I love tutoring.

My tutoree, a freshman girl with Downs Syndrome, Helen, is probably the best thing in my life right now. She has blonde, usually windswept-looking hair, a sweet smile, and eyes that don't see the things about me that others see; I'm so comfortable with her that I usually put my hair up in a ponytail while we're working together, which is how I think best, anyway. She always gives me hugs when we're done, and even though they sometimes grate on the bruises on my arms and chest, I always love getting them.

I could really use one of Helen's hugs right now, after that incident with Eric Cartman. I suppose I really shouldn't be all that surprised that something like that happened. After all, in the four years I've been in class with Cartman, I've heard that he tried to start an athletic association for crack babies, start anti-Semitic riots, try to use stem cells to build fast food restaurants, try to molest Butters in his sleep, beat up a midget, pretend he had Tourette's so that he could insult everyone, and attempted to infect Kyle with AIDS. In comparison to everything else he's done, this is pretty normal for Cartman, but that doesn't mean that it makes my life any better. I've put a lot of effort in trying to hide the evidence of everything I'm so unhappy with, and Cartman wrecks it all in one fell swoop. I suppose it was stupid of me to think that I could hide it forever.

Someone clears their throat beside me. Jerked out of my thoughts, I turn to see Kenny standing there. He clears his throat. "I'm…uh…here for English tutoring."

Huh? "Where's Helen?" I ask it before I know I have.

Kenny looks incredibly confused on top of being uncomfortable. "Who the hell is Helen?"

"She's the girl I tutor." I look at the schedule that's always on my table when I arrive, and see that Mr. Garrison has written me a note, in pretty nice cursive, telling me that Helen's mom removed her from tutoring because she's been doing a lot better in school pretty consistently as of late. So now I have Kenny, I guess.

Well, shit.

I realize my hair is in a ponytail, put there in anticipation of learning and laughing with Helen, and my eye starts throbbing painfully, as if Kenny's gaze consists of shards of glass. I start to take my hair down, then realize, though it might be comforting, it would probably be a moot point now that he's seen my face already. That fact doesn't stop my eye from aching, though.

I know that I've been through worse shit. I'll just deal with this the way I do everything else: one moment at a time. "Okay, sit down then."

He does.

I'm not really sure what to do now. He looks like he wants to say something, but I'm afraid that it will be some sort of an apology for Cartman's actions, and, frankly, I'd rather forget about that for right now. I have other things to worry about that need my attention more than that. So I do what I think I'm supposed to. "Okay, so do you have any idea what you need help on?"

"Yeah, kinda." He reaches into a backpack that is almost as torn as mine, and pulls out a book- A Tale of Two Cities, the novel we're currently studying in AP English. Despite myself, I smile. I adore Dickens. "I started reading the first chapter, but I couldn't even get through that."

And, just like that, my true nature kicks in and I forget that this is someone I should feel awkward with. Books do that to me. I wave my hand. "Oh, don't even worry about that. No one likes the first chapter, or even the first part of the book, but once you get to the second part, it's smooth sailing." I get out my copy, and open it to the first page.

The rest of the session went by so fast that I wasn't really sure it was all happening. We got through the entire first part of the book, talked about what we thought would happen, discussed the literary devices that had showed up so far in the book, complained about how awful and wordy it was, and ate most of my food, except for the three corndogs and the brownies I needed to save for my sister and brother's dinner. Kenny was much, much smarter than I had ever thought he was, and, though I felt incredibly disloyal for thinking it, it was much easier to talk to him than it was to talk to Helen (though he didn't smile or laugh as much, and probably would have sooner jumped out a window than hugged me).

I only realized how late it had gotten when I glanced up and noticed that only three people were left in the room: Mr. Garrison, who seemed to have finished reading the Karma Sutra, and was now involved with some other sex book, and Kyle's little brother, Ike, and a child who looked as though he had some form of mental incapacity. "Holy shit."

Kenny, who had been sneaking a look at the next chapter, looked up as well. "Wow. Everyone's gone. What time is it?"

"Looks like it's about seven now," I say, looking at the clock on the wall, which is, as usual, approximately two hours behind and reads five fifty-five. "We should probably go soon." Now that the tutoring is over, I start to feel myself withdrawing in again, as I tend to do instinctively as a form of emotional protection. However, Kenny doesn't seem to be acting any differently now that we're done, and, to my surprise, I actually stop introverting.

He looks a little worried. "Fuck. I have a date in half an hour at Shakey. I better make it if I don't want to totally get chewed out."

"Which girlfriend is it this time?" About five seconds after I've said it, I realize how rude that was, but by the time I've started apologizing, Kenny is laughing too hard for me to say anything.

"Henrietta. Thanks for asking."

"Oh, that should be fun. Better bring some pictures of giggling babies if you don't want to be drawn into a Goth phase or something." Again, five seconds before I realize I'm being rude, but apparently Kenny isn't offended: he's laughing so loudly that both Mr. Garrison and Ike start glaring at us.

"I'll make sure to take precautions." He says as we gather up our stuff. "Hey, do you mind if I walk out with you?"

"Not at all." I take out one of the brownies from my pack and munch on it as we leave the classroom. "Hey, nice job today. You're smart."

He grins. "Thanks. You're a good tutor. You know, you should really talk more in class. You're actually hilarious."

I don't really know what to say to that, so I don't say anything and neither does he.

Outside, the sky is dark, and the snow is white and it muffles all the noise in the town. Kenny walks up to the oldest, ugliest looking machine I have ever seen in my life and climbs onto the seat. "Is that a moped?" I ask. "I can't really tell right now."

He grimaces. "Yeah, it's a moped, Roketa 150cc. I got it for a hundred bucks, and it runs, so that's all that matters to me."

"Okay," I say, "when the coroner comes around asking questions about you and saying you drove straight off a bridge, I'll tell them all about this Roketa and how it doesn't look like its breaks will last you fifty feet out of the parking lot."

"Just promise to make a nice eulogy." He starts up the motor. "Oh, and by the way: if you go to the pharmacy, they have this really great bruise cream. It's only four bucks."

Bruise cream. I had almost forgotten. My eye starts throbbing again, and it is only when it does so that I realize it had stopped four hours ago and had not bothered me for the whole tutoring session. "Thanks."

"Yeah, Stan used it back when his sister was at the house and was beating him up all the time." He pauses. "Uh. Best not tell him I told you that."

I muster a smile. "I'll keep it under wraps. See you tomorrow?"

He pulls out of the parking spot, nods, and flashed me a thumbs up.

As I watch him pull away, I suddenly realize that there are goosebumps up and down my arms: I've completely forgotten to put on my jacket, yet for some reason, I wasn't cold until now. I shrug it on, but it's so threadbare that it doesn't help much. Suddenly, the night is darker and the snow is grey and the muffled sounds are not peaceful but lonely.

And I am reminded of the fact that, no matter how beautiful and happy moments can be for me, I am still a poor, ugly girl with bruises all over her face and body and no conceivable way to escape her situation. There is really no reason to even try to improve anything: it will most likely never get better.

Yet, for some reason, as I walk home, I go into the pharmacy and buy the bruising ointment with crumpled bills from the bottom of my backpack.

Thank you all for your continued support! I can't wait to see where this is going to go! Please continue to read and review. I love you all.

Much love,

The Author Lady