Page 1 of Strike Zone

1

WREN

LATE JANUARY

Dry Cleaning.

Bank.

Clean out my purse.

Car detailing.

No. I did that last week. This week is my closet. Deep cleaning on a four-to-six-week rotation is the best way to keep everything orderly and immaculate. It isn’t a foolproof system but it has been working well for me the past few years.

My closet has been the hardest to keep up with while in college. It’s taken me years to get the proper system setup correctly. You would be surprised how easy it is for a cream blouse to get mixed in with the ivory.

Especially if you have a roommate like mine. I love Charlie, but she is chaos incarnate.

Organize closet.

Office supply run.

I continue to write my to-do list in my planner. I’ll add it to my electronic planner after my tutoring session. I flick my wrist to check the time on my gold watch. They should be at the library any minute.

W. Rivers

I glance down at the blank student profile I’ve prepared.

The student center didn’t give me any additional information. I didn’t ask either. I never do. I don’t get paid for my tutoring sessions. I do it to flex my skills. It’s an opportunity for me to put my problem-solving abilities to the test.

If I want to secure a job at the top of my father’s firm, without using nepotism as a step stool, I need to be the best business analyst he has on the team.

Tutoring is not the same as saving a company from going belly up, but the concept is similar in nature. I evaluate their study habits, determine where the disconnect is with class material, and come up with a plan to help them succeed.

It’s all very simple.

Ten past five. They’re late.

I begin to pack up my highlighters when a large form casts a shadow over the table.

“Hi, darlin’,” he croons, as he takes the seat across from me. I visibly cringe. I know that voice. I hate that voice. It’s attached to him.

Wyatt Rivers.

One of the pitchers for the Newhouse Knights baseball team. He’s also the most annoying student that attends Newhouse University, at least according to me. If I issued an official survey, I doubt he would make the top ten list considering three-fourths of the student body wants to sleep with him or probably already has.

I haven’t been tortured by his southern twang for months. Thankfully with finals and winter break it’s been easy to make myself scarce. I haven’t seen him since the night our little friend group attended the Halloween party at The Armory.

Well, they called it a party. I considered it more along the lines of my worst nightmare.

Not that I have any reason to be in his vicinity. I don’t do sporting events, parties, or social gatherings of any kind for that matter. I typically enjoy the company of one person at a time versus larger crowds.

Wyatt Rivers is the last person I would ever want to spend one-on-one time with.

“Those are cute.” He points to my sticky notes with hedgehogs on them.

“I know. That’s why I bought them.” I move the square pad of paper closer to me even though it completely destroys the order in which I like to keep my supplies. Sticky notes, pens, pencils, highlighters. I begin to line them up again to keep my eye from twitching.

---