“Uh, I work here,” he says, his tone indicating he doesn’t think much of my deductive reasoning skills. “It’s a requirement for one of my classes. I’m the writing and English Lit tutor Monday through Friday from noon to three.”
“This is great,” I tell him, taking a seat.
He looks up from his reading, clearly annoyed that I keep interrupting him. And clearly clueless as to why I’m here.
“It’s your lucky day.” I smile sweetly. “I need an English tutor.”
His face pales as his eyebrow arches. “Freshman Comp giving you trouble?” The disdain is clear. The Ty in front of me is at complete odds with the guy who sat outside my dorm last week, holding my hand and checking to see if I was adjusting ok. I wonder if he treats all of the students like this? Or if his harsh words are reserved just for me. What is his deal?
“You’ll have to wait for Megan. She’ll be back in five or ten minutes.” He gestures to a table and chairs a few feet away.
“You can’t help me?” Seriously? This guy is moody AF.
“Not with Freshman Comp. That’s Megan’s specialty. I only do Brit Lit and World Lit,” he says, a smug tilt to his voice as he dismisses me and resumes his reading.
“Perfect,” I tell him, oddly satisfied that he’s going to have to deal with me after all. “I had to drop freshman comp because it conflicted with my work schedule. So, now I’m the lone freshman, and only non-English major, in the Jane Austen seminar. And Jane Austen is the devil herself.”
He looks at me like I’ve insulted his mother. “Jane Austen is a literary genius. And her social commentary is still relevant today. Sorry her syntax is a little much for you, but I assure you, that’s your fault, not hers.”
Mel and Ian were right. This guy is a jerk and I don’t know why I ever thought to give him the benefit of the doubt. Digging deep for patience, I say, “that's why I’m here for help.”
“You don’t need help,” he says, shaking his head, “you need to drop the class.”
I shake my head. “I can’t do that. I could lose my scholarship if I fall below fifteen credits.”
“No, you won’t. Your scholarship has no credit requirement.”
“How do you know that?” I ask, annoyed that this guy walks around like he’s god’s gift to the university.
“I mean, a lot of them don’t.”
“The financial aid office hasn’t returned my email, and I’m not risking my scholarship.”
He shrugs. “Then change your hours at work.”
“What?” Is he for real? “Um, you are not the boss of me. I can’t do that. My hours are set and--”
“The drop/add period ends today at 4.” He points to a sign on the bulletin board. “So head over to the scheduling office and drop this class. I’ve had that professor. She’s brutal. You won’t survive.”
“You took this class?”
“No, but I had Barnes for Women in Lit. She’s brilliant and tough as hell. She won’t go easy on you, no matter the reason your name is on her roster.”
“I don’t want her to go easy on me. I just want help with this class.” I’m starting to lose my hard-won patience. “Isn’t that what the writing center is for?”
“Yes, but--”
Just then, a friendly-looking brunette walks past with an iced coffee in her hand. “Looks like you finally got someone to tutor.” She turns to me conspiratorially. “He was complaining about all the down time, so it’s a good thing you showed up.”
I smile at that, and turn back to Ty. “Yep, it’s Ty’s lucky day. And mine, too. This Jane Austen class is kicking my butt and this is the only time that fits in my schedule. Guess you guys will be seeing me every week.”
“Great.” She smiles. “And you’re in very good hands,” she tells me. “Ty, didn’t you do an independent study on Austen’s influence on Feminist thought last semester with Dr. DiCamillo?”
Gone is Asshole Ty, now he’s morphed into quiet, but socially acceptable Ty. “Yea, I did,” he answers, though I can tell it’s information he’d rather not give up.
“Perfect. Then you can help--sorry, I didn’t catch your name? I’m Megan.”
“Phoebe,” I respond. “I’m an art major stuck in a class I’d never dream of taking.”
