Figuring You Out

Chapter Seven

"Right, you, come on," Dad calls, glancing up from the game on my phone, he finished clipping his briefcase together.

"It's not the fashion awards, Dad," I comment at his tie and knit attire.

"When you are being called in for a meeting about your son failing his GCSE's for the second time, I like to make an effort, you know to show them I'm not a complete failure of a parent," he snaps. I lower my head and swallow the harsh lump of guilt rising in my throat at his comment. I slide my phone into my pocket and sling my bag on my shoulder, as I approach Dad who's waiting by the front door. I hear him sigh as I avoid his gaze and I feel a hand ruffle my brown hair.

"I'm sorry, buddy, I'm just stressed this morning," he says, his tone softening, I nod although not totally being able to forget what he just said, "Come on, let's go,"

I follow him out to the car and pop open the door to a very silent drive to the school.

"James Chapman here for a meeting with Mr Fryday and Mr Pope," Dad tells the middle-aged woman behind the reception desk, she holds an acrylic nail up to my father as she rings through to presumably my greying maths teacher, she gestures to some seats behind where we are standing.

"Ahh, Mr Chapman, I presume," Mr Pope, my Head of Year, greets my father with a shaking hand, "Come through, come through,"

He walks through to a smart office room where Mr Fryday is sat with a spluttering of paperwork on an wooden oval desk, "Mr Fryday, Oliver's maths teacher,"

"James, father," my Dad says rather coldly, it was his sly way of saying he didn't like the plump man sat in front of him.

"So, here is a copy of Oliver's progress over the past twelve weeks," he slides a printed sheet over to my dad who skims it and then runs a hand over his rough stubble.

"Olly," he groans slightly, turning the sheet to me with a raised eyebrow.

"Now, I don't know whether this is to do with his peer groups, or whether he has grown frustrated because of his last GCSE result or something else,"

"Olly?" my Dad questions, I shrug when Dad shoots me a death stare.

"It just doesn't sink in I guess," I sigh out, shoving my hands in my pockets and leaning back in my seat more.

"Now, I know that Olly is talented I've seen it on the pitch and in a classroom," I scoff lightly at Mr Pope's comment.

"I'm no academic," I say, keeping a laugh behind my voice.

"And he puts himself down far more than he deserves," he comments, with a small smile directed to my father, I look up and nod in appreciation at his comment.

"I think, the issue is that Oliver does become easily distracted and then when he doesn't understand the work, he then distracts others,"

"Sort attention span?" my Dad humours, turning to me with a raised eyebrow, I keep my gaze down as to not let the bubble of anger explode having the sense to know little good would come of it.

"I think what Oliver needs is somebody who's more on his level, because the tutoring hasn't really helped," Mr Fryday says, I nod along as does my dad.

"So, I have spoken to one of our most promising students, in year twelve, who has agreed to tutor Oliver in both maths and science every day after school until Christmas," Mr Pope says, "I presume you know of Red Gordon?"

"Yeah," I say, keeping my tone as far away from argumentative as possible.

"If that's ok with you, James, the intervention will start today,"

"Perfect," Dad agrees, I can tell he's squirming to leave for his meeting with Daniel. I can't help but sigh, he always seems to have something going on. The meeting wraps up and Dad leaves without a second glance at me for his meeting of a lifetime and I trudge my way to the toilets.

I just need a minute. I repeat to myself as I stare at the Hyde version of myself in the clouded toilet mirror. I just need a minute. I collect myself and walk my way to my A level Woodwork class.

"You alright?" Liam asks, as I quietly slip on my apron and begin to sand a piece of wood down. I nod just to stop the daggers at the back of my head. I stare intently at the rocking chair I was making, it was mostly finished but there were a few rough patches here and there. It's only then I feel Liam's hand on my back I turn to him solemnly as he hands me a new piece of sand paper, "Chill,"

I could do one of two things, cry and completely break down or break someone's fucking nose right now. I work furiously at the rocking chair, the intricate detail I had once planned now out of the window, I sand it down layer after layer of wood coming off in small huffs of dust, I hardly notice the figure standing beside me until he smooths a hand over my work.

"Well done, Oliver, good work," Mr Chaudunda smiles, a balding man in his late forties, but then he takes the file in his own hand and starts on one of the legs working on a piece of wood I hadn't quite finished on, "Pay more attention to these finer details though, you see here,"

"Thank you, sir," I mutter out and he strolls away to another student. I set my eyes on the work again and continue to hack away at it again. The bell rang just as I was beginning to get into the flow of things again and as most of the class leave for their next A level class or free period, I head to science catch up. I can't help but wonder if there is even a point to this.

"Mr Chapman, here you are," Mrs Raj, cheers, handing me a stapled booklet as I head to me seat at the far end of the room. I scratch my head as I gnaw my pen lid in confusion, this was unbelievably difficult. I look up and see my sport teacher and head of year Mr Pope at the door.

"Can I borrow Oliver for a moment?" Mrs Raj, gives a slight nod to his request and I slip out of the classroom, to my muscular coach.

"Sir?"

"I was wondering whether in your free periods you would be interested in helping out with a few of the younger years in PE," he asks, folding his arms and leaning on the blue painted wall. I question the offer for a moment before agreeing, "It would just be running a few lessons and I think you have it in you, don't you?"

"I'd like to think so," I say, breaking into a smile. Maybe the day wasn't heading in such a bad direction after all.