Page 10 of Under Pressure

Our next two participants show up then and we make it through the final hour unscathed.

We pack up in amiable silence and he files the consent forms in the room’s filing cabinet while I put away the biofeedback machine.

He swipes one more cupcake as he leaves and I shout after his retreating form down the hall, “You’re welcome for those.”

He waves a hand in response and turns the corner.

Well, it could have gone worse.

* * *

“Hello, Mia.” Mrs. Yang smiles widely as she greets me at the front door of her palatial home, bowing her head slightly. I’m here tonight to tutor her son for his upcoming SAT test. Parents in this area are willing to pay ridiculous amounts of money to get their teenagers into college.

I used to work with small children, focusing on their reading comprehension, but when our apartment complex raised our rates last August, I had to do something that pays more, and SAT prep is where it’s at. I focus on the verbal section, going over grammar rules, familiarizing students with the test’s format, and showing them strategies that will help them break down a question and discover what it’s truly asking so it’s easier to solve.

Tonight’s student, Matthew, is one that has been… challenging, let’s just say. Unwilling to put in the time and effort to practice, he hasn’t improved any in the month I’ve been coming here.

“So good of you to come,” she says in her lightly accented English. As if she invited me over rather than paid me to be here. “Matthew is all ready and waiting for you in the dining room. Also, I know I mentioned last time about how he is a bad test taker. He is a smart boy, so maybe you can focus today on these test-taking strategies I printed out.”

She hands me a sheaf of papers which I accept as graciously as I can, knowing all she did was waste her printer paper. Personally, I don’t believe there’s any such thing as innate good or bad test takers. You just have to put in the time and effort studying to thoroughly know the material.

“Hi, Matthew,” I say brightly as I enter the formal dining room, the long, polished table that seats twelve gleaming under the chandelier. I’ve always wondered what Mr. Yang does for a living to afford such a nice house, but whatever it is, it must mean he’s never home because of it. All I’ve seen are family photos with a stern man in a business suit.

I sit down next to Matthew at the head of the table, but he doesn’t look up from his phone. “Did you work on those problems I assigned last week?”

He glances up at me. “My parents are paying you to teach me, not pawn homework off on me.”

I grit my teeth. “Practical application of the techniques I’ve taught you is the best way to learn and have it stick. Have you at least gone over the grammar rules we covered last time?”

“No,” he says sullenly. “I had a paper to write for AP English and a big test in AP Bio.”

“I know it’s hard to fit in extra studying on top of your already strenuous coursework—”

“Why does it matter anyway? My dad will probably bribe my way in to whatever school I want.”

I stare at him incredulously. Is that seriously his plan for getting into college?

“Well, just in case that doesn’t work out,” I say, unable to completely keep the sarcasm out of my voice, “how about we actually try to learn some things that will help on the SAT?”

He glumly submits to going over grammar rules with me, since it seems he doesn’t remember most of what we went over last week, and when the hour is blessedly over, I accept my check from Mrs. Yang and head out to my car, huddling into my jacket as a strong wind blows past.

I hurry in and turn on the heater, waiting for it to warm me up, and immediately take a picture of the check with my bank’s mobile app. I feel guilty cashing it when all I did was go over the same stuff from last week, but how can I force him to want to learn? You can’t make people change.

My mind automatically flicks to Tyler, at least somewhat better behaved today than the last time we met. Maybe there’s hope for him yet.

Or maybe I’m deluding myself.

Chapter Four

Tyler

“Raise your shoulders next,”Mia instructs Brad, our last participant of the day. “See how the green line on the screen here rose when your muscles contracted? Now drop and consciously relax them.” They both watch on the monitor as the line drops. “We want to keep it here below this level. Think about how you feel right now. How your body is loose and pliant. If you notice your shoulders are up here,” she says, making the movement with her own body, “bring them back down and take a few deep breaths.”

I return my attention to my own computer screen with the last two weeks of data, but I’ll be honest that I don’t really know what it means when it comes to her biofeedback readings. We’re charting each week’s recordings, but without an understanding of what each figure represents, I’m lost.

I’m in charge of compiling all the data since her part takes so long every week, but I need to know what I’m talking about when Dr. Price asks during our check-in meetings.

I wait till she’s finished and Brad has left before asking, “Hey, can you tell me real quick what all these different numbers mean from the machine? Just so I can get a baseline of what’s normal or not.”

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