Tutoring the Delinquent

“I’m Teddy Xavier.” I duck down a little, trying to see her face, frowning when she only hides it further. “Obviously you remember we have a tutoring appointment since you’re holding the book. Are you…?” I really don’t understand the weird discomfort in my chest. Different from the ever-present anger. More like concern or anticipation. I don’t know. “Is everything okay?”

She nods again. Says nothing.

Frowning, I look around the dorm room. The girl who answered the door is back to sitting on her bed and she’s taking sneaky pictures of me, as if I wouldn’t notice. I’m sure they’ll be all over Twitter and TikTok by tomorrow morning, but I can’t find it in me to give a shit.

No, what draws my attention, instead, is the way the dorm room is divided.

Iris has been limited to the island of her tiny bed, while this girl’s stuff is everywhere. She’s taking up ninety percent of the room with her Taylor Swift posters and furniture and clothes. It’s obvious where her section of the room ends and Iris’s begins, because my tutor’s portion is bare and sparse and small. Too small for a person to breathe in, let alone live.

“Hey,” I bark, jerking my chin at the cheerleader-type. “Is this all your shit?”

The phone drops into her lap and she goes from flirty to belligerent in about two point five seconds. “She said I could have most of the space.”

“Did you say that?” I ask Iris.

Several ticks of silence go by.

Then she looks up at me, the blonde hair falling back to her shoulders. And my stomach takes a dramatic dive, the way it does when a roller coaster plumets from a great height. Why can’t I fucking breathe? I actually lurch for the wall to stabilize myself, but I don’t—I won’t take my gaze off of her. Jesus. Jesus.

She’s so solemnly beautiful with her big, serious eyes. What fucking color is that? Purple? Some undiscovered shade of blue? Her mouth is unpainted and soft and wide. And I don’t know how I can tell she rarely uses it to speak, but I do. I just know. I just know everything she’s thinking in a single instant, almost like we’re using telepathy.

“No, she didn’t,” I growl at the other girl, without taking my attention from Iris. “She didn’t say you could take up the whole room. Have it fixed by tomorrow or I’ll do it for you.” I point at the door. “Right now? You can leave.”

“Leave?” she screeches, shooting to her feet. “This is my room—”

“Cool story. Find another one.”

It takes her a minute to gather up her things and stomp out of the dorm room, slamming the door behind her. During that minute, I can’t look away from the quiet little genius sitting in front of me, shivering as if she’s scared. Of me? Oh God, I don’t know why, but I absolutely cannot have that. My whole life is about intimidating other people, that’s how I’ve been an All-American two years running. But if this fairy is afraid of me, I think it might tear me open like a knife through a sack of flour.

“It’s okay,” I say, gently as possible.

Her chest starts to rise and fall quickly.

“Should I not have made her leave? Are you scared to be alone with me?” When she only continues to watch me like a timid rabbit, I have no idea what comes over me. I have no idea, but I kneel. I kneel down and slowly remove my jacket, tossing it on the floor, holding up my hands. Showing her I’m huge and strong, but I’m just a man? I have no idea. I have no idea what’s happening at all, but my heart is going to burst out of my body any second now. “There’s nothing to be afraid of, Iris.”

“I’m not afraid,” she whispers.

My world grinds to a halt. That voice. That voice. Every syllable out of her mouth is like a warm washcloth being dragged across the grime inside of me, wiping me clear. Cleansing me. I have to dig my fingers into the back of my neck to prevent myself from crawling forward and burying my face in her lap. “Why are you shaking?”

“You stood up for me.” Her tone is totally incredulous. “I didn’t expect it.”

“You needed me to, right?” I look around at the possessions encroaching on her space and I want to throw it all through the glass window. “Right, Iris?”

Slowly, reluctantly, she nods. “Thank you.”

My throat is too dry to swallow. “What else do you need?”

I sound like a complete idiot. My voice is hoarse, I’m practically growling at this girl to give me another mission to complete for her. What is going on here? Yes, she’s gorgeous—though most of her beauty is hidden behind hair and oversized clothes. She’s obviously sweet, too, with an angelic voice. Apparently she’s smart as a whip. All of those things make her impressive, but nothing explains my intense reaction to her. No, it’s coming from somewhere deeper. Jesus, it’s coming from my fucking soul. The soul that is about to leave my body if I don’t touch her. If I don’t establish that she’s mine.