4.Study Buddies?

4. Study Buddies?

“Read chapter 17 and remember to get started on your research papers now. Neither you nor I will be happy with something thrown together at the last minute.”

Oh crap. When Professor Solis dismisses class, I realize I spent more time spacing out than doing anything productive. I tried to focus, but the same thing keeps repeating in my mind.

“Stay away from me.”

What happened between me and Samson at Fusions isn’t easy to forget. The normally warm firebrand’s eyes were so cold. He just brushed me off. At school on Monday, the whole thing was still so confusing.

“Oh, hang on, your pop quizzes have been graded.”

Oops. I did it again. My thoughts keep drifting back to him. Until I get my paper back. What I find is enough to finally pull my attention away from confusing flirty boys who can’t get away fast enough once someone finally makes a move.

Or rather, what I don’t find on my paper steals my focus.

No grade waits for me at the top of the page. I glance at nearby students and see red letters on pages. They pack up to leave and talk about how they did on their papers.

I stare blankly at the page. Stupid pop quiz. It seemed like I was prepared for class, right until the word 'quiz' drove away everything I studied. A bad grade wouldn’t be a surprise. But no grade? Did I do so badly I didn’t even get an F? Is that even possible?

When I flip to the back page, I find a note from the professor.

See me after class.

Wait, no, that’s not quite right. He wrote… s ee Liam Monroe after class.

That’s odd. Liam? What does an English professor have to do with medical ethics? Confused, I approach Professor Solis.

"Uh, professor? I have a question about my paper. You wrote 'see Liam Monroe after class.' Is that what you meant? Is this supposed to say 'see me'?"

"No, that’s what it’s supposed to say," he tells me dryly. "I’m not sure how anyone would mix up 'me' with 'Liam Monroe.'"

"Yeah, I thought it was weird too."

"How about you make this up later?" he suggests, adjusting his large tweed jacket as he leans against his desk.

"Oh, thank you." It's better than a failing grade.

However, my relief is short-lived as Professor Solis's expression turns serious.

"Don't thank me yet. We're dangerously close to the point of no return here. If your grades don't start picking up soon, you won't be able to pass the course."

I tell myself not to panic… the panic comes anyway. Along with disappointment. I hoped I'd even figure this class out eventually. I had no idea I was running out of time. A medical ethics class like this is required for working as a medical assistant.

"Sorry, I wish I had better news," he says, seeing the distress on my face. "Don't be too hard on yourself. Some people need extra help, and that's nothing to be ashamed of."

"Extra help?" I ask.

"Are you willing to work with a tutor?"

"Yes, whatever it takes.”

"Then go see Liam Monroe. Don't give up."

I promise the professor I won’t and rush off to find Liam.

I’m managing my classes, though I’m also developing a caffeine addiction and have pulled a few all-nighters. This course is the exception, and a tutor seems like a sensible solution. Needing help doesn’t make me a failure, only actual failure does.

The English professor’s door is shut when I arrive. My polite knock turns rather insistent, my knuckles rapping frantically against the wood of his office door.

“Come on in!” Liam calls out.

I pop my head in. “Hey, Liam—uh, Professor Monroe,” I correct hastily when I see a student sitting in front of Liam’s desk. “I’m here because I need a tutor for Medical Ethics. Are you my new tutor?”

“No, he is.”

Liam points to the student sitting across from him. The person turns and I recognize him.

“Samson?”

“He’s my tutor?” Samson demands of the professor.

“Your tutor?” I repeat in confusion. “I need the tutor.”

“That’s why you’re both here,” the professor explains. “This is a mutually beneficial arrangement. Argyle is struggling academically but a natural when it comes to magic, and Samson has perfect academic records but isn’t progressing magically. Working together, you can both succeed.”

I can’t believe this. My supposed tutor is the one person who wants nothing to do with me.

The professor is shooting us both confused glances and trying to get my attention. I feel his gaze drilling into me. I only told Perry what happened at the club. Liam thinks Samson is just a flirty firebrand that I have a schoolboy crush on.

Samson clears his throat. “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

“Me either,” I agree.

The future firebrand shifts in his seat and shoots me an offended expression. Seriously? He doesn’t want to work with me either!

Liam picks up a book from his desk. “I promised to loan this to a colleague. Why don’t I give you two a moment alone to discuss this?” He smoothly removes himself from his office, leaving me with the man who couldn’t get away from me fast enough the last time we were together.

~

Samson and I sit in awkward silence when Liam leaves the room.

Is he looking at me? I can’t tell out of the corner of my eye. I figure it’s up to me to say something and put us out of our silent misery, but Samson beats me to it.

“How did Professor Monroe get involved with this?” he mutters.

“That’s what you want to talk about?”

He shrugs, looking pointedly at the desk and not in my direction. “Only trying to understand the situation. Monroe teaches one of my gen eds.”

“He’s a wizard.” Guess that's why Solis sent me to an English professor. Liam is sometimes consulted in tricky magical situations. He understands both magic and education but doesn't teach magic like most magical educators. “And before you ask, yes, he’s already branded.”

Finally, Samson looks over at me, doing a double take. “No shit?”

“Really. I know he doesn’t look magical but he’s—"

“A nightbrand?” he guesses.

I raise my eyebrows when he puts it together.

“Hey, I’m supposed to have some brains, right?” he quips weakly. “Nightbrand makes sense because they’re the only low-key casters.”

“Yeah, no danger of mistaking him for a firebrand.”

My gaze drifts to the swirling tattoos adorning his arms; they stand out against his skin, darker than any regular tattoo. While it sounds painful, fire casters can hold fire in their hands or on their bodies without being hurt. They even accept fire forged marks, tattoos on their skin given by their element. These markings aren't his brand, only decorative gifts from the fire element.

“It was either Monroe’s a nightbrand or he’s just a weak caster who can’t physically manifest his element.” Samson snorts. “Don’t get me wrong, the prof’s a nice guy and a fair grader, but I just don’t get the sense he’s weak.”

"Ha, you don’t know the half of it," I mutter. After hours, Liam used his element to bring (willing and consenting) participants to their knees.

"What?" Samson asks.

“Uhhh…” I clear my throat and change the subject. "This really isn’t what we need to discuss."

"No, it’s not," he agrees with resignation.

"Look, this is a bad idea. Let’s just explain that this isn’t going to work and ask for different tutors."

"And if that doesn’t work, we can always fail," Samson suggests.

"Hey." I frown at him. It sounded like a joke, but I worry there was a grain of truth there.

"Sorry,” he offers awkwardly. “But you don’t want to work with me either."

"I’m here on a scholarship. Failing isn’t really an option. I won’t get another chance.” Even if failing is looking better by the second. “Though believe me, I am tempted."

"Hey!" This time, he’s offended. “I’m here on a scholarship too. I need this to work too.”

Except we can’t work together. For one thing, "Do you think I want the guy who blew me off and rejected me to give me private lessons?"

Samson looks pained, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Yeah, about that… I had to get out of there. I know I acted like a total dick. I’m sorry. You deserved better than that.”

“What happened?” I wonder quietly.

"It's complicated." His foot taps anxiously against the floor. "Um, it's me."

"Let me stop you right there." Twisting towards him in my seat, I give him a serious look. "I grew up underwater, but I have seen movies before. Please don't give me the 'it's not you, it's me' line."

"No, it's not that." He frowns, looking like he's thinking hard. "My powers…"

"Huh? What does your magic have to do with anything?"

"Well, the trouble I'm having… I'm not even sure you'd understand. Aren't nymphs born with their powers?"

"Yeah, usually. But I actually have a brand too. Actually, I asked for it yesterday, so I might be new to human magic but that doesn't mean I can't help."

He looks over at me, maybe in surprise, and something else. Staring at me for a second, expression hard. Then it all vanishes like it was never there and he goes awkward again, staring at the desk and not me.

“This isn't going to work.” Samson coughs and shrugs helplessly. "I don’t have answers for you, so it’s probably better if we…"

"Stay away from each other?" I fill in.

“Guess so."

Dammit. Just when I thought we'd get somewhere, and now he's closed off and shutting me out again. How did we even get here? How did the friendly, flirty firebrand I was getting along with so well become so closed off and distant?

Good thing Samson isn’t a subject I’m being graded on. I’d fail for sure.

“See you around, Argyle.” Samson thinks that’s the end of our conversation and gets up to leave.

“Wait, hold on.”

“I have to go.”

“Just hold on a minute.”

Samson tries to rush out the door, and I try to stop him, not about to let him just run out of here without a better answer. How do I start unraveling the puzzle of Samson, a guy so mysterious that even his first name is shrouded in mystery?

The office is small, so it's not difficult to catch up with him. I almost reach him at the door, close enough to touch him, if a wall of fire didn't spring up between us.

"Whoa!"

A wave of intense heat and flickering red flames has me leaping back. The flames extinguish moments later, leaving me wide-eyed as I fixate on the spot where they surged forth, a charred black scorch mark marring the carpet's surface. The acrid scent of burnt fibers hangs in the air.

“Did you... did you just...” Did he send up a wall of flame to block me?

“Sorry, it was... I...”

My surprise starts morphing into anger. “You what? Are you going to say it was an accident?”

Samson looks at the ground, and a muscle in his jaw twitches.

“That's what I thought,” I say with grim satisfaction. College casters aren't perfect; volatile elemental reactions can occur. But not like this. Adult casters have better control. "You were totally out of line! You can’t just use fire to torch all your problems.”

“Argyle…” Adult casters have control but not maturity because here Samson still can't be an adult and talk to me.

“Don’t worry. I get the message loud and clear.” I give him a look of disgust. “I don't want anything to do with you either.”

I’m the one who can’t get away fast enough this time. The door slams shut behind me as I storm out of the room.

Him blowing me off at the club was a blessing in disguise. I can’t believe I was starting to like him.

He doesn’t need a wall of fire to keep me away, not anymore. His attitude is repellent enough. I plan to stay far away from Samson from here on out.