Crush

Grades

Asher

Mrs Rodriguez sat at the desk in her office, leaning forward slightly, glasses perched on her head, a soft smile on her face. She was a nice woman, with a kind smile that seemed genuine. She looked over my grades and comments from the teachers at my old school, all seeming to agree that I needed to pay more attention, do my homework and actually turn up to class at this school. I knew I had been slacking this year, so I wasn't surprised to learn that the teachers had noticed, too.

"Asher," she said with a sigh. "To do well at Hatley High, you need to work on your grades and get your assignments done. It says here that your teachers from Silverlake were a little concerned about your lack of attention. However, the tutor you had while you were homeschooled these past few months told us that your grades have improved somewhat."

She looked down at the papers in her hand, while I looked down at my hands clasped in my lap. She wasn't yelling at me, or angry with me. Instead, she seemed disappointed.

Yelling, I could take it. I was a big guy, with strong arms, thick neck and wide shoulders. Shouting just bounced off of me.

But someone's disappointment? No way. Failure always seemed to weigh heavier on me. And I wasn't really sure how to take her concern. I wasn't used to it. No one ever seemed to be concerned about me.

"Asher moved to homeschooling after we found some of the students at Silverlake to be a distraction," Mom told the guidance counsellor, sticking to the story that she'd told the school back when she was looking to transfer me here. It was almost the truth.

Almost.

Mrs Rodriguez looked at my mother sitting next to me, then back to me and met my eyes. I stared right back from the chair I was sitting in across the desk from her. I ran a hand over my almost non-existent black hair. My hair was just so dense, so curly, it was almost impossible to control. Mom embraced her afro hair, styled it perfectly and was proud to show off the tight curls, but I just couldn't manage it. I hated how sticky it got while I was out on the field, running players down in the sport I loved. So I asked the barber to cut it short a couple of years ago, really short, close to my head short. I had to get it clipped every few weeks, but I preferred this style. Even my dad approved.

Mrs Rodriguez took her glasses off the top of her head and placed them on the table. She clasped her hands together. I put my hands on my knees, starting squeezing my jeans between my fingers.

In. Out. In. Out.

Nervous.

My knee started bouncing up and down. My stomach started to twist in knots. Why was I so nervous? She was looking at me like ... she was worried about me. No one was ever worried about me. So why was she?

"Asher," the guidance counsellor started saying, "To succeed in your final year at Hatley High, you must turn up to all of your classes and do your homework. Use the summer break to get a head start on the assignments the teachers set. In fact, I have some assignment notes here for you now." She reached over to the side of her desk, grabbed a plain manila envelope and passed it to me. "These assignments have been set by your new teachers to help you get ahead next year. Get on with them. I honestly don't think you'll have a problem with any of it. Your tutor gave us no reason to think you would struggle with the work needed to finish school."

I could feel Mom smiling next to me, acting like this was all completely normal. Normal for her son to be transferred to another school right at the end of junior year. But it wasn't normal. Not for me.

I nodded at Mrs Rodridguez, unable to say anything. I mean, what could I say?

"There are plenty of students in your grade here at Hatley High that have tutored others through exams and tests," she suggested, a small smile on her face. "If you're struggling, maybe see if you could become study buddies with one of them? It's a good way to make friends." Her smile reached her eyes, seemingly happy to have made that suggestion.