Her brows pinch and she drags out her next words. “I really shouldn’t…”
“You askin’ or tellin’?”
“Definitely not asking,” she says with a soft chuckle, looking to me as she wraps her hands around the paper cup. “Thank you. That was … thoughtful of you.”
Thoughtful? Me? I’m not sure anyone’s ever called me that. I’m not even sure why I bought her a coffee in the first place, but she was on my nerves, so when I got to the counter I said, “two fancy coffees that taste good” instead of one. Weird, since I’m not exactly a coffee drinker.
Yeah, I know, that makes zero sense, her pissing me off and trying to get rid of me shouldn’t make me wanna buy her shit, but I did, and it’s done.
Maybe now she’ll thaw a bit.
She takes a few small sips, her eyes closing as she does and when she opens them, it’s with a small twitch to her lips. We go over the questions and highlight the key points of each one and then she sits back in her chair. “Okay, why don’t you get started while I check my emails and I’ll review as you go.”
Or maybe not, and now I’m irritated again.
“So, tutoring consists of you doing shit on your computer and supervising while the student does their work alone?”
I don’t know why I’m arguing. I don’t want to be here any more than she does, right? She’s the one who didn’t want to tutor me, and sure, I could have done this shit at home, avoided this entire session, but why should I?
I expect her to snap at me, but she doesn’t.
Instead, she offers a small smile and gently closes her laptop. “Maybe we haven’t worked together enough for that yet.”
“So, when you get comfortable, you just do your own thing and count the dollars coming in?” Why am I being such a dick?
The girl pulls a breath in through her nose. “I’m not trying to make this easier on me, I swear.” She shakes her head. “But we did go over the prompts already. The next step is to read and that’s independent work. I’ll be reading over each answer to make sure you have all you need and help you get there if you don’t. You will get full credit for this, I swear, but it’s up to you to read the passage.”
My frown deepens, but she keeps going. “When you have an exam or an essay, things will be a lot different. We’ll have to be extremely collaborative, but this isn’t that type of assignment.”
“Whatever.” I set my coffee down after a single sip and start the damn questions.
Despite her earlier claim, she’s completely involved throughout the entire assignment. I’m no idiot, but I can admit I have a hard time focusing on schoolwork when the subject holds no interest to me, something she seems to understand.
“This is good and should put you above the mark to play tomorrow. It might even allow you a tiny bit of leeway on the exam coming up, but that will depend on your professor. You might want to remind your teachers you need it graded stat.”
“Oh, they know. Coach Reid made sure of it; the man always has our backs.”
“When it’s convenient,” she mutters to herself, but I’ve been known to have supersonic hearing.
“You realize you only have this job because of him, right? He’s the athletic director. You tutor athletes.”
She shoots to her feet, a bit of sass I didn’t expect following.
“I’ve been working for the school since my freshman year. I came in as a student tutor, in fact, long before I was moved to the athletic department. So yeah, now I work strictly with athletes because their passing somehow became more important than the guy trying to make grades to keep his scholarship or a single mom who can’t afford to fail because she hardly has the time to be here in the first place.”
“And athletes don’t have those same problems?”
“Some do, yeah.” She tosses her bag over her shoulder. “Just like some don’t, and I don’t see how an athlete, who has no desire to do anything other than go pro after college, meaning they throw away all their years of learning here, some who are here at no cost to them, is priority over those of us who want more in life. But sports are heaven and Coach Reid is God, so who cares about us poor peasants.”
With that, she storms off, and I find my ass on my feet, trailing hers.
“Yo! Wait a minute.” I move to catch up with her, which only takes a few steps since my legs are twice the size of hers. “I said hang on now.”