Dirty Curve

by Meagan Brandy

“Suck it up and call the tutor. Get both these grades above seventy by Friday, and above eighty by Boston.” “I can do that.” “Yes, you can. Use the damn girl, that’s why she’s there. Take up every fucking minute she’s got if you have to. That’s what she’s paid for.” “What if she doesn’t have the time?” “You’re my top athlete, she’s the school’s top tutor.” “What kind of qualifications does such a title entail?” I joke. Coach chuckles. “She has a premier passing rate and is the most requested, smart-ass. The girls had a continuous waiting list a mile long. It took a lot to get her over here, but she’s exclusive to athletes now. Her job is making sure they get and stay where they need to be.” “Sounds good, Coach.” I nod. “Listen, every session she has with you, she makes three times what she does with any other student.” He pins me with a pointed expression. “Don’t ever tell her you’re aware of this but know it’s something she can’t refuse.”

Grabbing my phone off the shelf, I plant my ass on the bench and send her a text. Me: Hola, Tutor Girl. I require your services. Tonight. A good two hours of it. I grin at my choice of words and consider adding a money sign, but Coach said not to tell her I know, so I’ll be a good boy and just wait for her to respond. And then I wait a little bit more.

I grab my bag from my locker and toss it over my shoulder right as the power ranger theme song peeps, letting me know a message has come through. I grin, making her wait until I’m outside to open it up and read it. That grin of mine disappears the second my eyes land on my screen. Tutor Girl: Please contact the student resource center if you’d like to schedule an appointment for tutoring. An email with my office hours will follow this message. Oh, she wants to play pinky up, huh? Yeah ... no. I text her again. Me: This kind sir shall call his trusty coach and share thy screenshot. I chuckle to myself and send another. Me: I believe he’s asked you to “service” me when needed.

Tutor girl: What time did you have in mind? I’ll see what I can do. Me: Now. Tutor girl: I need at least 40 minutes. Forty minutes, she says. With a grin, I shake my head. Guess she has to get primped for our little session. Stuffing my phone in my pocket, I nod to myself, feeling a little lighter, knowing I’ve done the first part of what Coach has asked of me.

Still in college and others are already making money off my name. I smile to myself. Yeah, going pro is going to be the shit.

Meyer

In a rush, I blindly tie my hair back, grab the cereal bowl off the floor and drop it in the sink—Cornflakes, dinner of champions. “You all right over there, girl?” Bianca teases. “I know you’re always channeling your inner Barry Allen, but you’ve been looking at the clock every five seconds with a whole new kind of dread, more than the usual.”

“I hate last-minute sessions. I like to have everything ready so we can jump right in and waste no time, but I don’t even have time to go to the tutoring center or athletic department to print what I need. I’ll have to split my screens, look at things one at a time, and that’s annoying.” “I hear you.” She yawns. “Bailey ate about an hour ago, and she’s been down for about twenty minutes now.” “Are you still running the h...

“So, who is it tonight? Quarterback? Point Guard?” “I wish,” I mumble. “Pitcher.” Her brows jump. “Ah, the tall, tan, tasty-looking Tobias Cruz?”

“Because I have something they all want and can’t get enough of ...” I play along, and Bianca and I look to each other. She wags her brows while I tap at my temple. “Ugh, of course!” She teasingly groans, nudging my leg with hers. “A genius swimming in a pool of powdered protein.” “Blended, not stirred,” I add with a low laugh, shrugging against the cushion.

Tobias

My head snaps up when a bulky ass bag is slowly set onto the tabletop. I follow the pasty hand that hesitates to let the thing go to find a pale-skinned brunette with bed head and that oversized sweater I remembered sliding into the seat across from me.

Instead, she pours her attention into pulling out a bunch of shit—pens, papers, notepad, fuckin’ highlighters. Let’s not forget the busted-ass laptop. I focus on her face again, and while she has yet to bring her eyes to mine, the girl’s fully aware mine are locked onto hers. A tinge of color brightens her fair cheeks. Grinning, I sink a little farther in my chair. Chick’s nervous, and rightfully so.

I’ve got what my ma says would be a million-dollar smile if it weren’t so crooked. Little does she know that works in my favor. I may not be Hulk huge, but I am cut like the captain, lean and fit with little to no body fat to speak of. I dress clean and drive a nice ride, thanks to Coach. I’m a fucking catch. Not that I want to be caught—no, fuck no—but I understand the attraction women have toward me, and I do my best to give them the attention they wish for, even if it’s not the kind they’re hoping for.

She wants to cut to the chase. I get it, get in, get out, right? But the girl still hasn’t looked up and now I’m getting pissed. “Tutor Girl ...” I drag out, cocking my head to the side. “Look at me.” Her shoulders stiffen and she gives herself an extra second by running her tongue across her rust-colored lips before sitting back in the chair. She tucks her chin in and a little to the right, slowly lifting her eyes to mine. It’s as if she’s afraid to meet my gaze head-on, but now that she’s forced herself to make the move, she doesn’t cower or quickly flick them away. She stares, pretty sure without breathing, and I stare right back.

She could use a couple days of sleep with the dark circles under her eyes and maybe a burger or some sun. Her body’s hidden, so I can’t tell if she’s bones under all that mess or if she has curve appeal. She fidgets, and unable to maintain eye contact, glances away, but I keep staring, watching her grow more on edge, more uneasy, and it hits me. Oh, hell no. “Are you a tweaker?” Her eyes slice to mine. “What?” “You heard me.” Her mouth is agape, but quickly twists in anger. “Are you freaking kidding me right now?” she hisses in a whisper. I lift my hands. “Look, I get you’re hired through the university, but I can’t have a drug addict around me. Bad press and all that. I deal with enough bullshit from the school paper as it is.” “I assure you.” She holds my gaze strongly now. “I am not on drugs.” “Not even a little phentermine to get ya goin’?”

“Thanks for your interest in whether or not I eat highly addictive diet pills like candy, but if you’re done with your passive aggressive way of pointing out I’m not a size four, can we move along?” “Whoa.” I jolt forward in my chair. “That is not what I meant. I was only saying—” “I don’t care,” she cuts me off. “Can we get started or not?”

“We’ll start, but real quick, let’s get this outta the way, yeah?” The pull in her brows tells me she’s paying attention and maybe even a little more nervous than before. “I really gotta get this shit done, so can you try to keep this ‘I’d rather shit Flamin’ Hot Cheetos than be here with you’ act you got going until we’re at least halfway done? Not sure I could say no right now—game days amp me up and I could use the release.”

And you know what? It ain’t a bad laugh. I grin. Suddenly, she stops, her fingers flying to her mouth as if to keep the sound inside. Her eyes cut to her screen as she clears her throat and starts typing away. “Okay, so I have the class syllabus, but I was right, and can’t see what’s missing. I’d need to sign in at the tutoring or athletic center, but they’re closed this time of night.” “It’s six.” “And they closed at five.” “Maybe you’re not as good of a tutor as you think if you can’t fly when given wings.”

“Nah, nah, Tutor Girl.” I drop my head to the side with a small grin. “Speak.” She hesitates a moment, but only for a moment. “I schedule ahead so I can come up with a game plan and make sure I’m giving you my all. So that you feel you have someone in your corner through every stage of the process and never failing you. That way, in the end, if you never set foot on that baseball field again, you have no one to blame but yourself.”

“That sounds … textbook great, but so you know, I’m not interested in studying. I need to get my work done and turned in, that’s it.” “And when you have a test? Midterms? Your finals?” “We worry about it then.”

“There’s two courses on here.” “Oh! Right.” I bend, snag my bag from the ground and pull out the third, slapping it on top of the other. She blinks. “Three classes.” “Three classes.” Double-checking something on her screen, she says, “I have you down for one. I don’t think I have space for such a heavy workload.” “That makes no sense, Tutor Girl. We’re here, let’s get the shit done.” She shakes her head. “I have to work in two-hour increments, each credit is two hours of study time. Each class is four credits, on average, which is eight hours and that translates to—” “Four sessions a week. I got it. Math’s not my problem area.” She sits straighter in her seat, and for the first time since she arrived, I see an outline of breast. It appears there may be something hiding under that ugly ass sweater, after all.

we’ll have to work on the class you have the lowest grade in.” “Not gonna work for me.”

“He told me to take up every spare minute you had, Tutor Girl. Starting right this second and ending the moment the bell rings on the last day of the semester, metaphorically speaking, of course.” The girl quickly pushes to her feet, excusing herself for the restrooms. And she doesn’t invite me to join her.

“Okay, time’s up for today.” I look up from my laptop screen with a frown, quickly glancing at the time on my phone. It’s 8:03 on the dot, three minutes past her two-hour mark. “But I’m not done.” She ignores me and begins rushing to pack up her things. “We finished all the overdue anatomy assignments, and two for history. All you have left is a page of section questions for that class and English has no new assignments listed yet. You should be able to finish up at home.” “That won’t work.” “Why is that?” she asks, without looking at me. She’s only looked at me a handful of times since we’ve been here. It’s annoying. “Because it’s due tomorrow.” “And you have the rest of the evening.” “I live with another dude who, by now, has guests, so as soon as I get home, all the blood in my brain is gonna drop to my dick, and my shit won’t get done.” Her cheeks color once again. “Sorry, but I can’t stay.”

“Look.” The chick finally makes the conscious decision to look at me, her brown eyes on the frustrated side. “I understand why you think you make all the decisions, considering most people allow you to, but I have to leave right now. You can stay all you want if going home is distracting. I’ll even review your paper for you sometime tonight if you email it to me, I promise, but I really have to go.”

Putting my own things away, I tell her, “You need to meet me tomorrow.” “Fine. Tomorrow at three. Same spot.” “Nope.” I make sure to pop the P like a dick. “I have to have all this in before noon, or this was pointless. Tomorrow at ten.” Her shoulders drop and she shakes her head. “I can’t. I can’t be here before twelve thirty.” “Not my problem, Tutor Girl. Better tell whoever it is you save your mornings for their happy days are on pause until June.”

“I’m priority number one, remember?” And then I’m gone. Tutor Girl thinks she can dictate when we meet? That’s not going to happen. I’ll make sure of it. Her morning dude can suck it. I wonder who it is? And now I’m wondering why the fuck I’m wondering.

Tobias

She looks worse than she did last night. Wet hair in an ungroomed ball on her head and even darker circles beneath her eyes, but this time, they seem slightly swollen and red, like not only did she not sleep much but maybe cried a bit. She’s wearing the same garbage sweater again, and this time, there’s a stain, probably spilled beer, right along her right breast that wasn’t there yesterday.

A frown builds. “I did the first couple questions before I got distracted.” Last night, when I got home, Echo and Drew had company, like I knew they would, and like good teammates, they made sure there were extras. I was hoping for a reaction, it’s really the only reason I told her, to tease her a bit. To make her anxious or nervous or fuck, I don’t know, blush. Show signs of the real-life girl that’s got to be in there, and cut back a bit of the robot mode she’s stuck in. Of course, I get nothing.

“Clearly, I hate school, hate classwork, but I did manage the past three and half years of it on my own. I’m not some unmotivated asshole. I get up by five every morning to work out before working out with my team. I practice my craft, in some way, every fucking day. Watch game film, study stats. Every. Single. Day. I hold records for the shit I’ve accomplished because I work my ass off and am now that fucking good as a result of that effort. Despite what you read in the paper, princess, that ain’t me. So, don’t treat me like some frat boy fuckup.”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” she nearly whispers, not once looking away like she did every five seconds last night. “I know how much work you put into your craft; I didn’t mean to insult you.” Her features pull, as if she’s struggling in some way, with what I don’t know. “Being an athlete is life consuming and I’m supposed to be here to help, not stress you out or add any new problems, so if it’s okay, let’s get started. I don’t have too much time this morning.”

“I’ve got you for two hours.” “It won’t take us that long. I expected—” She stops herself and speaks again. “I’ve printed all the pages we need, and highlighted the key terms from the questions, so all we have to do is read and paraphrase.” “I’ve got you for two hours.” “You have to turn these in, in two hours.” “Don’t much care right now.”

“What’s your problem?” I cross my arms and drop back against my chair. “I never met you before our first session, but you act like you’ve got me pegged and can’t stand the thought of helping me out.” A strange, tangled expression sweeps over her, as if she’s at battle with her own mind and has no idea what she’s even thinking, making it impossible for me to guess. And I’m kinda feeling like being a dick. Tutor Girl wants me to hurry, huh?

I set coffee in front of her, and she stares at it like it’s the best and worst thing she’s ever seen. Her brows pinch and she drags out her next words. “I really shouldn’t…” “You askin’ or tellin’?” “Definitely not asking,” she says with a soft chuckle, looking to me as she wraps her hands around the paper cup. “Thank you. That was … thoughtful of you.” Thoughtful? Me? I’m not sure anyone’s ever called me that.

“Okay, why don’t you get started while I check my emails and I’ll review as you go.” Or maybe not, and now I’m irritated again. “So, tutoring consists of you doing shit on your computer and supervising while the student does their work alone?” I don’t know why I’m arguing. I don’t want to be here any more than she does, right? She’s the one who didn’t want to tutor me, and sure, I could have done this shit at home, avoided this entire session, but why should I?

“Maybe we haven’t worked together enough for that yet.” “So, when you get comfortable, you just do your own thing and count the dollars coming in?” Why am I being such a dick? The girl pulls a breath in through her nose. “I’m not trying to make this easier on me, I swear.” She shakes her head. “But we did go over the prompts already. The next step is to read and that’s independent work. I’ll be reading over each answer to make sure you have all you need and help you get there if you don’t. You will get full credit for this, I swear, but it’s up to you to read the passage.”

“This is good and should put you above the mark to play tomorrow. It might even allow you a tiny bit of leeway on the exam coming up, but that will depend on your professor. You might want to remind your teachers you need it graded stat.” “Oh, they know. Coach Reid made sure of it; the man always has our backs.” “When it’s convenient,” she mutters to herself, but I’ve been known to have supersonic hearing. “You realize you only have this job because of him, right? He’s the athletic director. You tutor athletes.”

“I’ve been working for the school since my freshman year. I came in as a student tutor, in fact, long before I was moved to the athletic department. So yeah, now I work strictly with athletes because their passing somehow became more important than the guy trying to make grades to keep his scholarship or a single mom who can’t afford to fail because she hardly has the time to be here in the first place.” “And athletes don’t have those same problems?” “Some do, yeah.” She tosses her bag over her shoulder. “Just like some don’t, and I don’t see how an athlete, who has no desire to do anything other than go pro after college, meaning they throw away all their years of learning here, some who are here at no cost to them, is priority over those of us who want more in life. But sports are heaven and Coach Reid is God, so who cares about us poor peasants.”

Meyer

Reality is as sad as it is serene. Speaking of the devil, a text comes through demanding my presence at the man’s office, so off I go. Of course, he’s on the phone when I get in, and leaves me to wait there for several minutes without so much as acknowledging I’ve entered the space

“Meyer,” he snaps, and my head jerks up. “What?” “Are you hearing me?” he asks, but he’s not looking for a response, his obnoxious sigh quickly follows. “I said I’ve pulled a few of your guys and gave them to that other girl.”

“What do you mean you pulled a few of my guys?” “I mean, I pulled some of your ‘students’ and assigned them to the girl you recommended.” “You said you needed another person dedicated to your department. I never would have introduced her if I had known she would be taking from my schedule.” “I did need someone, and now I have her, and I’ll give her whoever the hell I wish.”

“Tobias will take precedence.” He kills my thought quickly. “The others you can fit in wherever so long as they pass their classes and can play, but you had too many blocked out days for the hours my pitcher requires.” He tosses a paper my way. It falls to my feet, so I bend to pick it up, noting Tobias is slotted Monday through Saturday now, doubling our time together. “This ...” Anxiety begins to build, making my skin warm and itchy. “This isn’t normal. This is more time than the students with learning disabilities are allotted.”

“You took four.” My eyes dart up to his. “I’m being cut four students to accommodate one?” “The time has been filled in.” “Time?! I’m paid per student. If I have him six days a week, I’m losing a quarter of my income. I’ll have to find another job and—” I stop abruptly.

“Not my problem, is it? Your job is to tutor the boys I need you to, that’s what you signed up for, and I need you to tutor Tobias Cruz. Our schedule is getting tougher, we have Cal Poly coming up in three weeks, and I need to know school won’t be a stress for him.” “This is beyond your usual lack of caution.” The corner of his mouth lifts in a nasty smirk. “There is no risk here because you are who you are, and he is who he is. You’ll never be on his radar without the beer it takes to get there, honey, and he’ll continuously have his hands full of something better.” Wow.

But mostly, stupidly, I wish he’d look at me like he used to. Even if I could never do the same. It’s with that thought in mind that I go home, open my computer, and do what I should have done months ago. I submit my transfer application to the University of Florida.

Tobias

“Okay, that was the last question. Now we can get a head start on your research essay for history. You have a few weeks, but if we can narrow down what you plan to write about and get the materials mapped out, we might be able to drop one of our sessions.” I stare at her, waiting for her to glance up, but of course, she doesn’t. She never does.