Page 6 of King of Violence

“Then I suggest you focus,” Hartford says, returning to the board.

I sink lower in my seat, trying to ignore the heat rising to my face. I force myself to focus for the rest of the lecture, scribbling notes with a vengeance, but my mind keeps drifting back to the email.

Why me?

I’m already juggling a full course load, a part-time job, and an internship application that’s due next month. The last thing I need is to babysit someone who probably spends more time passed out in a sorority house than the library.

As soon as class ends, I pack up quickly and head to the gym. I need to process this somewhere quiet, somewhere I can vent without an audience.

The gym is blessedly empty this late in the afternoon. I find a corner table tucked away from prying eyes and pull out my phone. The email stares back at me like a challenge.

I open the attached schedule and skim through it. Julian’s classes are a mixed bag: Intro to Marketing, Business Ethics, and an elective on the psychology of leadership. None of it looks particularly challenging, which makes it baffling that he needs a tutor.

This has to be some kind of joke.

I can already picture how this will go: Julian showing up late, if he shows up at all, with that trademark grin and some excuse about practice or a game. He’ll flirt, he’ll charm, and he’ll expect me to do all the work. Meanwhile, I’ll be the one pulling all-nighters to make sure he passes.

My stomach churns at the thought.

With a sigh, I text my roommate Ben.

Me:You’re not going to believe this.

Ben:What?

Me:They’ve assigned me to tutor Julian Greco.

Ben:OMG. You’re tutoring THE Julian Greco???

I groan, already regretting texting him.

Me:It’s not exciting. It’s a waste of my time.

Ben:Come on, Felix. He’s, like, a campus legend. You’ll probably get good seats at the games or something.

Me:I don’t care about football.

Ben doesn’t reply immediately, and I take that as my cue to answer the email. I type a curt response confirming my availability and hit send before I can overthink it.

There. It’s done.

But as I sit back and stare at the empty table in front of me, I can’t shake the feeling that this is the start of something I’m not prepared for.

Julian Greco:Hey, Tin Man. When’s our first session?

I stare at the message, my irritation flaring anew. Already with the nicknames? AndTin Manwas the one that stuck?

Me:Tomorrow. Library. 10AM. Don’t be late.

Julian:Wouldn’t dream of it. ;)

I throw my phone on top of my gym bag and start wrapping my hands.

My fist hurls into a punching bag, making the chain rattle throughout the empty gym. I would have steam coming out of my ears if that was physically possible.

Just don’t forget to take a break sometime.

Who the fuck does he think he is? Sorry, I don’t have endless money to keep me enrolled here. I have to keep up a fucking scholarship. I have to make sure my grades don’t slip, all while working a part-time job. There is no time for me totake a break.

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