I felt guilty for not updating anything in like a week (it's probably been longer than that, too), and I figured that since I've had this idea in my head for a while I'll write a oneshot about it.
It's kind of random, and a little depressing.

So I don't normally write in second person, so sorry if this sucks.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Clique.

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Your choice to add more diversity to your transcript by becoming a tutor seemed like a really stupid one at the current moment.

"Mrs. Mathews," You begin, but the words weren't coming. The student she had assigned you to was not your first choice- in fact; he wasn't even your last choice. Tutoring someone as stuck-up and irritating as him was not on your to-do list.

"You need those tutoring hours or else we'll have to revoke your position," Mrs. Mathews was the teacher in charge of the tutor center, and although you've always seen her as a role model you couldn't help but hate her right now. "Besides, he really needs this. It could be your opportunity to really change somebody's life. It's one of the many benefits of tutoring."

But the rest of the benefits were lost on you as you angrily signed the acceptance slip saying that you'd tutor him and stormed out of the classroom.

1; first meeting

The school library during lunch time was crowded and full of quiet chatter, though that was why you had picked this setting for the lessons. You never know when witnesses could come in handy with this guy.

"Oh my god," As you had predicted, your first words to him were drenched in sarcasm. "You showed up."

"You don't sound so thrilled," He responded with a cheeky grin, placing his bag on the table in between them. You look up at him with raised eyebrows as he took a seat across from you. "But to be honest, I'm not either. Do you think you're my first choice of a person to hang with twice a week either?"

"So what do you specifically need help with?" You ask him, ignoring his last comment and looking down at your open notebook instead of his face.

"Uh, English," He responds. "I'm kind of failing it."

You look up at him, straight into his brown eyes. "It's the second week of the semester. How can you be failing already?"

His reply was as simple as a shrug, and you fought hard not to huff with impatience. But he elaborated more, "I guess I don't get this Shakespeare crap."

"Shouldn't your class be on John Steinbeck right now?"

"Oh, that's his name," He looks at you and grins, and you can tell he's only acting this stupid to annoy you.

And it was surely working.

2; second meeting

"Okay," You open the book the chapter one and hand it over to him. "Your class is on chapter three right now, so you need to try to read fast so we can catch up with them by next week."

He looks apprehensive as the takes the book in his hands. Looking up at you he says, "Why can't I just spark note it?"

"Because you won't get the experience of actually reading the book. Besides, it won the Nobel Prize for Literature."

"That's nice," He said, though you know he really doesn't care about that particular fun fact.

"Look," You begin, catching his attention. "I know you obviously don't like school, or books, or me, but you have an F in English right now. An F. Not only does this not qualify you for soccer tryouts in the next month or so, but it will also affect your future. So either stop wasting my time and just accept that you're a flunkie and have to repeat the class with next year's sophomores, or start getting serious about this."

There was a moment of silence between you, and you think you've finally gotten through to him. But then,

"You sound like my freaking mother."

3; third meeting

"Did you read it?" Was the first thing out of your mouth when you saw him approaching your usual table at your next tutoring lesson.

He shook his head, "Nope. But that's okay," He added quickly, probably picking up on the telltale signs you were going to lecture him again. "My friend Chris Plovert already told me what it's about."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah," He sits down, now eager to tell his story. "It's about these angry grapes that attack a family of farmers and make them move to California."

You stared at his pleased face for a few seconds, absolutely astonished that he even made it into high school. "Grapes of Wrath," You began cooly. "is about a family of farmers during the great depression who move to California because of a drought, not because grapes started to attack them." You figured your gaze could burn a hole on his head if it were possible.

His smirk gone, he silently reached into his bag and pulled out his borrowed school-copy of the famous book. "I'll just start reading now."

"Good."

4; fourth meeting

"I'm all caught up with the book," He announces happily the next Monday morning.

"That's actually good for you," You praise, giving a small smile up at him from your French notes you had been reviewing before he arrived.

"I know," He exhaled, drumming his fingers on the table as the two of you sit in silence for about a minute. "So, now what?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're the tutor," He explains. "What're you tutoring me on next?"

You shrug at him. "Well, what else is keeping your grade down in that class?"

"Tests," He stares off someplace behind her to think. "Class work, homework, my absences-"

You cut off what was sure to be a lenghty list. "Let's start with tests then," You lean forward and clasp your hands together in front of you. "What grade did you get on the last one?"

It was his turn to shrug. "I don't know.

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"I never took it. I ditched class to see that new Jason Statham movie." He grins, looking proud of himself.

You stare incredulously at him. "Okay. Do you know what it was on?"

"See, Jason played this badass cop who-"

"No, the test, not the movie!"

"Oh. Our last set of vocabulary words. And I don't remember any of them."

Sighing, you stand up. "So start studying them. I'll go ask your teacher if she'll let you take it after school or something. And don't let me come back and catch you playing some game on your phone."

As you stalk off to the English department, you wonder how much of a miracle it will take to get him to actually care about his studies.

5; fifth meeting

It was a lunch with no scheduled tutoring sessions, and you knew you were supposed to be happy to have a break, but you didn't know what to do with yourself. When you weren't tutoring, you were studying. And as there was no upcoming test that you could think of, you were stuck with nothing to do to pass the time. Though before you could figure something out, a grumble from your stomach reminded you to first pick up a lunch from the cafeteria.

The cafeteria was never a place you spent much time in. It was at most times crowded, loud, and there usually wasn't anywhere to sit. You got in line behind a hulking junior and waited your turn, trying hard to shake the feeling of everyone's eyes on you (because, as you had reasoned to yourself, they probably weren't).

Walking back along the line to the tables with his friends, he looked at you with recognition in his eyes but made no verbal greeting. He walked right past you, his friend accidently bumping into your shoulder.

Figures. You had guessed from the start it would be a tutor/student relationship only, and had no reason to get your hopes up for anything else. Why you would even want something more was beyond you, but the sting of his brush off was hard to shake as you payed the lunch lady for your food.

6; sixth meeting

You sniffed. Spring time was not a fun time for your allergies. The day previously they had gotten so bad you had to stay home from school, and now you spent your class break collecting the homework and assignments you had missed. You were on your way to Biology to pick up a lab write up when a tap on your shoulder startled you.

"Hey," He was beaming, which was a first to you as you were so accustomed to his haughty smirk. "I have some news. I was going to tell you yesterday but you weren't at our tutor session-"

"Stayed home sick, sorry," You interjected.

"Oh, you okay?" You opened your mouth to respond when he continued. "Anyway, I got a 94 on that test retake!"

He was standing there smiling, obviously expecting a reaction from you. "Oh yay," You manage to choke out. "Great job."

"Thank you," He said while giving a wave to a passing friend. "And thanks for all the pushing you did this past week. That's like the highest grade I've gotten on something this year." He tugged on the strap of his messenger bag and smiled at her. "I'm glad you're my tutor."

"Yeah sure, no problem," You watched as he turned and walked away, thinking about his sudden display of gratitude towards you.

7; seventh meeting

"So then all I have left to do is just include a summary of the book?"

It's been a week since their first meeting and he was hard at work on a wrap-up assignment giving for the book. "Yeah," You clarified. "Be sure to include the park about their house flooding."

You know he has shown improvement in his all-around attitude about his school work, but you were sincerely impressed by this. He was nearly finished with it when it wasn't due until his next English class two days later. Judging by his grades, it seemed to you that he normally procrastinated.

"And... done," He announced a few minutes later, placing his pen down on the table. He smiled up at you while opening the rings to his binder. "That was easier than she'd made it sound. It didn't take that long either."

"Homework normally doesn't if you can do it without any distractions," You shared with him, offering up a small smile of your own. "So I had a look at your current grade, and I just wanted to let you know it's up to a C-. So congratulations, you're passing."

His smile grew wider, you noticed. "Awesome." Then it faded. "Does this mean I don't need you to tutor me anymore?"

Your own smile remained. "You still meet the requirements of a student in dire need, so if you still want me to, I can be."

"Okay good, because I have no idea what I should do about the quarter final coming up. I've heard from some juniors that it's pretty hard."

Through all his talking you smile, secretly glad he feels that he still needs you.

—

12:07.

Twelve minutes into lunch, and you sat alone at your table in the library- the one next to the reference center. It was Wednesday, the day of one of your tutoring sessions this week, but he wasn't here yet. It was just you. You figured he was just late, figured he was held back as his math teacher lectured him on not paying attention in class more (okay, so you had read the teacher's notes in his file, big deal).

So you waited, quizzing yourself on your new French verbs you were just introduced to earlier that morning.

12:12

Seventeen minutes. You were starting to get annoyed.

12:20

You noticed that lunch was already more than half-way over with the next time you looked at your watch. And all this sitting around and waiting was driving you nuts. So you quickly gathered up the notebooks you had spread on the table and decided to go and look for him yourself.

Your search led you to the lunchroom, where you knew he spent his lunches when he wasn't meeting with you. But his absence was great from his usual table there - his group of friends was noticeable quieter than normal.

You walked the halls once, but you never saw his face among those you passed. His usual stride or clothing attire didn't jump out at you in the throngs of your peers. He didn't seem to be anywhere, and you were about to come to the conclusion that he was sick when you saw someone else.

Cam Fisher had been his friend since elementary school, and as far back as you could remember. Though the only interaction you've ever had with him was a brief, "Pass the paper" in Algebra last year, you crossed the hallway and walked right up to him.

"Oh, you're his tutor, aren't you?" Cam had said after you asked him if he'd seen him. After you nod, he continued with, "Haven't you heard? I thought everybody knew by now."

"Heard what?" Your curiosity was peaked, though you figured it was probably something along the lines of him getting to fly out to Florida and the Universal Theme parks last minute. He'd done that before, you recalled.

Cam looked solemn. "His sister died last night. Drunk driver hit her while she was coming up from college." He was quiet for a while, staring off at something you could not see and shaking his head. "Sucks. It's really sad when things like that happen, isn't it?"

You couldn't have agreed more.

8; eighth meeting

A week and a half later, you sat in the front seat of your mom's Subaru on your way to the funeral service. You stared up at morning the sky; the solid grey providing an appropriate backdrop for the days proceedings.

When you had first expressed your want to go to his sister's service, your parents didn't understand. They didn't see why you wanted to go to the service of someone you didn't even know. You had explained tirelessly that you knew her brother and wanted to be there for him, but they still didn't get it. Your father thought it was pointless and said he wouldn't take you, though you didn't take it personally. With him, everything had to have a good reason to it.

But when you asked your mother, she offered to take you. You remember she had said, "I was once friends with Patricia Harrington, and I remember little Sami. I'll come with you."

The car ride was silent, and when your mother pulled into a parking space at the church the service was taking place at you didn't seem to want to go inside. What if he didn't want you there?

"Are you coming?" You mother asked, pulling you out of your doubts and leading the way to the front door.

You were first greeted with a guestbook, set up on a table next to the door. You stood after your mother in the line to sign it, and when it was your turn you hastily scrawled Claire Lyons in a way that did not look like your usual neat, loopy signature.

The many pews in the nave were nearly filled, you noticed. You barely felt your mother's hand as it clasped around your wrist and guided you to two open spots close to the back. And from that seat, you could see the backs of everyone's heads as they sat and waited. Ahead to the left, at the very front pew, you could see the black of his blonde head. It seemed to stick out the most to you.

Throughout the whole service, your eyes were trained on the stone ground in front of you. You could hear the many sniffles and sobs of those around you, and you felt guilty for even showing up. You felt that you were an intruder here; where everyone else had fond memories about the diseased. And you had never even met her.

Though soon it was over, and almost simultaneously everyone rose from their seats. You saw him and his family being consoled by many people; Cam Fisher and Chris Plovert among them. You couldn't see his face though; too many people were in the way.

You stood silently at her side as your mother talked to her friends from her book club about the tragic loss. People you recognized from school passed by you several times, though nobody stopped to say anything. Many were crying.

As the crowds in the nave thinned, you were surprised to see Cam Fisher approach you, his hands in the pockets of his black dress pants. "Hey Claire," He said to you, looking tired. "Derrick would like to see you."

You agreed to follow, promising your mother you'd be back momentarily. Cam leads you past the family and to a back hallway of the church, and soon you were facing a white door with a poster of Jesus on it. Cam pushed it open, and you followed him into what looked like the Sunday school nursery. Colorful pictures lined the walls, foam alphabet puzzle pieces covered the floor like a rug, and he looked out of place slumped over in a small chair and dressed in his black suit.

You barely noticed as Cam left, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Now it was just the two of you alone. You, and him. He hadn't looked up at you, said an obnoxious comment, or even smirked at you once. The silence was almost deafening.

Feeling very conscious of the noise your black flats made on the floor, you approached him. As if startled at the noise, he turned in his seat, and gave you possibly the weakest smile you had ever seen. "Oh. Hey."

You didn't say anything back.

"Sorry I missed our last couple of tutoring sessions," He apologized, standing up from his chair. Although he was on his feet, he still seemed to be missing some of his usual 5"11 height.

"Its fine," Your voice was small. You didn't know what to say to him.

The screeching silence was back, and your ears were ringing from it. Finally able to tear your eyes off the floor, you lifted your gaze. You took comfort knowing that you weren't the only one seemingly captivated by the purple letter G. He looked tired; the skin around his eyes puffy. Noticing your gaze, he raised his eyes toward you. That usual something more that was always present in his eyes was gone, and in its place was a sort of darkness that gave you chills.

He looked as if about to say something, but stopped. Something he was thinking had caused his eyes to water up, and in an attempt to hide his eventual tears from you he turned his back and took a few steps away.

You moved on instinct; your arms were around him in a matter of seconds. Eventually he gave in and turned, wrapping his arms around your black pea coat and returning the embrace, letting the weight of his sobs take over.

9; ninth meeting

Weeks later you were sat alone at the table next to the reference center. Your notebooks and many pages notes were spread out around you like a fan. Your French final was coming up, and you were stressing yourself out over it like you almost always did before a test of its importance.

Then the chair across from you was pulled out from under the table. You look up. And there he is. Derrick Harrington.

You gave a small smile to him as he lowered himself onto the seat.

"Hey," He still looked grieved; his eyes had yet to return back their usual radiance.

"Hi."

"So I wanted to say thank you for all your help," He said earnestly.

"You don't have to thank me," You tell him. "You're the one who did all the work."

You were blessed enough to be the recipient of the first real smile you've seen on his face in weeks. "But you're the one who helped me see that I could do it."

You just smile at him, knowing that his stubbornness would never allow him to see your reasoning. "What's your English grade?"

"If I can do well on the semester final I'll finish the class with a B+."

"That's great," Your beaming at him now and you watch as he give you an equally bright smile of his own. "It really is. Good for you."

"Yeah," He says, his voice fading off as he just looks at you.

And this time, the silence was comfortable.

He gives a small shake of his head and rises to his feet again. "So, I told Cam I'd meet him at the vending machines. But I'll see you around?" With his eyebrows raised and the ever familiar grin on his face, you can't help but smile again.

"Definitely."