There were times when he was astounded with just how unprescient he could be.
Chapter 2
“Hallelujah, you’re leaving! Oh dear, I didn’t mean it that way, Mercy. I just meanthallelujah. You know, kind of a lesser hallelujah. Hallelujah minus a few points of exclamation, if you will. Erm. You know?”
I smiled and stuffed the last of my clothing into the duffel bag that had gone through many years with me. It was faded in spots, was torn on the end flaps, and had many stains acquired from various roommates and the inevitable accidents that come with living in confined spaces with numerous people. In other words, it was a good visual representation of myself: a bit worn, having seen a lot of life, and definitely not stylishly attractive. “It’s OK, Kim. I know what you mean. You’ve been nothing but accommodating, letting me stay with you and Rafe when I know you’d rather be by yourselves.”
“It’s not that we don’t love having you here—lordknows, you do the bulk of the housework, and it’s going to be a nightmare having to do all that again—but I’m thinking of you, I really am. You need to find yourself, really find yourself. Find what makes you happy, and what you want to do with your life.”
“Well, that’s the big question, isn’t it?” I smiled at my friend. I’d met her a year ago, when we both were attending a criminal justice class at a London university.
She made a face. “You have been to enough universities.... Couldn’t you pick a degree and find a job doing that?”
“Doing what?”
“Whatever your degree is. Would be.” She sighed, and made a frustrated gesture. “Whatever job would be pertinent to the degree that you don’t yet have, but would have if you stuck it through to the end.”
“It’s never quite that easy,” I said, cramming the few precious books I had left into the bag, grunting a little as I forced the zipper up its pregnant, bulging length. “Technically, I have a lot of credits in a number of subjects, everything from English to medieval history, phys ed, and of course criminal justice. But that doesn’t mean I’m qualified to get a job that pays more than minimum wage.”
Kim raised an eyebrow and looked doubtful.
“OK, OK, I could probably get a job, but not one I’d like,” I said in response, hating the fact that people didn’t understand my need to learn everything there was to be learned. “If only I could get your universities to give me more financial aid, everything would be groovy.”
“Groovy?” Kim snorted. “Your liberal arts are showing. And do you really think that more time at uni is what you need? Look at this temporary tutoring job you found.”
“I didn’t actually find it—an old friend did,” I interrupted. “She knew I was desperate, and I didn’t like the other option she found for me.”
“Regardless, it serves to illustrate my point—you could become a teacher, a proper teacher, not just a summer tutor.”
I shuddered. “Those kids... oh, Kim, those kids! Their mother was bad enough at the interview with her pretentious sneering, and trying her best to impress me with all the money her husband has, but her kids! They were hell spawn.”
“I’m quite certain they’re not that bad,” Kim said with gentle chiding.
“You didn’t see them. Natalia, the seven-year-old, spent the entire time her mother and I were chatting racing around on her Rollerblades, screaming at everyone in the park. And not shrieks of laughter—the kid has a worse potty mouth than my father does. And the nine-year-old Jocelyn was even worse. He actually threw a tantrum, an honest-to-god tantrum, when some other child dared to do a skateboard flip or twist or whatever that Jocelyn couldn’t duplicate. The child needs desperately to be in therapy. Both of them do, and those are the little monsters I’m supposed to spend three months tutoring. You know why they need tutoring? Because they’re so out of control not even their expensive private school can cram learning into their thick heads.”
“Ouch,” Kim said, flinching, but I wasn’t sure if it was in response to my attack on the kids I’d agreed to teach or to my situation. I hoped it was the latter. “Still, it’s a job, and you never know what doors it may open. If the parents are as rich as you say—”
“The car that picked her and the monsters up had its own driver.”
“—if they are that well-off, then perhaps they can help you find a job that you will enjoy more. I agree that the children don’t sound pleasant, but perhaps they just need a firm hand. A sort of Mary Poppins figure to come into their lives and turn them into pleasant little people.”
“Mary Poppins I am not, but thanks for the pep talk.” I checked around the small spare room that I’d been occupying for the last three months—much to Kim’s boyfriend Rafe’s growing unhappiness—and hefted my bag. “And thank you for letting me stay with you while I tried to get my feet under me. It was a nightmare having that bastard scammer wipe out my bank account, feeble as it was, and you made all the difference.”
She gave me a knowing look. “Next time, don’t fall for a hard-luck story and let someone have access to your personal information so he can steal money out of your account.”
“Oh, trust me, lesson learned,” I said, giving her a hug made awkward by the approximately fifty pounds of bag slung across my back.
“Although it certainly would have been easier for you to simply call home—”
I lifted a hand in acknowledgment, and staggered out of the room, down the stairs to the exit of the building, Kim accompanying me as far as the street. “That is not an option. Happy two’s-companying, Kim. Be sure to thank Rafe for me—I appreciate you guys putting up with me more than you’ll know.”
“You’re very welcome. Now go turn those poor children’s lives around, and enjoy not trying to force morefacts into your head.” She smiled, giving me a little wave as I started down the street toward the nearest tube stop. “And network with your new bosses. Maybe they can help you find the perfect job. You need to do something more with your life than just go to school!”
Her words stuck with me for the next hour as I took the train that would carry me off to the coast of Cornwall, where my much-dreaded summer job awaited.
“The problem is,” I said aloud, staring blindly out the window of the train, where it sat in the bustling station, the noises of thousands of people passing through the confined spaces thankfully muffled by the windows, “I like learning.”
“Oh, sorry, is this taken?” A woman paused at the open doorway to the compartment in which I sat.
