Your Tutor

Chapter Four

Friday came so much faster than I wanted it to. I was dreading the day actually. The girls wouldn't let me bail, even if it meant dragging me out of my bedroom and throwing me in the car.

Honest to God? This week has been terrible. I've had a migraine since Monday that hasn't faded in the slightest. I didn't get to talk to my brother, who usually makes every day better, because he's been at school himself and is swamped with assignments and tests. And Brooks — oh, my God, Brooks. He didn't show Thursday because he "had stuff to do." It aggravated the crap out of me which only worsened my headache. I'm really considering cancelling the whole tutoring situation. I cannot stand the man.

Now I find myself at a party I don't want to be present at. So I sit on the grey couch, accompanied by some faces I've seen around campus, sipping slowly on the concoction Jayde brewed for me. It tastes decent, fruity, but since she made it, I assume it's full of an uncanny amount of liquor because I can feel the numbness creeping up on me.

I hate this. I don't know why I agreed to this. Why am I here?

"I'm gonna take Cameron home, May," a voice says behind me; one that I know to be Mackai. "She threw up... Four times so far."

I turn my head to meet his gaze. He said he would stay sober to be our ride, and he looks like he lived up to it. And I trust him. But that means he's stealing my way home. And I have to find another ride. Or call an uber.

Cameron is curled up in his arms, hair messy, eyes lidded. "Mm, I'm fine," she slurs. "Stay. Stay, I'm fine." Two hours in and she's a goner. Great.
Mackai and I share a glance. I nod and he returns it. I watch for a second as he walks off with her limp body. I'm going to receive the brunt of her complaints tomorrow morning.

That's one of five friends down. Four to go.

I down the rest of the orange liquid in the purple, plastic cup and stand, on my way to find Jayde so she can make me another. I know my limit and I'm just about halfway there, so another cup won't hurt.
—
Forest Brooks: An Hour Later
—

Why is she here? Why am I just finding out she's here? And why the hell is she about to strip on the ping pong table?

A crowd of people swarm her, but standing atop the table, I see her and her curly hair in all its glory. She was dancing, moving in ways that drew everyone's attention — including mine — but now she's slipping her hands under her shirt, flashing her dark stomach. Though it's still lighter than the rest of her. She must not go to the beach often. Or anywhere that would allow her to get sun to that part of her body.

I would shout to get her attention and tell her to stop, but my legs start moving before I can. So I make my way over to the crowded game table.
Rule number three of the parties: don't let the drunk girls strip in front of everyone. But I'm not usually the one to stop it because I'm too out of it myself. It's typically Vinnie or sometimes Mac. But I'm not drunk, just a little doped because I'm the driver tonight. The guys can find another ride, I'm not the only sober one.

I push through the people, and when I make it there, one arm scoops behind her knees and the other braces to catch her. She falls and lands in my arms with an annoyed exclamation. I adjust her in my grasp to hold her bridal style.

The crowd groans but scatters away to enjoy the rest of the time at the party.

"What are you doing here, Tiny?" I question, though I know I probably won't get a serious answer because she's drunk. But I start heading to the door because there's no way she's staying here at this point.

She throws her arms behind her head, straightens out her legs, and goes completely limp in my arms. I glance down to her to see if she's okay, and she has a huge smile on her face and is giggling softly.