Page 80 of A Heart of Bluestone

It’s embarrassing.

“If I was your teacher today,” he says, “I might ask that you take another shot at your essay. And I might tell you that Master Milton has mentioned that you would benefit from a tutor.”

Surprise isn’t what flattens my mouth, but rather the disappointment. Hardly fair that another senior gets to find out just how poorly I do in class.

That’s my business.

And Father’s.

But I seize the opportunity.

“What about you?”

He hesitates. His mouth parts, but no words come for a moment before, “Me?”

I right the askew hat on my head. “You’re probably the best tutor I could have for that class.”

His lips part further. He raises his brows and just nods.

Don’t think he was really hinting at himself for the position. But apparently, he likes the idea after a moment.

A smile sweeps his pinkish face. “Sure, I could do that.”

“We’ll pay you, of course,” I blurt it out before he can think I am trying to squeeze anything out of him for free. “I mean, my father will.”

His smile turns inwards, like he bites down a laugh at my expense, and I know I’m making a right ass of myself.

“Do you…” Eric pauses, then loosens a sigh. He waves his hand over his shoulder, a gesture back to the slope he hiked up to get to me. Must’ve seen me come down the trail. “Do you want to come with us?”

“Us?”

“Down there—the old football pitch.” He drops his hand to his side. “A few of us are… Uh, well…,” and he fumbles out the words that heat his cheeks and put that sheepish grin on his face. “We’re enchanting snowmen to attack the village.”

The sheer shame of the confession has his complexion the shade of pickled beetroot. He runs his hand over his face, down his smile, and scoffs at his own silliness.

But I think the silliness sounds rather fun.

“I don’t know if your friends will want—”me“—an outsider around.”

“Oh, no, they’ll be fine with it. I’m trying to get in as many antics as I can when I have my teacher hat off.”

“I was actually going to read over Courtney’s article,” I start and look up the trail, as though I’ll find the Snakes storming towards me, to kill any fun I might have, to cut down any smiles I might make.

“Evil snowmen are way more fun,” Eric says and takes a step back. He lifts his hand and offers it to me.

“What a terrible thing for a teacher to say.”

Still, I grab my flimsy bag and slap my hand down on his.

It’s a fucking risk.

But I choose the snowmen.

My favourite part of it isdecoratingthe snowmen.

It takes a while to get to that point.

Packing the round balls of snow is something I’m damn good at. I work faster than the guys, I pack better, but that’s becauseit’s a favourite pastime of mine, one I never quite grew out of. Used to hit the servants with killer snowballs every winter. Mr Younge was my favourite target.

---