Page 8 of Overtime
I pick my mechanical pencil back up and circle the two time slots that work for me. One is this one, Tuesday morning, and the other one is Wednesday afternoon before practice. As I slide the journal back to her, the page blows over, and I catch the letters TDH underneath, where she was scribbling while she was snooping on me.
Tutor-girl smacks the page back down and jerks the journal back up to her.
Sus.
I force my lips to stay in a straight line as I ask, “What’s TDH?”
She sucks in air through her teeth, and at the same time, her eyes go wide as saucers.
Well, that confirms that it has something to do with me. I place my forearms on the table and lean closer. I won’t ask again. This is usually enough to get people to spill.
“Nothing,” she says in a high-pitched voice.
I narrow my eyes slightly, and all she does against the pressure is press her lips tighter. Strawberry has some spine. I’ll give her that.
Faint but frantic steps distract me for a moment, as if someone is running in the library, whichIknow not to do, even though this is like my second time here. A guy rounds the corner around a bookshelf and immediately locks eyes with me. I recognize the blond mop of hair from the tutor profile I got when I was signed up for the service.
“Aaron, I’m so sorry I’m late!”
I grit my teeth.
Strawberry turns around. “Wyatt! You made it.” I’m not sure if that’s relief or disappointment laced in her words. But they’re charged with something.
“This morning’s been a mess.” He plops onto the chair next to Strawberry with a huff. His coat is askew as the strap of his bag slides off his shoulder and he drops the whole thing to the carpeted floor. “Some jerk rear-ended me at a red light. Can you believe that?”
“That sucks. Are you okay?” Her forehead creases as she scans him down and back up.
“Yeah, I’m good. Getting the insurance stuff sorted out just took a while.” Finally, the dude faces me. “Sorry about that. I can talk with Melinda and switch you back to me if you want.”
“Oh.” Strawberry whispers this word, and this word alone. This time, the disappointment is clear.
I tilt my head. She scratches one finger over the surface of the journal containing a neat little timetable written in rounded loops in blue ink. She put that together in hurry after a wholehockey player was added to her plate out of the blue. She’s crafty and surprisingly direct. Not to mention, her rating from previous students is a whopping 4.9, compared to this dude’s 4.7. I’m a numbers guy, and the choice is pretty obvious. So even though I requested a dude, I think this girl is better suited to the task of getting me out of the flunk zone.
“Nah,” I say loud and clear. “I already agreed on a plan with Strawberry, here.”
She splutters, “Strawb?—”
“But,” tutor-dude says. “It’s really no big deal. Right, Maddie?”
“Um, actually?—”
“I mean, don’t you already have three other students on your plate?” He gives her a cringey smile that is as clear as if he were begging with words. “I only have two right now if I include Aaron.”
“Actually,” she says firmly before I’m able to correct the other guy. “Melinda just swapped our new students, so you will still have a second one, even though it’s not going to be Aran. Pronounced as Ah-ran, not Aaron.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“Oh, cool. Should’ve said so from the beginning.” The fight leaves the guy, and he deflates on the chair before glancing at me again. “So, I guess we’re cool, Aaron.”
“Not if you keep calling me by the wrong name.”
Something in my voice makes him pale.
“Yeah, dude. That’s rude.” She whispers the admonishment to him and then turns to me. “But so is calling someone else by something that is not their name.”
This time I don’t fight the smile. The amusement hits me harder than a slapshot.
“Look at that!” someone whispers aggressively, pointing a cell phone at me.
