Tutor Me (6 page)

“So… did you have fun with shithead last night?” Callum sneered, leaning back in his chair.

We were sitting in his kitchen working on Chapter 3 of the textbook. Once again he’d forgotten his copy at school so we were right next to each other, both peering over mine. Sitting close to him was exquisite torture, even though he’d been kind of distant and unfriendly since I arrived. There was a quiz on Friday and he was showing zero interest in preparing for it. Now his tone made my blood boil.

“None of your business. Do you box?” I tried to change the topic, and his question had made me think of seeing him outside the gym last night.

“None of your business.” He smirked, throwing my words back at me.

I mock frowned. “No need to be snotty. Your question was hostile, mine was friendly and curious.”

“OK let me rephrase. Are you dating Bryce now?” He’d kind of ground out the name ‘Bryce’ but I let that go.

“Sort of.”

“What does ‘sort of’ mean?”

“OK yes, we are, but it’s not serious.” For some reason I looked away as I answered him, as if dating Bryce was something to be ashamed of.

I expected him to keep the verbal sparring up so I was surprised by his next statement.

“OK then, yes,” he said.

“Yes what?” I was so busy trying to gauge his mood that I’d lost the thread.

“Yes I do box. I work at that gym you saw me coming out of and work out there when I get a chance.”

“So, is boxing your thing?”

“No, music’s my thing.”

“You’re in a band, right? What do you play?”

“Keyboard in the band, but other instruments too.”

I was surprised. “So it’s not just a means of getting laid?”

His eyebrows shot up at that, his lips curved in a sly smile. “Trust me, I don’t need a band to get laid.”
OK I guess I asked for that
.

“So what do you want to do? Make some music, make some money, find some models for wives?”

Callum caught the reference immediately and looked impressed. “Nice song quote. But no, I want to compose.”

Now my eyebrows shot up. “Wow. Composing. So all you really want is something beautiful to say?”

“Got it. Seether. Thanks for reducing my dreams and aspirations to yet another song quote.” He was grinning though.

“Sorry. It’s like a nervous tic sometimes. What’s the career path for being a composer?”

Callum shrugged. “Ideally a music school like Juilliard or Berklee.”
Bad boy Callum was talking about Juilliard? Parallel universe, anyone?

“Wow. What instruments do you play?”

“Piano, guitar, violin… mostly string instruments.”

Since he was forthcoming and I was curious, I decided to keep asking questions till he shut me down. “Have you been taking lessons your whole life?”

“From age 7 until about a year and a half ago.” He scowled as he said this. I was curious why the lessons had stopped but I didn’t dare inquire: maybe his dad ran out of money or something.

“So, without lessons you practice on your own?”

“Yeh.”

“How much?” I wondered how serious he was about music.

“Couple hours a day. Sometimes more.” Yup he was serious about music.

“Wow.”

“You sure say wow a lot.”

“You keep saying things that elicit that response from me.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He smiled and something tugged in my heart.

“So the band is for fun?”

“Those guys are my best friends. We might not become rock stars but we love hanging out, playing together.”

“But eventually one of you will quit, one of you will get married…”

“I see where this is going.”

“When
did
you get your first real six-string, anyway?”

“Are you finished?”

“Almost. I’m just wondering if years later you’ll look back on this time, playing with the guys, and say, those were the best days of my life?” I was laughing so hard I could barely get the words out.

Callum tried not to smile and failed. “You crack yourself up, don’t you?”

I was still laughing. “Yes, yes I do.” Once I’d collected myself I apologized. “Sorry. Absolutely couldn’t resist. That’s it for song references, I promise.”

“We’ll see. Now I get to ask you some questions. What do you want to do with your life?”

“I don’t know, but definitely something math or science-related. I’m interested in genetics.”

“Man, talk about tough. I can’t think of a relevant song quote for that,” Callum said plaintively. I shrugged, unsympathetic.

After a pause, Callum said, “How about this?” He started singing, in a charmingly raspy voice, “I wanna learn from a Calculus Girl; I could be happy earning an A with a Calculus Girl.”

“Clever, but you can’t modify the lyrics, that’s not the game,” I protested.

“I changed the game. Can you name the original song?”

I scoffed. “Of course, Neil Young, Cinnamon Girl. I thought we’d already established my musical knowledge.”

“You’re pretty confident, aren’t you? Do you have a Spotify account?”

“Why, you want to share some music with me?”

“I want to see what you listen to.” I gave him a ‘whatever’ look but slid my phone over. He fiddled around with both our phones. “OK our accounts are linked.” Was I a lunatic for thinking that was super cute? Probably.

He paused, then changed the subject. “So why are you doing this tutoring thing?”

“What, you don’t buy that I’m that kind of nice person?”

“Nice or not, this is a time suck that may not pay off. There are other ways to do good if that was what this was about.”

“Truth? Mr. Ferguson kind of strong armed me into it. I’ve asked him to write a letter of recommendation for me for college, and he said that besides grades he would love to be able to say I was also helping others, giving back, community minded, all that crap. Then he asked if I would be a tutor for Calc. What could I say?” I hastily added, “I don’t mind doing it or anything though.”

“Yeh but the crowd you’re now moving in must be giving you a hard time. Those girls are meant to hide their brains behind their breasts.”

My eyes narrowed. “Nice visual. And it’s not like those roadie chicks you hang with make a point of showcasing their mental acuity. Anyway, why the heck are you bothering to be tutored? You obviously don’t give a rat’s ass. You don’t even need a tutor. You could ace this class in a heartbeat if you cared.” I hadn’t meant to say all that but he’d pissed me off and it came out. I looked at him, wondering how he’d react.

But he just nodded. “That’s why Mr. Ferguson assigned me a tutor. To motivate me, he said.”

I threw my hands up. “But I can’t make you do the work, Callum, I can’t make you come to class or remember your textbook or study for the quizzes. We have a quiz in two days’ time and you haven’t taken any notes in class since the start of term” I persisted.  “It’s one thing to tutor a student who is trying their best but just can’t grasp the material and needs extra instruction, but that is not what’s going on with you.”

Callum leaned back in his seat and eyed me shrewdly. “Let me guess, you want me to get an A because Mr. F’s letter will be so much stronger if he can say that you worked miracles as a tutor and turned a failing student into an A student?”

No use beating around the bush at this point, so might as well own up. “Yep, that’s what I’m thinking. Although I would settle for major improvement if an A was out of the question.”

“I feel dirty and used right now.” He was mocking me, but I did regret sounding so calculating and heartless. After all, it was his grade at stake here.

I leaned forward and looked at him seriously. “Look, whatever your reasons are for messing up at school, it’s your own life and I can’t force you to rethink that. And it’s true, I do have this ulterior motive, with my own best interests at heart. But perhaps we can work together so that we both benefit from this arrangement.”

He looked skeptical. “But I don’t care if I do well or not, so what’s in it for me?” He yawned and stretched, a sight that made me salivate. “Why should I bother to do the extra work?”

I wracked my brain. I knew this was a make-or-break moment because if I didn’t convince him it was worth it to do well in the class, he simply would not.

“I… can’t pay you to do well but how about I do something in return like, clean your car or make lasagna?” Yeh, I know, I sounded a little desperate.

He burst out laughing. “First of all, no one cleans my car but me, and second, my grandma makes the best lasagna in the world, so thanks but no thanks.”

At my downcast face he continued more seriously. “But I like the way you’re thinking, and it gives me an idea. Are you a gambling woman?”

Hell yes I was a gambling woman. I’d inherited my mother’s competitiveness and my father’s love of games of chance. In my house we flipped coins to settle everything from who would fold the laundry to where we should get pizza. I was raised to never back down from a dare and to never welch on a bet. Tina and Seb knew this about me but most people outside of my family didn’t, because it didn’t come up that often.

I nodded slowly. “Yes, you could say that.”

“Excellent. So what if we make a wager on my performance in Calc? If I do well on the quiz, I win, and if I do poorly, you win. It’s kind of a win-win for you.”

“OK,” I said, watching him guardedly. “What would we be playing for then?”

“Money is boring. Services.” He was smiling, watching me as he spoke. Annoyingly, I felt myself redden as I thought about what ‘services’ could mean. A look of amusement told me he’d seen that blush. How embarrassing. He certainly didn’t mean
those
kind of services. I pulled myself together.

“Are you good with cars?” I asked, to get my mind out of where it had gone.

“I could handle yours.” Everything out of his mouth right now was sexy. I was back to blushing, but kept it cool.

“How about an oil change then?”

“Sure, no problem.” He leaned back, waiting for my inevitable question.

“And you? What do you want, if not my lasagna?” I tried to regulate my breathing.

“I would like something more… personal from you.” The words came out slowly, deliberately. His eyes had turned predatory and it was so fucking hot.

I swallowed and looked down to avoid those molten eyes. “What?” My voice came out in a squeak.

“Don’t look so freaked out. I was just going to suggest a kiss.” I could feel him watching me closely as he said it.

I swallowed again.
Jesus how pathetic I was
. No way was this guy intimidating me. I straightened in my seat and tossed my hair back. “I’m not freaked out.”

He was still watching me, and had shifted in his seat, waiting.

I continued. “So, let me get this straight. The wager is: if you get an A on the quiz on Friday, you kiss me, and if you get less than an A, you change the oil in my car.”

“Actually what I have in mind is that
you
would kiss
me
. And an A? Let’s ease into this. Let’s say an A-.”

I looked at him for a moment, weighing the offer. “OK deal.”  I held out my hand and we shook on it.
Holy tutoring hotness!

It was at that moment that Callum grabbed my wrist as if to check my pulse. I glanced at him, startled. He nodded, as if satisfied. If he had really been checking my pulse he’d have noticed it racing. He then moved his hands to clasp mine, nodding again. Did he notice how clammy they were? And what the hell was he up to? He released them.

“You’re on your knees.” Huh? I flushed.

He saw that and tisked. “Get your mind out of the gutter, naughty girl. These are clues.” He looked at me expectantly.

“You’re a scientist, doing research…” he prompted. What the hell game was he playing? Wait a sec- game. My game! My mind spun through my song database while Callum waited, watching my face.

Then it came to me: “Looking for answers: are we human or are we dancer? The Killers.” Callum’s face lit up and we high-fived.

“Get it? Genetics! Well kind of. Took you long enough!” His enthusiasm was of course adorable. Not that I was going to stroke his ego.

“Yeh well the charades thing threw me, and it was a bit of a stretch, but not bad,” I conceded. “OK I should go now.” I stood up, then paused, remembering something important. “We’re keeping this bet thing on the down low, right?”

He shrugged. “If you want.”

“I do. This kind of arrangement is not what Mr. F. had in mind.” I was actually more worried about what Bryce and Lacey would think but I didn’t mention that.

“I don’t know about that. This may be exactly what he had in mind when he said I needed motivation.” He was smirking again.

I let that go, wondering at his words.