Under your angelic body

It all starts with

Hoseok's POV

"You don't understand, Jimin. This is my last chance to not fuck this shit up," I rant as my best friend Jimin scans through his English book.

Church baddie Annabelle gives me a withering look of annoyance that bellies the Disney softness of her name. "Can you not curse, please?" her whisper is harsh, eyes frantically scanning the library room.

I cock an eyebrow at her, lowering her eyes immediately to her book. I'm cursed with a nasty temper.

Jimin laughs, closing his book. "Don't be such a pussy.

It's not like your parents are going to kill you. They don't even care about you," he scoffs.

I shake my head, brushing a few strands of blond hair out of my forehead. "You don't know them like I do," I give him a pouty look, obviously exaggerating. "Daddy might actually take away my Beamer. And pull me out of cheerleading and choir," I dramatically flutter my eyelashes as if I'm an American teenage girl.

My pink-haired friend laughs, shaking his head. "You can always join the international study club, you know?" he says, nodding towards a bunch of cringey neck-bearded international students working in the corner.

"And be part of a farcical, fascist cult of do-gooders?" spit. "I'm good."

"What about our lecturer?" Jimin offers.

"You think I haven't tried that already? Those motherfuckers talk in hieroglyphics," I reply, rubbing my temples. I'm tired of college already.

I'm in need of a cigarette and an easily impressed high society pussy.

"Can you please lower your voice?" a neck-bearded guy spits as he lowers his comic book. "I'm reading." We ignore him.

"I wish I had super powers so I could zap myself away from here," I sigh, tapping my thigh with my long fingers.

"You'd get the power to create ice cubes from moisture in the air and instead of becoming a Super you're the loser cooling down everyone's drink down at a fucking BBQ you weren't even invited to," Jimin replies.

"Amused?" I grumble.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the international student from my English class sitting in the corner, her glasses resting on the tip of her nose.

Jimin gives a subtle nod towards her. "Well, maybe Layla over there can help you out."

"I don't think she'd know what a real man is even if I placed my nut sack in her hands," I scoff.

"Nah, she's been staring; I've seen her checking you out. You just haven't caught her yet," Jimin says with a smirk. "Hey, maybe you should ask her for help. At least she won't deliberately eyeball you, not that you care about that," he laughs. "She's getting the highest grade in Research class. You've seen her; it's like she and Mr. Badgley speak their own secret geek language with each other that no one else can understand. The rest of us need a decoder ring to figure out what the fuck is going on."

"She's stiff like a fucking board. I'd rather get molested by a monkey."

She fumbles with the edges of her book. Her pants are too lose, her dark hair looks messy, and her clothes don't even come close to matching. Blue shoes with neon green socks... really? What the hell was she thinking? And that's just the starting point. She isn't bad looking per se, once you could get past the 80's style clothing you can only find at a hippies garage sale. But between her mannerisms, lack of coordination, and horrible social skills and status, she's a waste of my time. Or anybody's time, really.

"Say what you want," Jimin says, "Still better than a white girl. We're not gonna around with jailbait," Jimin's nose wrinkles like he's evaluating rotten meat. "Especially not here in the south."

"That was a mistake okay?" I bite back.

"Is that the lie you suck down everyday? Mistakes are accidentally adding a cup of salt instead of a cup of sugar to cookies. Mistakes don't usually involve a vagina tripping over a dick," he says.

I sigh, knowing Jimin is probably right. I need to get my grades up somehow, even if Layla is the last resort. Which, I hate to admit, she absolutely fucking is.
*********************
I'm walking across the hallway to Layla's locker.She opened her locker and is in the process of swapping books out of her worn down bright orange colored backpack. It kinda contrasts perfectly with her cappuccino coloring, but it's still hideous. She doesn't even notice me standing next to her until I clear my throat.

"Hey."

She's clearly caught off guard. At first she looks hell bent on crushing my balls like grapes, but her eyes soften immediately when she notices it's me.

"So, look, let me get straight to the point. My grades are not doing so well. At least in Research and especially the algebra part since I've never really finished high school back in Korea. Kinda missed that part. And chemistry too."

"I took chemistry freshman year," she injects plainly.

I blink. That random fact about her super advanced nerd-skills doesn't help me in the slightest.
I grit my teeth, holding back a sarcastic comment. "Good for you." is the best I can do."That was a while ago, but I'm sure I still remember a few things from chem. I can probably help with algebra, too," she says in a calm and controlled voice. She's actually not that awkward, which catches me off guard.

"So does that mean you'll do it?" I ask her, my patience starting to run thin.

"Well," she clears her throat. "Why are you interested?"

What kind of stupid fucking question is that. Silence sputters to life and drags on for several excruciating moments.

"Because I want to pass my classes, Layla," I say slowly and trying unsuccessfully to not be condescending, wondering why she would even ask the obvious. If she's supposed to be some kind of genius, why couldn't she understand basic human communication skills?

"Well, I know that. No one wakes up in the morning and thinks to themselves, 'God, I hope I fail my class today'. Everyone wants to pass, ven if they don't admit it, even if they don't have anyone to care," she says in a sarcastic tone with hardly any emotion on her face.

I'm stunned. Up until now, I thought she's simply naïve throughout the entire conversation. Yet in reality, it seems that she reads me like a book. Which annoys the shit out of me.

After a few seconds of silence, she shrugs, "Well, it doesn't matter. I normally ask that question when I have a lot of people I'm tutoring, which forces me to decide who I'll take on, but there's only one other person I'm currently tutoring." She pulls a pen and a piece of scrap paper out of her backpack and jots down her phone number. "I accept. Call me when you like and we'll set something up."

She closes her locker, slings her backpack over her shoulder, and walks away.

I'm flabbergasted. 'I accept'? She should be fucking grateful to be tutoring me.

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