10. Van

10

Van

I 'm back for more torture. It's fucking painful to be this close to Josie and not be able to do anything about it. She won't even let me apologize. Well, she wouldn't the other night, but I'm not giving up. If nothing else, I want to tell her how sorry I am for…well, for being young and dumb. That's why I got here early and why my hair's still wet. I literally raced for the locker room the minute Coach blew the whistle that ended practice. I didn't even wait for the water to heat up—I took a cold shower (not for the first time), threw on my clothes and jogged across campus to get here a little early so we could talk.

Stepping into the main room, I catch sight of Josie right away. She's behind the front desk, just like she was Tuesday night. I know she works here, so she's probably checking in books or alphabetizing them or something, but she doesn't look super busy, so I summon my courage and walk straight toward her.

Then I stop short.

She's not alone. Kyle Fucking Hargreaves is with her. Does he work here, too? Do they just hire all the smart kids to work at the library? (Honestly, not a bad idea.) But Kyle isn't just a smart guy; he's an asshole.

Bainbridge gives out academic scholarships every year. The kids who get them have their own little club, I guess you'd call it. They meet a couple times a year to do dinner with the major donors and they also have activities and stuff. The only reason I know about it is because Pete Santos is one of the full-ride winners from my year. The other one is Josie. Kyle's a year ahead of us, but he's in that group, too. But since he's a year older, hasn't he already graduated? And if so, what the fuck is he doing at the library, leaning over the counter, flirting with my girl— my tutor?

Pete would have told me if they were together. In fact, he swore they weren't. And yes, I realize that it's none of my business who Josie goes out with, except when it comes to Kyle. When I spotted them together freshman year, I just figured she upgraded to a smart guy, and as much as I hated it, I couldn't blame her. But I've never liked that guy. There's just something about him that bugs me.

I'm staring and I need to stop, but the thought of walking away and waiting for Josie in a study room turns my stomach.

I clear my throat—all the dusty books in here must have triggered my non-existent allergies—and Josie looks up. I swear she smiles for a second before turning back to Kyle. She says something and he reaches for her. I watch as he flashes her a douchey smile and says, ‘I'll text you.' Josie waves goodbye and walks toward me.

"Van, hi. You're a little early, but that's fine," she says, leading us to a table in the corner. "It's quieter here, and we're not on display, so that's good."

"Yeah, I know. We didn't get much time to talk the other day, so I thought?—"

"Actually, I have a message from Dr. Schoenbauer that says you need to rework your essay and retake a quiz. We should start on that, don't you think?" she asks, not even looking up at me.

But she's right. I've got makeup work for Lit to do if I want to see ice time this weekend, so we dive right in.

"Has it been a while since you read the story?" she asks, and I nod because it has been. Never is definitely a while…

"Since we're pressed for time, do you want to listen to it before you take your quiz? You can speed the time up if you want. That way, we'll have a good hour or more to spend on the essay."

"That would work, but there's no audio file for that story," I say. That's why I didn't read it, but I keep that detail to myself.

Josie stands and rounds the table to take the seat next to me. She's keeping her eyes on my laptop, like looking at me might turn her to stone. "Can I show you something?" she asks, daring to look in my direction.

"Sure," I say, sliding my laptop over a few inches. She taps away and a few minutes later, she hands my computer back.

"I downloaded an extension. It's an immersive reader. It will read you the text. It's not perfect, by any stretch. Sometimes it can't distinguish between titles and captions. It just depends on the original file. But a lot of students find it really helpful. It can be a huge time saver."

"Thanks," I tell her, grateful, once again. She's a good tutor, no doubt, but I just wish she'd look at me for more than two seconds or let me say ten words that aren't about my courses. But that's not likely. Josie the Tutor is all about business. And this text reader will definitely help. There's an app on my phone that reads everything to me—texts, reminders, even social media posts. I never knew I could use the same kind of thing for my classes.

I listen to the story and it's actually not bad. I'm never sure why English profs only assign books and stories where everybody dies at the end, but this was all right. And two people lived, so…yay? I finish my quiz and then let the reader thing that Josie installed read another story. That's the one I actually did read by myself, but I didn't get it at all, which is probably why I bombed the test.

I make it to the part where the lady finds out her husband's dead, and that's when I really lock in. This is the part that confused me before. But just as I'm listening to an automated voice deliver the bad news, I hear a giggle.

And it's one I know well. Or at least I used to, anyway.

I look up to see Josie staring at her phone, suppressing more laughter. When she sees me, her cheeks turn red, and her phone ends up face down on the table. We both get back to work, but a few minutes later, I hear a nearly silent notification and see a smile bloom on her face when she peeks at her phone.

I know that smile. I remember it well. It's the smile that comes right before she cracks up. It's the smile I got when I told her about a prank we pulled at an away game or something ridiculous that my teammates did.

It's my smile.

And she's giving it to him.

It shouldn't bother me, but it does. It's been three years, so it's no wonder Josie's moved on. And I know she deserves to be happy—nobody deserves that more than Josie Reynolds. But it fucking sucks that it's with Kyle. Fucking Kyle…It's like there's an angel on one of my shoulders and a devil on the other. The angel is telling me to get the fuck over it (and yes, they have potty mouths. These angels play hockey.) because whoever's warming Josie's bed these days is none of my business. It hasn't been for a damn long time. But the devil on my other shoulder? Oh, he's a defenseman for sure. A total enforcer. And he thinks Kyle's a fucking douchecanoe who's not fit to hold Josie's library books, let alone hold her. Or make her ache with need. Make her—No. No, I am not doing this. Not now, and sure as hell not here. I need to focus. I have a story to figure out and a paper to write. It's hard enough for my brain to unscramble the letters and make them stick even in the best of times. But with my dick so hard I could pound nails, it's gonna be damn near impossible.

Shaking my head, I will my erection down. I'm rattling off stats from the Flyers' 2009-2010 season. Just when I think I have a chance of chilling out and attempting to answer the rest of the questions, her phone buzzes again. She sneaks a glance and bites her lip to hold back a laugh.

And that's when I know I'm fucked.

It's bad enough I can't make any sense of the words in front of me.

It's bad enough that there are freaking fifth graders who can read better and faster than I can.

It's bad enough that my inability in the classroom is about to keep me off the ice.

And it's bad enough that the only person on campus who can get me through this semester is the girl whose heart I broke three years ago. The girl who haunts my fucking dreams and stars in my dirtiest fantasies.

But she's sitting here, tutoring me, and texting that asshole?

Fuck that. If Josie wants to be all cool and professional and pretend like we've never met? Fine, I can too.

Josie catches me looking at her and slides her phone back into her bag. "Are you ready to work on the paper?"

"Yeah," I lie. "But I can wait. You looked pretty busy there on your phone."

She blushes, but meets my gaze. "I'm sorry about that. It's unprofessional and it won't happen again. It's just that?—"

"I just want to write this paper, ok?" I say, cutting her off.

"Of course. I'm not sure what kind of outline you typically use, but I typed one up quickly and put it in our shared folder. That way, you can access it any time and you can drop documents there if you want my feedback."

"Sounds good."

She's fiddling with one of the rings on her finger, twisting it around and around and I know she's getting a little unsettled, but maybe she should tell her boyfriend she's got a fucking job to do. "Okay, so let's take a look at the prompt. You're looking for all the ways that the main character was glad to be free of her husband."

We both stare at our screens for a few minutes. I know Josie's waiting on me, but I'm lost. That lady's husband died. And she had a heart attack because she was so sad about it. So…how the hell am I going to write this paper?

"Van, what have you found so far?" she asks.

"Nothing yet," I say, stalling.

"Well, we have less than an hour left, so we need to work a little more quickly, okay?"

Frustrated, I run my hands through my hair. "It doesn't matter what time it is, there's nothing in the story that says she hates him. It even says he's a good guy."

"It does," Josie starts, "but there's more to it. You need to look at the text, of course, but also the sub-text."

I shake my head. "This is why I left this class to the last possible second. Why don't writers just say what they mean?"

"She does," Josie assures me. "Keep looking. I know you'll find it."

I know I won't, so I bring up a new tab and stab at the keys trying to ask the internet what the hell this story means. A million people have answers, but I can barely make sense of them with Josie staring me down. I click on a few links, but everything is so long. Can't anybody summarize anymore?

"Van, you shouldn't be typing right now. Everything you need is right in front of you." Josie's voice wavers a little, and I can tell she's uncomfortable calling me out. But I'm uncomfortable right now, too.

"I need you to focus on the text," she says.

Before I can think better of it, I shoot my mouth off. "Well, I needed you to focus on tutoring me, but you were dicking around on your phone."

Her eyes go wide, and her neck and cheeks turn splotchy. Josie hates arguments of any kind, and I feel like a dick for snapping at her, but she was texting her fucking boyfriend and laughing at his stupid jokes.

"I've apologized for that, and I am sorry. It was my?—"

"Can you just help me find a quote?" I bite off the words.

"Yeah, sure." She takes a breath and blinks, like she's putting her tutoring mask back on. "It might be easier if you look for quotes where she's obviously happy. Let's start there, okay?"

"That's fine. I'm all for whatever is gonna help me crank this paper out."

It takes an hour, and a lot of prodding from Josie, but I pick out three quotes and string together an argument. To save time, I'm dictating to Josie and she's typing away next to me. This story's kinda badass, actually, and now that Josie helped me figure it out, I'm realizing how terrible my original paper was.

I hit submit with a few minutes to spare. We pack our stuff up and I'm tempted to turn to Josie and ask her if she has a minute to talk. But then I see her phone in her hand. Of course, she doesn't have time for me and my too-late apologies. She's got Fucking Kyle to talk to.

"See you next week," I say, hurrying toward the doors.

"We can meet tomorrow if you?—"

"Can't," I say. "I've got a game."

"Good luck. And if you need anything, drop it in the shared folder."

I nod, but I'm not paying attention. I'm practically speed-walking to the other end of the room. The guys from the baseball team are back, and they're not alone. There's a redhead I recognize and she's practically sitting in the one guy's lap. The two blondes don't look familiar, but I can change that easily.

"Hey, man. Back at the books, huh?" Lanza asks.

"Yeah, but I'm done now. I'm figuring I might unwind at Wolfie's. You guys in?"

"Come to our place," Lanza offers. "The drinks are free. Plus, the company's better. You remember Taylor, right? These are her sorority sisters, Tess and Lily."

The two girls smile at me like they want to make a sandwich and they've decided I'm going to be the filling. It's not my style, and the beer I've promised myself at Wolfie's is sounding better and better. But Josie's walking past us now, so the devil on my shoulder makes me say, "Count me in."

Tess and Lily bound up from their seats in unison. "Do you know how to get to the baseball house?" one of them asks.

"It's not far, but it's a little tricky. We have to cross two streets and an alley," the other one says.

I smile down at each of them. "You know, I happen to be shit at directions. Would you two mind leading the way?"

They don't answer. They just giggle and start dragging me along. But their giggles are high-pitched and tingly, and the sound grates on my nerves. I don't let it show, though, because Josie's standing still, just watching us as we leave.

I want to turn around, shake these two off and go to my girl. But she's not mine. She's Kyle's. Hell, even if she's as single as I am, she's made it clear that we are nothing more than tutor and student. So, I make it all the way to the baseball house (across two whole streets and an alley) before faking a text that says I've got an emergency hockey meeting back at my place. Poor Tess and Lily look concerned, like I'm about to find out there's a shortage of pucks or someone melted all the ice. I feel bad for ditching, but I'd be shitty company anyway.

I walk for a block and then dig my phone out of my pocket and hit the little microphone.

Van : You feel like getting a beer?

Santos : Does it come with wings?

Van : Sure.

Santos : Meet you at Wolfie's in five.

Van : I'll get a seat. I'm kinda shocked you're willing to come out this late on a school night.

Santos : Only because I'm hungry. And I can't make anything here.

Van : Dude, we bought groceries like two days ago.

Santos : I know…but Mikalski made his famous mac and cheese again…

I laugh, because it's definitely famous. That guy never takes his meds, and he really should. He forgets everything and gets distracted easily. And he always puts his mac and cheese cup in the microwave without any water. Don't do that. It melts. And catches fire. And lets off a foul rubber smell that lasts for days.

Santos : I was gonna put a frozen pizza in the oven, but somebody pulled too hard on the handle and…now our oven doesn't have a door. But the good news is that we have two new shelves…

I make it to Wolfie's and the place is packed, even for a Thursday night. That's a good thing, though. It will keep my mind off the fact that I live in a shithole with a bunch of slobs. I need to talk to Santos about finding another tutor, but that conversation might have to wait for the weekend. He's in that smart kid club—there's got to be someone. I thought Tuesday night was bad, but tonight was torture. It's clear that while I might have missed Josie, she was just fine without me. And I'm glad—she deserves to be happy. But that doesn't mean I have to watch.