“Well, I know that my grade in this class could be improved.”
“Is that a question?”
“I’d like to do what I can to improve it, and I was wondering if there were any extra credit assignments?”
She held my gaze as she said this, her hand going up to the side of her face to absently push back a strand of highlighted blonde hair. I caught sight of her fingernails, which were perfectly manicured, painted with lavender polish. She had a couple expensive-looking rings on, and when she smiled, it revealed perfectly white, perfectly aligned teeth. Her whole persona screamed good health, good wealth, and used to getting exactly what she wanted. Maybe I was supposed to feel good that this girl was jocking me, but I didn’t; I found it irritating as all hell.
And I wasn’t about to be another in the long line of fools that gave her exactly what she wanted.
“I’m sure we could figure something out,” I said slowly, and her smile deepened.
“Excellent,” she said. “I’d be happy—more than happy—to do whatever it is that you had in mind.”
“Thrilled to hear it. What I’d like to get from you then, is a profile piece that focuses on one of the employees here at the college. Not one of the professors, but someone who works in the cafeteria, or one of the custodians. Fifteen hundred words.”
“Right,” she said, not sounding thrilled. “Okay, sure. I’ll get that to you as soon as I can.”
“Looking forward to it.” We both knew she’d never do it.
I had a little bit of time to kill before the meeting, so I went back to the office. Upon opening my laptop, I saw that several people had replied to my RSVP, dutifully correcting the missed punctuation, a few gently admonishing that there was “no need to shout” but they were “glad I was so excited about it.” I was trying to think up something witty to reply with when I heard someone walk into the room.
It was Tessa.
“Hi,” she said. “I’m sorry to interrupt.”
“Quite all right,” I said. I pulled my feet down off the top of the desk. “You weren’t in class earlier.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I overslept and then . . . well . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“I’m glad you stopped by, actually. There was something that I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Okay,” she said. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about, too. And . . . and . . .” She looked down at the floor. “I’d like to take you up on that extra credit, um, assignment, if it’s still available.”
She said it in a rush, still staring at the ground. I had to bite down hard on my lip to keep from laughing out loud. Did she just say what I think she did?
I looked past her to make sure the office door was closed. “Wait a second,” I said. “Are you telling me you want to be my sex toy?”
Her face reddened, but she finally looked up at me. Our eyes met, and she didn’t look away. “Yes,” she said. “I need to get my GPA back up.”
I smiled. I was about to tell her that while I appreciated her interest in that extra credit “assignment” I had originally offered, I would give her a more traditional assignment, say, write a feature article about a social cause that interested her. I opened my mouth to begin speaking, but she started talking before I could.
“Because if I don’t get my grades back up, my parents are going to cut me off. They take my grades very seriously, and I had an agreement with them that I’d maintain a certain GPA. Which I’m not maintaining.”
“What do you mean, they’ll cut you off?”
She looked surprised that I’d ask. “They’re not going to give me money anymore. They’ll stop paying for my apartment, and they might not even continue to pay for school. I don’t have any money of my own, so there’s no way I could even begin to afford any of this. And I’ve only got another year left before I graduate. I can’t let that happen.”
So she was just another spoiled little rich girl, living off her parents. For fuck’s sake, I was surrounded by them. I wanted to launch into a tirade about my own miserable childhood, about a single mother who had to work two jobs, who was never around, about a boy who spent more time at friends’ houses or the after school program, who got free lunch, who never had new clothes, blah, blah, blah. Who paid his own way through school, through a combination of scholarships, grants, student loans, and work-study jobs. That boy who had great disdain for his many classmates who had their whole way paid for them, who only had to focus on studying and partying, who didn’t even realize how good they fucking had it. She was one of them.
I nodded. “I see,” I said. “We certainly wouldn’t want that to happen, would we?”
“No,” she said. “My parents were already so upset when I told them about my grades. They’re giving me until next semester. And if I don’t get my grades back up, they’re going to do it. They’re going to cut me off; it’s not just an idle threat.”
I resisted the urge to tell her to wait a second, I just needed to find my violin. Instead, I nodded again, and clasped my hands together.
“Sure,” I said. “Let’s do it.”
She paused. “Now?”