Page 17 of Kicking It with the Point Guard

I pull the door open and step inside, prepared to greet my tutor, then freeze.

A now-familiar head of curly caramel blond hair looks up from the notes he’s studying.

Surprise flashes across his face

I sigh, rubbing my temples. “I guess you didn’t see the note on the window. This room is reserved for tutoring right now. You’ll have to come back later.”

His lips quirk up in a half smile.

“I am aware.”

“Well, then…” I gesture at the door. “Feel free to move right along.”

He stands up, and I’m instantly aware of our height difference. He extends his hand, face emotionless.

“Hi, my name is Cameron Jones. I’m a math tutor.”

No. No way. I look up to the heavens. God, if I’ve done something that you don’t approve of, then I’m truly sorry.

I meet Cameron’s eyes.

“You’re not pulling my leg right now?”

“Do I give you the impression that I would pull a stunt like that?” He crosses his arms, his face as serious as ever.

“No. I guess not.” I sigh, tossing my backpack on the ground and flopping down in the chair next to the one he recently stood from.

He sits as well, and I extend my hand. “Hi, Cameron Jones, I’m Violet Miller, and I hate math.”

His eyes flash with amusement, but he reaches for my hand, his larger one engulfing mine.

We shake and then sit in awkward silence for several minutes. I think both of us are surprised by this turn of events.

Finally, Cameron clears his throat. “What do you need help with?”

A bark of laughter tumbles out of me, unbidden. “I know how to do the basics. I can add, subtract, multiply, and divide. But if you add anything else in there, it might as well be like speaking another language.”

“Oh… Well, do you have any past homework assignments? I can go over those and see what I’m working with.”

I pull my math folder out of my bag and slide it over to him, crossing my arms and looking away.

Not even a week ago, I told this guy that I was doing math so advanced that he probably wouldn’t even be able to comprehend it. Now he’s looking through my College Algebra homework and realizing that I might be the dumbest human on the planet when it comes to math.

I sigh, thunking my head on the table. That shows me. Lying… bad.

I risk a glance at him, and he’s grimacing, but wisely, he keeps his mouth shut.

After looking over a few pages, he clears his throat again.

“I think… We might be best off starting at the beginning.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” I mumble, my cheeks burning.

“Do you have your book with you?” He ignores my embarrassment, his tone completely business-like.

I pull it out and slide it over to him as well.

He flips to the first lesson and starts trying to explain what I did wrong. I hmm and ahh in all the appropriate places, hearing what he’s saying but not truly listening. I’ve gone over this all before. Why does he think that just because he’s explaining it to me, it will stick?

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