Page 7 of Shiver
Me
No.
I shouldn’t do that. I know that if my uncle has given my name to one of his players, it was for an important reason because he does so sparingly. Three cards sparingly; meaning he only has two left. Still, I’m determined to put it off as long as I can.
It’s not that I hate tutoring. I hate tutoring jocks. It’s like screaming at a garbage disposal. And yet, I somehow was convinced to give my uncle five passes. Five. One for each year I attend Eastern State and I will not be convinced to issue any more passes. He’s only used two thus far and I’m in my last year.
Dr. Deena says I have a knack for teaching. I easily assess the learning style of my student/s and adjust my teaching style to match it. That’s why I’ve always been sought after in whatever department I’m in. Not that it does them any good.
I may not hate teaching. But I’m not a fan of those who tend to need tutoring. Especially when they’re jocks. Yeah, yeah. Insert jock stereotype here. But that’s not it. At least, not entirely. It’s that many times theyexpectI’m going to give them the easy out becausethey’re all star athletesand need to focus on their sport.
I’ll admit it, their looks of shock and disappointment when I tell them where to go once they pull that shit is humorous. Thus why my uncle had only five passes. Pick and choose wisely.
As expected, my phone rings as I’m rummaging through my fridge. Without looking, I answer.
“Hello,”
“Rakesh,” my uncle says. I smile at his gruff voice.
“Hi, Uncle Adak. How’s the team looking this year?”
“You’ve seen our stats, Rake. What do you think?”
I chuckle. “Still got a great first line.”
“Mm,” he hums. As he makes small talk, checking up on my studies and teaching, I wait for him to cut to the chase. I know it’s coming. As I’m stuffing a burrito into the microwave, promising myself to get up early for the gym in the morning to work off the empty calories I’m about to consume, he finally gets to the point.
“I’ve given out another of your cards, Rake.”
I grin. “Did you? To whom?”
“I think you already know. He was typing on his phone before he even fully stepped out of my office. Did you tell him no?”
“Of course, I did.” Pulling my phone from my ear, I glance at the screen before bringing it back. “He hasn’t begged yet.”
My uncle chuckles. “Be nice to him, Rake. He’s a good kid. And despite his struggles, he’s a smart kid too.”
“Then why is he close to failing?”
“Because he’s bitten off more than he can chew. He’s on full scholarship, so he dedicates as many waking hours as he can to guarantee his worth on the ice. His studies are suffering.”
“Perhaps he ought to find a better balance.”
“Yes. And that’s where you come in, Rake. Help him find balance. And help him understand what he doesn’t. I promise, Egon isn’t going to give you any trouble.”
Sighing, I pull my burrito from the microwave and let it cool on the counter. I lean back, glancing into my apartment. It’s a studio, which is all the room I need. My bed is on stilts, so there’s storage underneath. My desk is at the end of it. On the opposite side of the room is a television and a couch. The single door leads to the small bathroom. And then there’s a kitchenette next to the door to the hall.
I’ve rented this apartment for four years now. It’s close to campus while still being off campus. Private and quiet. My neighbors are usually graduate students as well, so that means no wild parties.
“Alright. I’ll see what I can do with him.”
The smile in his voice is evident. “Thank you. Now that business is taken care of, how about lunch next week?”
Our conversation continues to schedule lunch and then catch up on family, to which I have very little to contribute. Adak is my mother’s brother. They’ve always been close. As such, they talk frequently. Meanwhile, I rarely call home. A cursory text here and there is my usual form of communication. It’s no surprise that he has more to report than I do.
When we end the call, I resign myself to texting the athlete back.
Me
