Unloved: Chapter 4

My hands flex a little, eyebrows furrowed in light confusion as I watch the leggy brunette sprint like an Olympic track star for the exit. Someone rolls a desk chair into her path and she dodges it—though she’s got the legs, height, and speed to hurdle it—but clips a wall hard with her shoulder.

I watch, with arguably too much focus, the swish of her white tennis skirt, loving how tan her long limbs look in contrast—she’s tall, with curls bouncing down her back, loosely tied with a pretty bow.

A pulse of something warm has my feet shifting, body turning like I might follow her.

Right. I’m here for a reason, and I’m already—I check my phone—ten minutes late.

I’m unintentionally late . Which might be the reason I received a late-night email from my current assigned tutor, Rodger, that I needed to see him prior to the semester start to meet my new tutor.

People might know me as the school slut, a man-whore, but I cycle through tutors far faster than girls. Which I wouldn’t mind so much if it didn’t mess up my routines so much. It’s hard enough for me to keep track of my school and hockey schedules—add a new date and time, new location, every time I switch tutors? It makes it harder to remember and to go to the right place at the right time.

Walking to the back table where I usually meet Rodger, where I’ve met with him all summer, I come to a dead stop.

My stomach sinks, nauseous at the that greets me.

Tyler Donaldson stretched out in the chair next to Rodger.

I’ve had the distinct displeasure of knowing Tyler Donaldson for two years now. He started as my tutor at the end of sophomore year and continued through most of my junior year. Before handing me off to Rodger last spring—screwing me over before my finals with the sudden switch. He also has never once helped me with accommodations or tutoring. I started to assume he didn’t know, that maybe my file was still as incomplete as it had been since freshman year.

But then Rodger started attempting some of my accommodations for this summer, to help me pass my second try with biology, and I realized I’d been royally fucked over by the asshole Donaldson.

Even now, he watches me with that same sneer—like he hates that I exist. To piss him off, I smile a little wider, obnoxiously sauntering their way.

“Rodger.” I nod. “Who’s the preppy kid?”

“Tyler,” Rodger says, distracted by his phone as he usually is. So distracted that he’s reintroducing me to someone he I know—who tutored me for a year.

Tyler fumes, face red in a way that relaxes my false smile into a real grin.

“Funny, Fredderic,” he snaps. “Nice of you to show.”

I ignore him completely, planting my hands on the table and leaning over them. “I’m not switching back, Rodger. I’ll do the semester without a tutor if my only other option is—”

“I’m not your tutor,” Tyler says, cutting in. “Sit down and focus for two seconds and maybe we can get through this meeting normally.”

He’s smart, unfortunately, but uses his brainiac powers for evil, trying to hit me where it hurts. But I’ll never let him see that it works.

Sitting across from them, I cross my arms defensively, knee bouncing rapidly beneath the table.

“You failed biology. Again,” Rodger says, spinning my file tow-ard me.

A blush heats my cheeks before I can stop it, embarrassment and fury mixing at Tyler’s sardonic chuckle as he shakes his head at me. I’m sure he doesn’t to be here—in fact, I’m betting there are school policies preventing him from being involved in my academics—but I don’t want to stir up anything. I want to get the hell out of here.

“You’ll retake it in the fall,” my most recent tutor says. “And you’re going to be with a different tutor now. She’s great. She’ll make sure you pass.”

“She?” I mutter.

“Yeah,” Tyler laughs. “Your new tutor is a girl. Think you can refrain from sticking your dick in her for long enough to stay eligible?”

“Think you can refrain from a dick for more than five seconds?” I grin brightly. “Didn’t think so.”

“All right, Fredderic—”

“Stop it,” Rodger grumbles. “You’re both giving me a headache.” He flips open his worn satchel and grabs another sheet of paper, this one with a new study timetable. “This is the tentative first-week schedule for your tutoring sessions. You’ll meet her here for the first one next week, and then you two can decide where to meet.”

“Preferably somewhere public,” Tyler says, eyeing me.

“Cute,” I snap, grabbing the paper and folding it. “Anything else?”

“Yeah.” Rodger nods and slips the stapled packet over. “Your fall class schedule—I looked over it already. Your math professor sucks, so get ready for that, but you’re with Tinley for bio at least…”

He continues talking, but I don’t hear a word, heartbeat thundering in my ears at the mention of her name. I pretend to study the schedule, but my anxiety is too high to focus, the words blurring on the page beneath my fingers.

“Is there another biology course open?” I ask, not bothering to apologize for cutting him off. Rodger looks to Tyler, but he shakes his head.

“No,” Rodger says. “Not one that doesn’t interfere with your hockey schedule.”

“Can I take it in the spring?”

“Tinley is great,” Tyler says. “She’s our boss—she’s the best biology professor we have.”

“I don’t really give a shit, Donaldson.” I hate the sound of my own voice, the anxiety leaking into my tone. I sound like I’m pleading, so I force a bit of frustration into it. It’s better to sound angry about it than fearful—God forbid one of these geniuses has already traveled down the road I did years ago.

“Whatever.” He rolls his eyes, shoving back and grabbing his belongings. “I’m out. You deal with him.”

“Nope,” Rodger says, talking over me while I sit here, feeling more and more like a child whose parents are deciding what to do with him. “He’s Shariff’s responsibility now.”

I barely hear what he says, still trying to problem solve in my own head.

Turning back to me as Tyler slips away and exits the library, Rodger scratches his head and huffs an annoyed breath.

“You can’t take it next semester, Freddy,” Rodger says, his voice a little softer than it was now that his friend is gone. “What if you fail? Then you’re not even eligible to graduate—then what?”

I close my eyes, trying to breathe a little slower, trying to stop the shaking caused by my bouncing knees.

, even if he doesn’t understand my hesitation. It’s this, or possibly not graduating, and then I’ve suffered through four years with nothing to show for it.

“Okay.” I nod, folding the schedule and tucking it around my tutoring papers. “Yeah, I got you.”

“You’ll be fine,” Rodger sighs. “Your new tutor is great. You’ll like her.”