lewis
Tutor sessions usually took place during lunch, or after school. I usually opted for after school as it meant I wasn't restricted by the bell ringing for last period. That, and I liked to spend lunch eating.
Monday dragged. Between each class I made sure to keep my eyes peeled for Poppy, but I didn't see her anywhere. Not even in the Sixth Form common room where everybody migrated to during break, or free periods. Their coffee machine was just good enough that it meant we didn't have venture out to the coffee shop down the road every two hours. And there was a vending machine stocked with chocolate bars.
"You okay man? You seem distracted." Paul nudged me.
I nodded, startled. "Yeah. I'm fine." But my gaze fell back on the small window on the door to the classroom as though Poppy would suddenly appear through it. Of course she didn't. Somebody who was failing biology wasn't going to crash through the door to Advanced Physics.
"I have the new Spiderman game," he continued. "You wanna come round after school and give it a go?"
We had been talking about the game ever since it had been released. It was on my Christmas list and I wouldn't have it in my possession until then, but Paul was impatient and forked out fifty pounds over the weekend. According to his Snapchat, he had barely stepped away from the television in his bedroom since Saturday morning.
"Can't. I've got a tutoring session."
"On a Monday? Since when?"
Paul's voice was just loud enough to draw the attention of our physics teacher. Mr Ford looked up from his desk, his bushy eyebrows raised. The two of us quickly looked back at our textbooks.
"Since last week. Miss Jensen arranged it," I whispered.
"That sucks," he whispered back.
"Maybe tomorrow though. After practice?"
Paul nodded, and we resumed our work. I tried to focus on the equations in front of me, but my brain wouldn't focus. I couldn't quite pinpoint why. Beside me, Paul was scribbling as though his pen was on fire. The page was covered in his messy handwriting within minutes and he barely lifted his pen up as he turned the page to continue.
When the final bell eventually rang, I shoved my books back into my backpack and stood. Paul followed shortly behind me as we hurried out of the classroom.
Thankfully, the rain had stopped during the night. In its wake, the air was still and damp, and you couldn't walk anywhere without accidentally stepping into a puddle.
Paul waved goodbye as he headed off down the driveway to the side entrance of the school. I turned towards the Sixth Form building and hopped down the steps, passing a couple students who were eager to get home as I did so.
The upstairs library was empty. Even the guidance counsellor, who's office was on the first floor of the Sixth Form building, had escaped quickly, her office door closed and locked, and the lights all turned off.
I put my bag on a table and slid into its adjoining chair, and waited. Though I hadn't spoken to Poppy myself, I assumed that Miss Jensen had told her that this was the usual meeting place for tutoring sessions. I usually ended up in the school's main library as it was quieter than the Sixth Form library. In here, we were allowed to talk and to eat and drink, and the rustling of crisp packets over hushed voices was a huge distraction.
While I waited, the Head of Sixth Form appeared from his office. His expensive suit was less intimidating with the puffy coat he had thrown on over it. I watched him lock his door and tuck the keys deep into his briefcase. He noticed me, and smiled, before heading home for the day.
It felt as though I had been sat waiting for an eternity when I heard the heavy doors bang shut. I craned my head, straining my eyes to see through the holes in the bookcases on the other side of the room, when Poppy sauntered towards me.
She looked exactly as she had in her Facebook photos. Her blonde hair was tied roughly on top of her head. I was surprised to see a thick pair of glasses balanced on the bridge of her nose. She didn't strike me as a glasses wearer. I guess that was because in all of the pictures she had uploaded, in none of them was she wearing a pair.
"Lewis, right?" she said, standing a couple feet away from me.
Though the Sixth Form was a part of the main school, we didn't have to wear a uniform. The only rules we had to follow was that our outfits weren't inappropriate. That typically meant no swear words across the front of your t-shirt, no cleavage, and no super short skirts.
After the first couple of weeks or putting in effort, and enjoying the sudden freedom, people had become bored, and opted for jeans and a t-shirt. It was easier to reach for the first thing in your wardrobe than spend more than ten minutes overthinking the top-bottom combination, and then styling your hair to match. Only on a Friday, or if there was an event after school, did anybody really seem to really pay any attention to what they were wearing.
Poppy was no exception. Her ripped black jeans were paired with a cropped sweatshirt with the name of an American sports team across the front. It was a couple sizes too big for her, but because it was cropped, her small waist and an inch of her flat stomach were visible. She had rolled over the cuffs of the long sleeves, and on her left wrist was a black scrunchy, despite her hair already being up and out of her face.
I nodded. "Y-yeah. That's me."
"Hm. Okay. So what's your plan?"
"My plan?"
She raised her left eyebrow in a sharp movement. "Your plan for the tutoring? You're supposed to be the smart one."
I was taken aback. Though her lips curled into a smile that showed her words were meant in a light-hearted way, I didn't expect her to be so forward.
"Oh right. Um. Well, Miss Jensen gave me your last test so we could just go from there."
"Sounds good."
She slung her backpack onto the desk beside me. It was covered in hundreds of pins that bore emblems of bands I didn't recognise, charity names, and faces of people I couldn't name.
The sweet scent of her perfume enveloped me as she slid into the chair beside me. She pulled out a yellow notepad and a mechanical pencil, and tapped it gently against the tabletop.
I pulled her test paper out from my bag, conscious that my palms were clammy. Conscious that she'd notice if reached beneath the table to wipe them against my jeans.
I don't know why I was so nervous. It wasn't as though I had never seen a girl before. And it wasn't as though I had never been close to one. I had an older sister, and until last year, I had had a serious girlfriend. Maisy and I had been together for almost three years until her dad had been offered a job of a lifetime in London and her family had moved down south.
But there was something about Poppy. About how she held herself. How she had applied dark red lipstick that morning, and it had smudged a little throughout the day. About her ever-changing hair. How her words were laced with sarcasm.
She was intimidating, and for the first time in my life I was stuck for words.
"Let me just grab a coffee first," she said, sliding her chair back. The metal legs screeched against the tiled floor. "Want one?"
"No, thank you."
I quickly wiped my damp hands dry and clasped them together on the table.
She pressed a couple buttons and returned with a black coffee. I watched the steam curl into the air above the cup as she took a sip. When she placed it back on the table, there was a slight hint of her lipstick on the rim.
"Let's get started then," she said, clapping her hands together enthusiastically. "I might be a lot of things, but I don't wanna be a failure."