Page 10 of The Assist
Damn.
“Do you guys have anyone for statistics?”
She grimaces. “Must be rough if you need help.”
I nod. “D on the first test.”
“Ouch,” she says as she flips through papers hanging on a clipboard. “We have Sally and Tom in today, they both tutor math. I think they mostly do algebra and calculus, but I could put you in the schedule and you could meet with one of them and give it a try. Interested?”
“Sure. Why not? Got anything now? I’m done with classes for the day, and I don’t want to come back to campus this afternoon if I can help it.”
“Looks like Tom is free after his current session. You can hang over there.” She nods to a section of chairs and couches pushed to one side of the room. “He should be done in ten minutes or so.”
I stop short of the waiting area, spying the men’s basketball schedule on the wall with a picture of the team decked out in their uniforms. The guys stand stoic and unsmiling, and my eyes drift first to Wes. He stands in the back row, wearing jersey twelve. His legs are hidden by the guy standing in front of him, which makes it impossible for me to see if he’s wearing the boot. My research didn’t pull up any information on his injury, so I don’t know if it’s recent, what he did, or even if he’ll be out for the season. I’m suddenly very curious about Wes Reynolds.
In truth, I’ve paid very little attention to any of the jocks since arriving at Valley. Freshman year, I’d barely looked at anyone who wasn’t in a fraternity. Greek life became a home away from home, and there was something exciting about finding a guy who had the same sort of passion for his fraternity brothers as I had for my sisters. And, of course, fraternity guys love nothing more than they love freshman pledges.
By the end of sophomore year, the guys at socials and parties started to blend together and Vanessa and I’d stopped choosing our weekend activities based on frat parties. We plan on moving out of the sorority into an off-campus apartment next year. I’ll always treasure my years at the sorority, but I’m ready to have my own space.
David had been the quintessential frat guy, and I'd fallen for his charm and good looks before I'd realized what a monster he is beneath the shiny facade. Too little too late. It isn’t as if I think all frat guys are douchebags based on one bad experience, but it’s like getting food poisoning at a restaurant. Even if it was the cook’s fault, your brain associates the restaurant itself with a horrible experience and you aren’t likely to go back anytime soon.
When Tom finally waves me over, I’m so hopeful I could burst. But my optimism only lasts a few minutes. I’m not an idiot. Far from it. I get the basic principles of business statistics. I’ve read the book and memorized definitions. It’s the real-world application that is just out of reach. Math word problems were the devil in sixth grade, and they haven’t gotten any easier no matter how much I study.
Molly catches me on my way out. “Any luck?”
“No.” I exhale a deep breath. “There has to be someone on campus who tutors statistics.”
"Did anyone at the house have O’Sean last year?”
"I asked around. Nothing.”
“I’ll see if anyone here knows anything,” she offers. “Someone has to have something on him. Old quizzes or tests. I’ve heard he’s old-school and still does everything on paper."
Of course. Why hadn’t it occurred to me sooner? Wes must have gotten his hands on tests from someone who’d taken statistics last year. O'Sean seems exactly like the type of professor to re-use the same material every year. That has to be the answer. Wes isn't sleeping through class and magically learning by osmosis. He already has the answers.
4
Wes
“Rise and shine,”Joel says as he nudges me. I’m not asleep. I wish I were. My eyes are closed, hat pulled down, but there’s no sleep to be had.
“She’s coming back for more.” The tone in his voice is almost inspired.
I don’t have to look up to know who he’s talking about, but I do anyway. She’s the most entertaining thing about this class. Open my eyes and lift the hat, turn it backward so my view isn’t the least bit blocked.
Today she’s wearing little pink shorts that show off tan legs, yellow tennis shoes that don’t match but somehow work, and a bracelet with a little charm around her left ankle. It’s too small to make out, but I stare anyway. Her brown hair is pulled up in a high ponytail, and she has a megawatt smile plastered on her face. A big bow on top of her head is all she’d need to look like head cheerleader of my high school fantasies.
“Wes, hey, can I talk to you for a second?”
“What’s up?”
I’m hella impressed by the balls on this chick. She’s put her foot in her mouth, not once, but twice, and damn near insulted the entire student athlete population, but she keeps coming back. She has determination and grit. I admire that about her.
I also am not in the least bit offended by her assumption that I’m a dumb jock. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t surprised she came right out and asked who my tutor was, but I know exactly what it looks like. I’ve fed into the stereotype for years, doing nothing to make it seem otherwise. Well, nothing but get straight A’s.
“I have sort of a favor.”
“What’s up?” I stand to walk with her out of the class.
