The Tutor (BOOK 2: OMEN KING SERIES)

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Romeo Benjamin

Finally, the torture of class comes to an end, and I can escape this prison they call a classroom.

The moment the bell rings, a wave of relief washes over me. I start gathering my stuff, my heart racing with the hope of freedom. The classroom is chaos, students shoving past each other, eager to leave the stuffy room behind.

But then my eyes land on the girl seated right beside me. Jessica, or was it Jennifer? My memory is about as trustworthy as a broken clock. I shake my head, trying to focus. She's there, laser-focused on her paper, a smug little grin playing on her lips. What's that about?

Curiosity gets the better of me, and I lean in closer, stealing a glance at her paper. My heart sinks as I take in the numbers at the top. What the fuck?!

"How the hell did you get 100% on this paper?" I blurt out, pointing at her paper as if it's some sort of crime scene. "Jessica, right?"

She turns to me, and for a moment, the noise of the classroom fades into a dull hum. I knew she was gorgeous, but holy fuck. She's not your typical pretty girl. No, she's something else entirely. Something new and exciting. Her eyes are so blue they seem to pierce right through me, and her lips-those perfect, pink plump lips-make me forget where I even am.

She looks at me like I just sprouted another head, and the moment feels awkward, charged. "It's Jenny!" She corrects me, a puzzled expression crossing her face.

Jenny. Huh, so close.

I nod slowly, storing that nugget of information away, feeling a strange urge to get to know her better. "Okay, Jenny. So, how did you get such a high score? Do you cheat or something?"

I don't mean to sound like a jerk; it's just that the thought of anyone actually acing Professor Stanley's paper seems impossible. The man is a total sadist.

"Cheat?" she asks, incredulous, as if I've just suggested she rob a bank. "Of course not. That would be, like, unethical."

"You're telling me that you did this, all of this, without cheating?" I can't help the incredulity in my voice.

I'm not trying to be an asshole, but the idea is so foreign to me, like speaking a different language. I didn't think it was possible to get a perfect score in this hellhole of a class.

"Uh, yeah. Why is that so surprising?" she replies, a hint of annoyance creeping into her tone.

"Because..." I trail off, scrambling for words.

What the hell am I supposed to say? Because I'm an idiot who doesn't believe in studying, much less writing a proper paper? That would definitely not go over well.

My gaze drops back to her paper, and I can't help but admire the way she's written everything out. It's like a work of art-each word perfectly placed, no stray lines or smudges, unlike my own jumbled mess of a paper.

She raises an eyebrow at me, challenging me to say something, anything. It's like she's holding a mirror up to my inadequacies, and I'm not sure I like what I see. "Look, if you're going to insult me, I'd rather you not."

"No, no, I'm not trying to insult you," I say, but my voice comes out sharper than I meant. Typical. My nerves always get the better of me. "I just needed some help, and well, you were here, and I was wondering if you could help me?"

It feels desperate, like I'm begging for scraps. But honestly, if it means passing Professor Stanley's class, I'd crawl through broken glass. I'd rather not fail a semester of college and have to spend another year at this hellhole. Willowbrook is the dream school, and it's no secret I got in more because of my parents' names than my astonishing intellect.