My Year in Chicago - Carl Gallagher

Tutoring session

A few days passed before I finally had my first tutoring session with Carl. It felt like the whole school had blurred together since then—same classes, same routine. But today was different. Today, I had to deal with Carl Gallagher.

To say I was nervous was an understatement. I wasn't exactly sure what to expect. I mean, he had that rough, don't-care vibe when I first saw him, and honestly, I wasn't sure how I was going to get him to focus on French.

I waited in the library after school, fidgeting with my notebook while staring at the door. Carl was already late. Big surprise.

I checked my phone again. He was supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago. Just as I was about to text Julien to come pick me up and bail, I heard footsteps and a voice behind me.

"You the tutor?"

I looked up to see Carl standing there, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, looking like he had better places to be. He didn't sit down right away, just hovered, sizing me up. His hair was messier than before, like he'd just rolled out of bed, and he had that same unreadable expression from the other day.

"Uh, yeah. I'm Anabelle," I said, trying to sound casual. "You're late."

He shrugged, not apologizing. "Didn't know we were on a schedule or anything." His tone was half-joking, but there was something sharp underneath. Like he was testing me.

"Well, we are. We only have an hour to go over the lesson," I said, more firmly this time.

Carl finally dropped into the chair across from me, slouching so low it looked like he might slide off. He stared at the French textbook in front of me like it was written in alien language—which, technically, it kind of was for him.

"So, what's the deal?" Carl asked, glancing up at me with this look that made it clear he didn't care. "Why do I even need this?"

I swallowed, reminding myself that this wasn't going to be easy. "You need this because if you fail French, you're going to get held back again."

Carl raised an eyebrow. "You sound like my teachers."

I tried not to roll my eyes. "Well, they're right."

He let out a short laugh, like he couldn't believe he was sitting here. "Whatever. Let's just get this over with."

I opened the book, flipping to the lesson I'd planned. "Okay, we'll start with the basics. Do you know any French at all?"

Carl leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. "Yeah, 'oui,' 'bonjour,' and that's about it." He smirked like he was proud of knowing even that much.

I tried to hide my frustration. "Okay, well, we'll build from there."

As we started going through some basic vocabulary, it became clear pretty quickly that Carl wasn't into this. Every few minutes, he'd zone out, tapping his fingers on the table or glancing around the library like he was looking for an escape route.

"Carl, focus," I said, trying to keep him on track. "You'll never learn this if you don't pay attention."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm paying attention," he muttered, but it was obvious he wasn't. He caught me giving him a look and added, "Look, I'm just not good at this stuff. I don't get why I need it."

I sighed, realizing this wasn't just about French. "You might not think it's important now, but it's going to matter later. Don't you want to graduate and move on?"

Carl sat up a little, meeting my eyes for the first time in a way that wasn't mocking or distant. "Yeah, I do," he admitted, his voice softer than before. "But this... school crap isn't my thing."

I paused. For a second, I saw a flash of something real in him, something more than the tough-guy act. But it was gone just as quickly as it came, and he leaned back again, crossing his arms.

"So, what? You're just going to quit?" I challenged.

He glanced at me, his expression unreadable. "I'm not a quitter."

"Then prove it," I said, pushing the textbook toward him. "Start small. You don't have to be perfect at this, but at least try."

Carl looked down at the book, then back at me, like he was debating whether or not to listen. Finally, he sighed and picked up the pencil I'd set out. "Fine. Let's do it."

We spent the next half-hour going through the basics, repeating simple words and phrases. Carl wasn't as bad as I'd thought. He struggled with pronunciation, but once he stopped pretending he didn't care, he actually started getting it. He even cracked a couple of jokes, which made it easier.

"See, it's not that hard," I said after we finished a short exercise. "You're getting the hang of it."

Carl smirked, twirling the pencil between his fingers. "Yeah, well, don't get too excited. This doesn't mean I'm gonna be some French expert or whatever."

I laughed a little, surprised he was easing up. "I don't expect that. Just try to pass the class."

"Yeah, we'll see," he said, but there was something lighter in his voice now.

The hour passed faster than I expected, and before I knew it, Julien was texting me to say he was outside. I packed up my things, feeling like maybe this wasn't going to be a complete disaster after all.

Carl stood up, stretching like he'd been stuck in a cage for hours. "Later," he said, shoving his hands back into his pockets.

"Same time next week," I reminded him.

He glanced over his shoulder, giving me a quick nod before disappearing out the library doors.

As I headed out to meet Julien, I couldn't help but feel a tiny bit of accomplishment. Carl Gallagher might be a challenge, but maybe—just maybe—I could get through to him.