Thank you all so much for the positive feedback! I really, dearly appreciate it :) And to anyone who's reading, thank you too! That being said, this is a bit of a filler chapter, I realize that. However, I felt it was needed to further set the tone.
If his eyes hadn't been trained on the door, I would have stayed rooted in place or I may have walked away and not looked back. But because his eyes were trained on the door, I couldn't do that without looking completely insane or extraordinarily bitchy. So, pushing down the sudden yet intense anxiety, I walked farther into the classroom, as if compelled forward by the sense of intrigue that was almost equally as strong. This was, Derek Souza, after all. It may have been because he was on the football team. It may have been because we were in English together and, if his constant stream of seventies were any indication, I wouldn't have pegged him as brilliant. Or it may have been because Derek was six foot five, broad and muscular with rugged features that screamed 'I'm trouble'-even though, as far as I knew, he wasn't-and piercing eyes that dared you to defy him. Ones that managed to be judgmental and convey arrogance, while remaining distant, indicating what seemed like ever-present disinterest, at the same time. Whichever way you decided to spin, regardless of which justification seemed the most likely, the same conclusion could be reached: He was the last person I was expecting to be sitting in this classroom.
Taking the seat across from him, I slid my books onto the table and took a breath.
"H-Hi. I'm-"
He cut me off, irritatedly. "I know who you are, Chloe. And I'm assuming you know who I am?" His tone was dripping with condescension and I wanted so badly to put him in his place. But I didn't want my stutter to get in the way and ruin everything. And couldn't find the right words, words strong enough to express how much I resented his attitude. Had he never heard of being polite? Choosing, though, to take the high road, I simply stared at him.
He sighed heavily and said, "What's your problem?"
"Excuse me?" I was abashed. Where was he getting off? That- He gestured to the math book. Oh.
"Haven't you talked to Mr. Williams?"
"Yes."
"Then I assume you know what the problem is." I used the same tone he had with me moments earlier and his eyes snapped up to mine, boring down on me. There was also a hint of something I couldn't place. Surprise, maybe? But how would that make sense?
I stared back at him defiantly. I had dealt with enough bullies in grade school and I was still the subject of some ridicule because of the stutter. There was no way in hell that I would let the one person standing between me and a passing grade dictate the mood of our sessions. Plus, looking at him in the eye wasn't hard, because once you were, it was hard to look away. My height-five foot nothing-put me at a disadvantage and I had never been able to look at Derek properly. Now, with him up close, I could see that his eyes were, I grudgingly admit, the most beautiful shade of green and not the dark, depthless brown I had thought they were. They seemed almost multi-dimensional and the green was arranged in such a way that made it seem fragmented, making then all the more captivating.
Noticing a pencil dangling in front of my face, I snapped back into reality, focusing on Derek's scowl.
"Can we start? Or would like a couple more minutes to stare into space and waste our time?"
I opened my mouth to protest, but he forged on, ignoring me.
"How do you feel about math?"
"What do you mean?" I snapped, annoyed at how I was being treated.
"I mean do you like it? Do you hate it?" What kind of question was that? Who in their right mind liked math?
"I despise it." His eyes widened marginally before he seemed to reign in anything that may indicate emotion and regain control.
"That's your problem." I looked at him dubiously and received another sigh.
"You're failing because you don't understand. You don't understand because you're not properly grasping the concepts and material. Not understanding leads you to feel frustrated and defeated. And those feelings lead you to become so closed-minded that, because you're so unwilling to try and look at math positively, you yourself become a restriction, disabling any chance of comprehension."
"I try." And I did. He couldn't fling these empty accusations around.
"You need to try harder. And we need to find a method that works so you don't feel so desolate about trying. You need to be dedicated and I need to know that you're going to try, or no deal."
As he looked at me expectantly, though still with an air of maddening indifference, I mulled over what he had said. He was right. What he said was reasonable. And, the fact remained that I was desperate and, personality aside, Derek may be my savior.
"I may not understand the first time."
He nodded impatiently, as if he expected this and didn't have time for the unimportant distinction I was making.
"Ok. Where are we starting?"
He flipped through the book, going all the way back to chapter one. I would have been insulted, but, really, I knew there was no merit in that feeling. Pushing the book towards me, I held back a sigh and bent my head forward, reading the definition he was pointing at.
Locking the door behind me, I slid down the wall, closing my eyes and leaning my head back against it. I was exhausted from the past hour of strenuous mental exertion. Tired as I was though, there was no way I'd be able to rest. I was too keyed up, too anxious to go over the past hour and curse myself for the millionth time that any chance at a nap evaded me. I thought I might be going insane, but I didn't have the heart to thoroughly look into it.
After my first session with Derek, I had begun to see him everywhere. It was as if I was attuned to him and suddenly, he was everywhere I looked. It had gotten so bad that I began to know where he would be in proportion to me and I snuck peeks at him out of the corner of my eye during lunch. I felt like a stalker, and yet, I couldn't help it.
Sighs, scowls and muttered comments about 'How could I not get this?' aside, I could tell after that first hour that Derek was a good tutor. He drilled things into my head and seemed to know when something was still hazy, even when, at first, I would deny it. It had gone well enough, that I had even allowed myself to hope that things could actually get better.
Tutoring aside though, it was the tutor himself I was curious about. Aside from the basics, I had realized over the hour we had spent together that I knew absolutely nothing about him. And it had become my mission to change that.
So I began looking out for him, studying him while in English, looking at him in the caf. I wasn't interested in him. But I felt that if we were going to be spending an hour together-maybe more if he was serious about bringing up my mark-every week, I should know more about him. I knew the basics, but they were unimportant and didn't aid much in unraveling the mystery.
He had transferred to the school when I was in grade nine, Simon and Tori in tow. They were half-siblings and Derek was their foster brother. Simon was good-looking and charming, his mischievousness visible in his almond shaped hazel eyes and his easygoing nature leaking from his pores. The unexpectedness of his blonde hair was exotic and he drove girls crazy, going through one a week it sometimes seemed. He remained, surprisingly, a nice guy and an open book, the attention he got not having seemed to spoil him.
Tori, on the other hand, who shared half his blood, was nothing like him. Although they had similar builds and were almost exactly the same height, Tori had short dark hair and big, dark brown eyes. And she thrived on the attention she got. When she walked into a room, you noticed her. And if you didn't, she'd make it a point to make sure you did. She was intimidating in her own right and popular; though, for the life of me, I had no idea why. I suspected it was fear that kept her sidekicks in check. To put it lightly, Tori Enright makes Cruella Deville look like Mother Theresa.
It was Derek that remained a mystery. In my week of observation-stalking, the voice in my head corrected-I had noticed that Derek's mouth, if not set in a scowl, was still downturned at the corners, as if he were anticipating something bad to happen or for someone else to disappoint him. And I wanted to know why. Why that was case. Why he always looked that way.
Then there were his eyes, truly the windows to what was underneath the rough exterior. While his expression remained mostly unchanging, his eyes gave him away. The few times he caught me looking at him, while his scowl became more pronounced, there was curiousness and anger in his eyes, which drove me crazy because I couldn't justify those emotions. And on the occasion he ate lunch with his jock friends, the annoyance could be spotted a mile away. Notice the 'on occasion.' Derek ate lunch with them twice in the week. The other days he disappeared and I hadn't yet gone crazy enough to follow him, to put it frankly. And perhaps the most frustrating of all was when I caught him looking at me. His expression was intense, yet unfathomable, making it all the more hard to attempt to decipher his thoughts, to figure out what he was looking at.
I also had not mentioned any of this to Amber or Mila. I didn't know if they'd understand-hell, I didn't even understand the odd obsession-and it wasn't something I felt like sharing. So I kept it to myself.
Today, after hour number three together, I was anxious to see if things would change. If any of my observations would provide me with more insight. Alas, I had come up empty handed. He was as cryptic as ever and when the hour came to an end, he grunted his usual and dependable 'See you next week,' I became desperate. So I blurted the out the first thing that came to mind.
"Are you going to the football game?" I asked, referring to the upcoming game Friday night with our rival school.
He looked at me strangely and intently for a few seconds, as if seriously questioning my intelligence, before answering.
"I'm on the team. I kind of have to be there," he said slowly. My cheeks flamed and my eyes dropped to the floor as I tried to busy myself by putting my things away. He remained silent and I was mentally berating myself for being so regrettably and shamefully blonde in that moment. As I turned to leave, he asked, "Are you?"
Mila and Amber had been pleading with me to come with them since the weekend, but I hadn't wanted to go. I just didn't see the appeal in watching people throw around a ball, run up and down a field, and trample each other. But now, the answer came out before I could give it a second thought. "Yeah."
He nodded and we parted ways. Leaving the classroom, it took all of my strength not to hit myself in the head with my binder. But then I remembered the look I had caught when he asked me. Something fell away and he seemed like he genuinely wanted to know, like my answer actually mattered. Maybe I wasn't so crazy after all.
I promise, there will be development in the next chapter-it's already planned out!
R&R :) please and thank you
