Match Me

Chapter Fourteen: Like Skrillex Behind a Garbage Truck

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Like Skrillex Behind a Garbage Truck

I feel like I'm reading the order for my death sentence.

Okay, that's dramatic. It isn't that bad, but did he really have to send people I sort of know? I would much rather be helping a freshman learn about predicates and clauses, because that's easy. This? This is just a pain in the ass.

Okay, I know that sounds terrible, but I've reconciled myself with the fact that I'm a terrible person. Accepted it. But unfortunately, my moving through those stages hasn't changed the names inked on the list.

Claire. Harley. Melissa. And Leila---oh crap, Leila. I wonder if Valerie ended up telling her about the mean remark I made about Leila taking virginities like prizes at a carnival. She hasn't come for my blood yet, which hopefully means she hasn't found out yet. I gnaw on my lip anxiously just thinking about it. I wish I didn't say that.

Mr. Hoalsted clears his throat, and I almost jump. Forgot he was there. "Everything all right?" He asks, concern shining in his eyes. He wants to help me into my university of choice, I remind myself, and that letter of recommendation wouldn't hurt.

I swallow and mumble a grudging affirmation, taking the paper from the messy desk and shoving it in my back pocket.

He studies me, but doesn't say anything. "On the tutor aid signup sheet, pupils can request for one-on-one or group assistance. Melissa, Leila and Harley are okay with being in a group, whereas Claire would prefer one-on-one sessions. It's up to your discretion to do whatever you want with that information; I'm not going to force you to oblige with their requests."

One-on-one with Claire? Really? I almost groan and roll my eyes right there and then, but just barely hold it back.

"Thanks for the chance to improve my grade, Mr. Hoalsted," I say with as much sincerity as I can scramble. I am grateful for the opportunity, but it just sucks that it has to include Claire and Leila, although I don't really have a problem with either... I'd just rather not spend my free time with them.

Harley and Melissa are fine, though. Even if Harley has got to be one of the hardest people to teach, as being his partner-slash-janitor in chem class sophomore year taught me (three exploding formulas later), he always genuinely tries his best and hardest. The one time I went to his room to look for an old sock to experiment on for chem, he had leaflets and huge out-of-curriculum workbooks scattered across his desk.

Melissa is quiet and reserved, but nice. She's the kind of girl that would give someone a tampon without being weird about it, but gets uncomfortable during sexual health presentations.

Hoalsted picks up his worn satchel from off the ground, it's similar to the one mom always has slung over her shoulder: beige leather with a pocket in the front that has just enough room to stuff a hardcover book in it, and stands up. "Go enjoy the sunshine, Ember! I know I will."

With that, he walks out of the room. I pull the crumpled paper out of my pocket and smooth over the crinkles, my eyes hovering on that one name in particular.

Swallowing my pride, I pull out my phone and start typing.

Hey Claire, this is Ember Bass. Mr. Hoalsted assigned me as your tutor, just text me back whenever so we can set up a time. Thanks!

xo

I wonder if there's even a point in showing up for band anymore.

It's the same thing every time. Me plucking away aimlessly at the strings of the shiny red bass with the amp turned on silent, while Levi silently judges me as he fiddles around with the percussionists in the back of the band. Doing some theory until I get bored. Re-reading the score to The Winter Trees for what seems like the millionth time, as I practice the fingering on the flute for the solo with the one hand that works. Occasional pity look from Mr. Todd. Me giving a thumbs-up to him. Mr. Todd nodding, but with pursed lips and a tight smile. He doesn't believe I can pull it off in time.