Midnight Orchestra

In Technicolor - My Tutor and I

Last month, when summer vacation began, I thought of working as a tutor. (Teaching is one of my guilty pleasures. :3 Going out of town and stuff for vacation aren't my type, so yeah.) And no, I still haven't found a summer job 'til now, but this one came to my head and I thought, "Hey, it's not my best, but why not?"

———————

In Technicolor - My Tutor and I

———————

          "Have you ever been in love?"

          "I have. Still am."

          "Same girl?"

          "Yeah."

          "Oh."

———————

          "Oh. My. Gosh."

          Someone finally replied to my post.

          There are many types of students in class: the straight-A students, the artists, the everyday absentees, the sleepers, the average who merely comply and barely pass, and the ones who just don't give a hoot.

          Grades are just letters and numbers that geeks think their lives depend on. And yes, I happen to be one of those who don't give a tinker's dam about my grades.

          Until now.

          Well, apparently, the school doesn't tolerate straight D's, and "sees a lot of potential in me," according to my parents. Mom received a call two days ago and confiscated my instruments shortly, telling me that she won't give it back until I find a way to get a B or higher next semester.

          So here I am, rejoicing that someone agreed to tutor me for the rest of the semester.

          'Where do I see you?' I reply to his reply.

          'Parker's Chemistry class at 3PM.'

          "That's all. Class dismissed."

          That's the only English sentence that ever comes out of Mr. Parker's mouth everyday. Yawning, I sit up from my slumping position and grab my shoulder bag. With my head hanging and my eyes half-closed, I leave the room. Luckily, this is my last class. Now, I'm supposed to meet my tutor.

          "Hey."

          My head turns to the left and I see a guy with sweptback hair and a smirk. He looks...cute. I mean, he doesn't look so bad, not that I care. "Who're you?" I ask deadpan.

          His smirk only grows bigger, his arm leaning on the wall. "The name's Tristan, your new tutor."

          "Oh. Right." That explains why he seems to have been waiting for me. I start walking down the hallway towards the parking lot, Tristan into step with me. "I'm Heather."

          "I know."

          He knows? What is he, a stalker? "Uh-huh..."

          He grabs my wrist and pulls to make me face him. "Look, Heather," he growls, looking me straight in the eye, "I won't put up with an attitude like that. You asked for a tutor; here I am. But, please, at least act like you're eager to learn."

          "But I'm not." I yank my head off his grip, rolling my eyes. "I asked for a tutor, not John Robert Powers." I give him a scoff and walk away. He's such a control freak. I'm paying him, anyway, so why's he whining about my attitude?