Page 37 of Fighting Fate

Why are we killing it Cam, again?

Cam

What the fuck, bro? You do realize I am in this chat, right, Chasen?

Miles

Oh, right, I forgot. Maybe it's better you know before it happens?

Devon

Alright, now that this is unfolding, are we going Dexter style?

Gunner

Absolutely, we could sedate him, wrap him in plastic in his dorm room, and transport him to our "kill room"—our football house.

Luke

You absolutely will not do any such thing, especially not in my house. That's where I draw the line.

Cam

Seriously, guys, you don't tell someone you plan to murder what you're planning to do to them. *Sigh* *Eye roll*

Miles exited the conversation.

"Alright, Milli, can you start next Sunday?" Mrs. Raker's excitement is evident as she leans forward across her polished desk.

I nod, replying warmly, "Yes, I'm free. I have dance practice in the afternoon, but I'll be there for tutoring sessions every Sunday."

Mrs. Raker claps her hands, her hot pink reading glasses catching the light. "Perfect, absolutely perfect." She beams.

Rewind a couple of weeks, while in the library, I spotted an ad pinned to the cluttered student bulletin board. It was shouting out for an English tutor, needed specifically for Sundays. Now, isn't that a stroke of luck? Sundays are my days of rest, and English? Well, that's where my passion and expertise lie. Fast forward to today, and you'll find me, heart pounding with anticipation, on the verge of interviewing for that very role.

"So, you have dyslexia? How long have you been managing it? Do you think it could affect your ability to tutor others with dyslexia in English?"

I feel a flicker of irritation, but keep it in check. People often misunderstand what it's like to live with a "challenge" like dyslexia. Instead of snapping, I answer calmly, "Yes, I have dyslexia. But no, I don't think it'll be a hindrance. If anything, it might help me build a stronger connection with my students. I understand their struggles and can tailor the material in a way that's more accessible to them."

She gives a nod, a hint of satisfaction crossing her features at my response. I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding, the tension slowly unfurling from my shoulders. This interview has stretched on, now reaching the ninety-minute mark, leaving me in a limbo of uncertainty—whether this is a good sign or bad.

As her fingers dance across the keyboard, my eyes wander through her office. There's an unexpected coziness to it, unusual for a workspace, particularly one that belongs to someone in her sixties. The bookshelves are overflowing with volumes of every size and color, giving the room an inviting, homely atmosphere. Odd little trinkets—a playful desk organizer here, a whimsical figurine there—inject a dose of personality into the space. A plush rug lies beneath my feet, softening the hardwood, while the gentle patter of rain against the windows offers a serene backdrop, revealing a tranquil view of the campus. It's a space that feels welcoming, almost like a warm embrace.

Mrs. Raker finally looks up. "That concludes our interview."

I take a deep breath, our eyes meeting.

"I'm delighted to welcome you to our library's tutoring team, Milli," she says, her smile bright as she stands and extends her hand.

Under my breath, I murmur, "About time," while gathering my belongings, a wave of relief washing over me.

Just as I'm about to leave, she adds, "Oh, and there's a 'special' student who might need your help."

"Special?" I ask, eyebrow raised. What does she mean by that? Difficult, or dealing with specific challenges? I'm keen to work with students who face struggles like mine, so I'm curious about her use of "special."

I question, skeptically using air quotes, "When you say 'special' student, are you referring to someone with dyslexia?"

Mrs. Raker chuckles, shaking her head. "Oh, no, dear, nothing like that."

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