Smashed Pianos ~ Liam Gallagher

TUTOR

"Arden, these grades are amazing... More than amazing, excellent." Is excellent better than amazing? My English tutor shakes his head and passes me back a collection of my essays I wrote up for him over the past couple of weeks. "And because you've been doing so well - and don't say no straight away - I would love it if you could maybe tutor another one of my pupils."

I shake my head and start to argue but he only talks over me, "He's a challenge and I feel like if someone his own age were to help him, he would actually get somewhere, y'know?"

"Sir, I'm not too sure-" I peek over at the door where Isabella and Casey are standing with wide grins and giving me thumbs up.  I'm new here, an outsider, he would never respect me.

"Arden, listen, this would be great for you, future employers look for this kind of stuff!" He exclaims. "Please, just one session? See how it goes?"

I want to say no, but a small part of me is urging me to agree. Mum would be over the moon, her daughter steering another student to straight As. Well straight As may be unlikely, but a C at least?

"So that's a yes then?" My tutor bites his lip, pen poised in his hand.

I nod begrudgingly and am about to speak when he says, "I've got to go to period seven, but I'll tell him tomorrow lunch in the library?" We have a library?

"Yeah. Sure."

"Arden, you won't regret it." He grins and scribbles down a note to remind me to tutor this invalid.

As I'm strolling out the classroom, Casey and Arden applaud me patronisingly, "Our clever girlie!" Casey slaps a hand over her heart whilst Isabella wipes a pretend tear away dramatically. "So bright!"

I shove them away and feel all embarrassed, especially since I know I'm blushing. "Stop it you guys - it's not that great actually... He wants me to tutor some guy in our year."

Isabella shrieks immediately and starts jumping up and down on the spot, "Oh my gosh! What if it's Robbie Sharpe! I will straight up die if it's Robbie Sharpe!"

"Don't be silly," Casey mutters, pulling us towards the form room, "Robbie Sharpe doesn't take English."

"Aw. Damn." Isabella looks genuinely saddened by this news and pats my arm, "I'm sure it'll be fine, and it'll look great when looking for universities-"

"Yada yada yada, who cares? You'll get to spend a whole hour with some guy teaching him! Boys find women who take charge really sexy, you're so getting laid." Casey yawns and we file into our classroom and take our seats at the back, ignoring the shrieks coming from the 'whores' on the desks at the front. They're playing strip poker and currently Annabelle Fray is pulling off her shirt and all the boys are staring at her, glued to her cleavage. Isabella only waves it off and rolls her perfect blue eyes.

"I don't want to get laid!" I protest, my mind slipping back to Corey in the toilets, his fingertips pressing into my skin- "I want to inspire the next generation." I say in the most cringeworthy way possible. Casey shudders next to me.

"Don't get too carried away Maggie Thatcher!" Casey chuckles and I almost die at her comment. I'm nothing like Margaret Thatcher. Ew. That was maybe the worst thing she could've ever called me.

Isabella slaps her arm as our disgruntled form tutor waded into the class, not even batting an eyelid at the practically naked Annabelle Fray and instead hastily takes the register.

All through the next period I stare straight out of the window at the boys playing football. I sneakily figured out that by choosing this seat during this period after lunch I would be able to catch glimpses of them playing sport. It's not creepy; it's educational. What if I wanted to become a physiotherapist?