“I was a major klutz at lunch today and spilled marinara sauce all over myself, so left school a little early to change.”
“You got that trait from me.” She laughs.
For now, lying is a necessary evil.
“Come on.” She loops her arm around mine. “I want you to meet a few colleagues.”
She escorts me around the building, making introductions, then we go back to the first floor. I caught on to some of her coworkers’ shocked expressions. They didn’t expect my mom to have a biracial daughter. In this day and age, interracial couples are still considered taboo in some parts of America.
“Tutoring is in the multipurpose room.” She gestures down the hall. “It’s the second to last door on the right.”
We head in that direction.
“Tell me about the student I’ll be tutoring?”
I hope the kid isn’t a butthole.
“Her name is Kayla.” Mom smiles fondly. “The sweetest girl, but very unhappy and withdrawn.”
My brows knit together. “Why?”
“She’s doesn’t have any friends because of her learning disability,” she says solemnly. “You’re the perfect fit for her. I know you’ll break her out of her shell.”
“What type of learning disability does she have?”
I’m ready to be her champion. It’s always been my thing to root for the underdog.
“Kayla’s dyslexic and dyscalculic.”
“I’ve never heard of dyscalculic.”
“It means having difficulty making sense of numbers and math concepts.”
“Oh, okay,” I say thoughtfully. “I’ll give her one hundred percent.”
Mom reaches over and squeezes my hand. “I’m glad to hear that.”
I follow her into the large room. Tutors and students are paired at round tables.
“That’s her,” Mom whispers, nodding towards a thin girl sitting alone.
Kayla’s frizzy, jet-black hair is in a lopsided ponytail, though most of her wayward strands have escaped the elastic band. Her milky, pale skin is nearly translucent, giving her an otherworldly appearance. She nibbles on her bottom lip, concentrating in earnest on the paper in front of her, then slams the pencil down in frustration.
“I got it from here, Mom.”
“Good luck.”
I walk over to my pupil.
“Hi, Kayla,” I greet excitedly. “My name is Cocoa.”
Her striking green eyes regard me warily.
“I’m Mrs.Thompson’s daughter and I’ll be your tutor.”
“I don’t want a tutor,” Kayla mutters, lowering her head.
“All right, no problem.”
