Chapter 3
Jamie
My hands are sweating as we both stare at each other across the cubicle. Why did I just suggest that? It’s as if something that lay dormant inside of me has finally woken itself up and is rattling its cage to get out.
Arnie’s been on my mind for days now, and it’s worse at night when I’m alone in bed. Whenever anything about him comes to mind, I have an instant semi. That low, gravelly voice he used with me, his forearms, that veiny tattooed neck.
I was already missing out on sleep from my job, school stress, and life. But now it’s because of him and whatever spell he seems to have put on me.
“Alright, let’s get started. Now that you’re so keen to make a change.”
Arnie’s tone didn’t sound unkind; however, it wasn’t exactly warm either. I nod and wipe my hands on my jeans again, noticing Arnie’s eye trailing to where they sit on my lap.
Is he gay?
Not that it matters, I’ve just never been eye-fucked before by a man. I might not be the most handsome guy, but I know when someone is checking me out.
I try to pay attention to Arnie as he discusses a spreadsheet he’s made, and then there’s a list of questions about me that’s to be filled out and sent back.
Honestly though, I can barely concentrate because of him being so close.
His knee knocked into mine, not once but twice. The spark that shoots up my leg the second time has me flinching and moving away. Arnie just keeps typing, smug as hell. He knows exactly what he’s doing.
“I have work soon. Will this take much longer?” I grumble, given that it’s been what seems like forever since one of us spoke.
“Just finishing up. I’ve sent that to the email Simmons gave me for you. Read it, fill it out best you can, and then send it back. I’ll give you two days since you’re working tonight. What is it you do, anyway? Seems you work a fair bit.”
If Simmons had told him I worked a lot, what else had he told him about me? I knew I’d have to tell him at some point what I do to make money to survive here. However, I still don’t want to admit that to him or anyone for that matter. People are too quick to judge, and I don’t know him well enough to trust that he won’t spread it around.
I’m happy being invisible here. It makes me anonymous. I just have one more year after this, and I can hopefully get a job that has normal hours and is related to my degree.
“Just call centre work at night,” I respond as I attempt to appear unbothered as possible.
He looks up at me, though, as if he knows my secret. He’s about to open his fat, stupid mouth to no doubt prod for more information when his phone rings. He looks at the number calling him with a frown.
“I need to take this. Meet me here on Thursday, and we will go over your answers. Until then, fill out the questions and redo the test quiz on Simmons’ class. There’s a bunch of past paper quizzes too. Bring them as well.”
I nod my understanding, chewing my lip as I watch him grab his bag and shove everything into it in one rushed motion before answering the call.
“Hey Mags, what’s up—”
There seems to be crying on the other end of the call. Arnie gives me one last side glance before taking off. I can hear him uttering a bunch of ‘it’s okay’ and ‘I’ll be there soon’ before he rounds the corner and disappears.
The surrounding air gets cooler, and I slump into the plastic seating and take a couple of deep breaths. I want to be better. I planned for that when I arrived here three years ago, yet along the way, the stress of being alone and depending fully on myself with no one to fall back on for support finally caught up to me. Maybe the whole ‘tough love’ schtick that Arnie has as a tutor will help me in the long run.
Before heading back to the dorms, I stopped at the coffee cart outside the library to grab my favourite drink after Arnie left in a rush. I sip the double-shot caramel mocha like a lifeline as I trek back. Sugared caffeine would be my comfort, at least for now.
***
Simmons and his sidekick, Arnie, have a weird description of what the role of a tutor is as I scroll through the questions from Arnie’s email.
I’m in my PJs that are dark green, covered in little white math symbols, seeing as I love math just that much. I have some spare time to make ramen and curl up on my tiny dormitory bed to scroll the questions before I have to get dressed and jump on a bus for work.
Have you ever craved someone’s approval more than you should?
I read aloud to only myself. What’s that got to do with my academic goals? Do they need to know if I have a praise kink? Are they allowed to know that?
I move on to the next one, but it’s worse, and now I question if I am in some weird fever dream. Arnie can’t possibly want me to answer this.
