-Edited-
"Your introduction needs a hook. It can be a quote, but if I remember correctly Mr. K prefers a question that you'll answer somewhere in the essay. This paragraph shouldn't be too long, but it should be short or long enough for the reader to understand what points they'll walk away from after reading. The last sentence of your introduction should transition into your first body paragraph—Nick?"
Our cubicle of the tutoring room has gone too quiet. Nick usually taps his foot on the linoleum tile flooring, or beats his pencil against the desk to express his irritation at my rambling. But when I look up, he's staring straight ahead like the wall has him in a trance.
"Nick?" I repeat poking his arm with the eraser side of my pencil.
His voice is low as he says, "I'm so..." Suddenly, his eyes find mine. Now the hazel color burns bright as they take on the mischievous glint I'm used to. "...bored."
I sigh through his chuckling fit. "Geez Adams. You bore me more than all my teachers combined."
"If that's the case than why do you need me? You wouldn't be here if you could understand your teacher's way of learning," I retort.
"Maybe I like hanging with you," he shrugs. For a moment I believe his words to be sincere, then I remember he likes hanging out with a bunch of different girls from school and shiver in disgust. "I just wish it didn't have to be during football practice."
Nick looks out of the window we're seated next to. The windows on this side of the school building give a perfect view of the football field below where the Summers Saber-cats are practicing for the first game of the school year.
I spot Trevor leading the team in place of Nick today, and Carmen on the bleachers who, instead of cheering for her boyfriend, is glued to her phone.
"Don't worry. Trevor is just filling in your spot as captain today. He'll lead the team well until you don't need this tutoring session anymore."
He scoffs. "That idiot couldn't lead a moth to a flame without handwritten directions. Why does he always have to fill in for me?"
Nick Novak: pompous, vulgar, reckless. Now I can add envious to the never ending list of negative traits he racks up.
"Remember, that's my friend you're talking about," I say with a strained smile. "Now, write the introductory paragraph on your own first. I want to see what you can come up with. Then, I'll critique it."
"Say please," he smirks.
"You can't be rude and expect kindness in return. That may work on your other girls, but not me."
Nick leans back in his chair and rests his intertwined fingers behind his head. The movement of his arms lifts his shirt up a bit, revealing faint lines beginning the very prominent six pack I've seen with every opportunity he's had to take his shirt off.
You can't knock Nick Novak's confidence, but I avert my gaze back to the English assignment prompt so as to not inflate his ego even more.
"At least you can't call me a quitter. Besides, those girls are easy. I'm attracted to a challenge from time to time." His wide grin continues to grow as his eyes lock on something out the window. I follow his line of sight to the football field and stand to shut the blinds.
"Write. Now." I grab the pencil and shove it in his hand. "If not for me or Mr. K, then for yourself."
He rolls his eyes but complies in the end.
Peers like Nick always have me second guessing this tutoring thing. But I'm desperate to stay out of my empty home for as long as possible during the day, so I'll take what I can get.
My options for extracurriculars are limited. My dislike and incapabilities for sports crosses out any chance of me making an athletics team, and I'm not talented enough for art or drama club. But my old history teacher Mrs. Kim told me I have a gift for teaching others after my presentation and Q & A on the Cold War last year.
So I tutor English and history to help those who've fallen behind, while simultaneously passing time to benefit myself as well.
Nick is half way through the paragraph when he stops. Pencil still to the paper he looks up and says, "What do you think about Miami?"
"What are you-"
"Hey, Nick." A girl I've seen in passing stands in the opening of our cubicle. She's clutching a few notebooks to her chest and smiles cheekily at Nick as if I'm not even here. As soon as she smiles, I recognize her as one of the preppy cheerleaders I have to stop Carmen from throwing popcorn at during football games.
Nick flashes a small grin. "Casey," he says in recognition before turning back to me. "So, Miami."
That's Casey's cue to scram, giggling before scurrying off. It only took Nick casually saying her name to make her cheeks redden with infatuation. I understand, though. His tight curly brown hair drapes over his eyes and falls just above his shoulders. A plethora of creatively detailed tattoos are etched on his tawny beige skin. And, of course, the status that comes with captain of the football team. He's the dream guy for any high school girl.
Until you get to know him.
"Why are you asking me about Miami?" This boy can't go two minutes without addressing distracting thoughts.
"Would a low-key girl be open to going there?"
"I'm not going to Miami with you."
He looks taken aback by my statement. "Not you! Although..." he trails off and regards me with a suggestive look. "Three's not a crowd in my book. You're welcome to-"
"No no! Let's not go there." Living in Tampa has it's perks for people who love the nightlife. Miami isn't too far of a drive from here, but my introverted self doesn't long to visit any time soon. "It depends on what she's into, but if you're describing her as low-key than probably not. Unless you avoid the parties and just go for the beach. But since when have you been interested in low-key girls?"
He smirks and slides the paper over to me. His question posed a distraction, and I hadn't realized that he finished the introductory paragraph without my noticing.
"I'm full of surprises, Adams."
***
The hallways are relatively empty at this time of day. Now only occupied by students attending their after school activities, the quiet halls give some breathing room as opposed to the bustling crowds in a hurry to get from one period to the next.
"See ya next week," Nick says without sparing me a glance. Parting ways, he makes a bee line to the parking lot while I head to my locker.
Once I'm there, my nose wrinkles in disgust.
A piece of Swiss cheese is taped haphazardly to the metal door. I look around and even pace the hallway in attempts to find Bella or someone from her squad laughing in a corner or holding up a phone to catch my reaction, but the culprit is long gone.
I stomp back to my locker and remove the cheese, though try would be a better descriptor. There's residue left over. Like whoever did this intentionally squished harder than need be while taping it to the locker.
I toss the cheese and string of tape into a nearby trashcan. Ignoring the white smudge on the red painted metal, I put in the combination and open the door.
A folded piece of paper glides to my feet, and my heart increases to a similar speed as to when I found the rat plushie and note on my home's welcome mat this morning.
I take my time switching out my textbooks for the novels I'll need for tonight's literature assignment, wasting as much as I can before I'm finally forced to pick up the note and read what threat awaits me this time.
Except...it's not a threat. The complete opposite, actually. I grin cheekily at the note and trace the lines of the familiar cursive handwriting.
'I'll see you tomorrow after the last screening at the theater. Our regular spot. Snacks on me ;)'
I'm stuck in a daydream, staring at the note and wondering about the green eyed author before my locker slams shut, ripping me away from my thoughts altogether.
"Paige! I've called your name four times now. Are you ready or what? Trevor's practice just ended. What's that?" Carmen asks pointing to the note before furrowing her brows. "And what's that?" she asks pointing to the white smudge on my locker.
"Cheese! Swiss."
Her frown only deepens in further confusion.
"Bella or someone followed up with their rat prank and taped a piece of cheese to my locker." I fold the note and place it gently between a few folders in my backpack, making sure it doesn't wrinkle or tear.
"That's so cheesy," Carmen sighs before leaning her head against my neighboring locker only to perk up and giggle at her coincidental joke. "And the note? Was it another lame attempt at a threat?"
I gnaw on the inside of my cheek and fiddle with an enamel pin on my bag. It's a common sign I've shown since I was young—fiddling in the face of confrontation after I did something wrong. Although I'm not doing anything bad, Carmen can't find out who the note is from.
"It's from Nick," I lie. His name fell from my lips without a second thought. He's the last person I had contact with, so the first name that came to mind was his. This is so wrong. I feel like I've been caught reading a dirty magazine, when in all actuality it's a few innocent G-rated lines. But the sender is a different story altogether.
Carmen's posture completely changes. She folds her arms across her chest defensively and begins to speak. Feeling caught, I hurry past her and head for the exit.
She follows saying, "Why is Nick Novak sending you notes. That doesn't sound like his forte. What does it say?"
"The same thing you'd expect to hear coming from his mouth. He's not doing a very good job at shedding the player stereotype." I wince as the lie escalates. A part of me feels bad for throwing Nick under the bus, but it's not like Carmen will confront him about it. They don't run in the same circle.
"That's different for him...love notes huh?" She's speaking to me but her voice seems faraway as she scoffs.
"I definitely wouldn't call it a love note."
"Just remember...Nick is good for nothing else but one night stands and heartbreak. I'd steer clear of him if I were you." Carmen walks faster and exits through the double doors before I have a chance to catch up.
Carmen and I have been friends for over a decade. We don't keep secrets from one another, but things shifted in the later years of high school. The bullying picked up speed, only stopping short during summer and winter breaks when they had better things to do than pick on a girl that was dealt the wrong hand in life. Sometimes our friendship felt like a mentorship. Carmen led the naive broken girl while trying to shield her from her tormentors. She gives me advice while ignoring any attempt at a helpful statement from me. She patronizes any action that could lead to detrimental consequences like a disappointed mother.
I doubt she'll be supportive of who I'm seeing behind her back. But for once, I'm making a decision without any words of encouragement—or disapproval—from her.
I follow Carmen through the door she holds open for me, and clutch the strap of my backpack containing the note a little tighter as I pass her by.
***
I'm home alone for about five hours before the key turns in the top lock.
Huh...mom is early. If you consider ten at night early.
I'm sitting on the top step as she makes her way through the threshold. She doesn't see me, and I don't attempt to make my presence known. She rests her head on the door and places a hand over her stomach, exhausted.
"I didn't think you'd be home this early."
She jumps a little, turning abruptly at the sound of my voice. "Paige, honey. I didn't see you there. You didn't have to wait up for me," she says with a hand over her heart.
"I usually don't, but I'm never in bed by ten anyway."
She smiles and ascends the stairs. What I don't tell her is that although I settle into bed prior to her return, I resist the urge to sleep until I hear her footsteps and the noise of her closing bedroom door.
The fear of losing the only family I have left terrifies me, but some things are better left unsaid.
The thought of family in mind pushes my attention towards the door across from mom's. The blue 'J' pinned to the wood is similar to the pink 'P' on mine. There's an ache in the part of my heart it felt like my brother took with him when he left. An urge to cross an unspoken boundary set between my mom and I a long time ago.
"Mom?" I ask as she passes.
"Hmm?" Her eyes are red; strained from looking at a computer screen all day.
As I witness her fight to hold onto the last bit of energy she has in her today, I decide it's best to leave the conversation for a different day.
Or never.
"I love you," I say instead.
"You too, honey."
With a tired smile she heads into her bedroom, the door quietly closing behind her. My shoulders slouch in her absence. My eyes dart between mom's room and the one with a 'J' on it, mind running a million miles a minute as I try to shove the questions I conjured back into the darkest recesses of my mind.
"I love you too, Paige," I mimic in the best impression of her voice I can muster.
I turn out the hall light and retire to my room where a restless night's sleep awaits.