The Price of being Pretentious

Chapter Eight: Pancakes

He had a photographic memory. But here I am branding him as stupid and insulting him for not using his brains just because he had the lowest among the lowest scores. The insults that I uttered earlier got me like a boomerang. Embarrassment was creeping from my toes up to the peak of my head. For the first time in my life, I feel stupid for being myself. Was he really stupid or just clumsy? Then it occurred to me that our lessons on English Literature were always dictated by our teacher. His photographic memory might have a flaw. It might only work on spatial objects. He could memorize written words but he's weak in recalling words through listening. That must be the reason why he got zero.

'From now on, lessons will be delivered verbally.' I declared.

'But I feel sleepy when I listen to someone for long periods.' He complained.

I gasped. 'Deal with it. You may have a gift of remembering things, but that would also serve as your weakness. You may remember every good memory. But you can't forget the bad ones and they will haunt you every time.'

'Thanks for the reminder. But having bad experiences and remembering them made me more mature.' He proudly said, gesturing at his figure.

I threw my head back and laughed. 'You're more immature in answering exams, though.'

'Nah, listening just bores me.'

'Ugh! What am I going to do with you?' I cried, obliterating the writings on the mini-board.

I can't believe I wrote this for nothing.

'Now you sound like my mother. Can I call you mommy?'

'Really? Paris, are we here to play "Mommy and Baby"?'

'Call me baby, then.' He sneered.

I shook my head, then smiled. 'Baby, we are not here to play.' I said sweetly.

He coughed. He knew that I was just playing along, but he was having more fun than me.

He exhaled in disbelief. 'Wow!' He was shaking his head, then leaned his elbow on the desk. 'I can't believe my tutor could be this hot! If this would go on I might break rule number five in no time.'

My smile faded and changed to a grimace. 'Break it. So that I could have a reason to punch your idiotic face.'

Paris shrugged his shoulders, then showed me his annoying smirk.

After a few weeks, we already finished a few lessons on our tutorial. I never dared to write them or give him visual aids except on math because of the solving. But in the rest of the subject areas, I was discussing the lessons verbally.

During school days, I spent the whole night memorizing my next lesson for the tutorial. It was also like a self-review. My topics were the same as what we previously tackled on our subjects at school for the whole week. But memorizing a week of discussion for eight subjects was nerve-wracking. At the first meeting, I thought I would go crazy if this would continue. But I realized this method was helping me a lot. Though I always end up sleeping at the treehouse and go home by morning.

I meet Paris at the treehouse every Saturday night. I managed to lie to my parents that I will do my self-studies every Saturday night at the city library. Fortunately, they were convinced.

'London, wake up.' Paris said, shaking my shoulder.

I silently opened my eyes. I saw Paris on his undershirt. Without his buttoned-down shirt, the shape of his muscles was revealed. Then, I saw a blanket draped on my shoulders. I didn't expect that he would be a gentleman. Probably the ogre of this treehouse tries to be more humane.