“You have a choice, Kathy. Either participate in at least two different pieces, or get an F for the class.”
How could I refuse when Miss Goforth put it that way?
Mistie shook her head. “Well, at least it won’t be in front of the whole school at once.” Mistie turned to squint out one of our school’s huge windows in the front of the building. Any minute, her mom was due to come pick us up from school. Before I could respond, Mistie jumped as if she’d been bitten. “Oh no—I forgot my history book. Stay and watch for my mom while I get it, okay, Kathy?” I nodded and watched her sprint down the hall to her locker.
“ . . . I really hope you can make it. Please say you’ll come, Jason!”
I was torn between freezing and whirling around. In a moment, I heard Jason’s booming voice answering Angela’s high-pitched, nasal one. Why did they have to come down this hall right now? It was bad enough to be standing alone in the hallway like an idiot, but to have Jason West and Angela Barnett come around made it ten thousand times worse.
I had to do something—I couldn’t just stand there. Now it felt incredibly dumb to be waiting for a mom to come and give me a ride. I turned my back to them and realized I was standing near one of our school’s many trophy cases, so it seemed appropriate to fake interest in it. Too interested to notice that Jason and Angela were coming down the hall.
I walked slowly towards the trophy case, dragging my overstuffed bag of books off my shoulder. I started at the top shelf, and as my eyes traveled downwards past an assortment of shiny gold trophies and colorful ribbons, my breath drew in sharply as if I’d been punched in the stomach. I peered harder at the face grinning at me. Brett. He was in his football uniform, kneeling on one knee with his football helmet held securely by his hand on his raised knee. His uniform was clean and pressed, and his dark hair was combed. Number nine. Quarterback. For the Varsity team. And he’d only been a sophomore. I could feel that strange connection pulling at me and reached out and lightly touched the glass that separated him from me—
“Come on, Kathy. How long has my mom been sitting there?” I jumped, pulling my hand back sharply as if I’d been burned. My fingers were trembling so badly I could barely lift my bag to my shoulder as I mumbled an apology. It wasn’t until after climbing into the car that I remembered I knew another sophomore quarterback who was on the Varsity team. Jason. I squinted hard, trying to see through the school’s huge front windows from inside the car, but Jason and Angela were long gone.
CHAPTER FIVE
As if on cue, Jason came flying at a dead run into Honors English the next morning while the last bell rang. Nearly late as usual. But I grudgingly had to acknowledge the fact that he’d been true to his word: He’d never been late again. Barely not late, but not late, just the same.
I’d planned on talking to Mrs. Dubois alone before class about the tutoring situation, but I was scarcely able to say, “Jason West signed up for me to be his English tutor—” before she cut me off without even looking up from the mass of paperwork on her desk.
“Oh, yes. I noticed that, too. We’ll have to speak about it after class, though. I don’t have time to discuss it right now.”
I sighed in relief. Good. At least she agreed that it was a problem.
Once class was over, of course Jason just had to take forever to pack up a mere notebook, pen, and literature book into his backpack, but as soon as he stood up and started for the door, I hurried up the aisle between desks to where Mrs. Dubois was seated behind her desk.
“Mrs. Dubois?”
“Yes, Kathryn?” She didn’t look up from thumbing through stacks and stacks of papers.
“About the tutoring schedule for this class—” I began.
Thankfully, she quickly looked up. “Oh, yes—thank you for reminding me. I almost forgot.” With that, she nearly sprang over her desk to hurry to the doorway Jason had disappeared through a second before. “Mr. West, can you please come back inside?”
I shifted my book bag nervously to my other shoulder. I’d hoped she’d tell Jason alone that he’d have to choose someone else to tutor him.
“Yes, Mrs. Dubois?” Jason quickly stepped back into the classroom before raising an eyebrow at me.
“Kathryn has just reminded me that I needed to speak to you both about the Honors English tutoring board and the fact that you signed up to have Miss Colton as your tutor.”
I faced Jason with triumph. “I’m glad you agree this is going to be a problem.”
Mrs. Dubois turned to look at me with raised eyebrows. “Problem? I don’t foresee any problem. What problem are you referring to, Miss Colton?”
I gasped, trying to get my tongue in gear. “I—I assumed you wanted to talk about the tutoring because you agreed that we—Jason and I—are a bad matchup. Wasn’t I right about that?”
Jason did nothing but grin broadly as the debate continued between Mrs. Dubois and myself. In the end, I was forced to grudgingly agree to a trial tutoring session.
“I think you both need a trial session before any decision is made to terminate this particular tutoring partnership. You may be surprised at how it works out, Miss Colton.”
I gave my locker door a nice, hard slam after lunch period was over before I stalked down the hall to the library for my first tutoring session. Why hurry? He’ll probably be late. Not only that, I knew—I just knew—he was going to make a joke of this. His way of getting me back for making him look bad in English. Another way of squirting ketchup all over me again. But I stopped short in surprise to see Jason sitting at attention at a table near the library door, notebook, pen, and literature book neatly arranged in front of him. He looked up when I came in, grinned, and had the nerve to wave. My heart was pounding as I marched up to him and dropped my book bag to the ground by the table. “You’re on time. I’m impressed,” I said, sliding into a chair.
“What’s so impressive about that?”
I shrugged. “You’re late to English every morning. I figured you must be a constantly late type of person.”
Jason laughed. “Hey, I get to my seat before the last bell stops ringing every day! Besides, you try getting from the seminary building all the way to the other end of school every morning and see if you’re on time.”
I looked up from digging into my book bag and frowned at Jason. “Seminary building?”
Jason raised an eyebrow. “The one kitty corner from the football field. My first class of the day is there.”
“What class is that?”
“Seminary. Early-morning seminary, no less. Every morning at seven in the a.m.”
I shook my head, still frowning. “Seminary? That can’t be a required class. I’ve never even heard of it.”
Jason shook his head back. “No, no, it’s not required. Totally elective. It’s a religion class for LDS kids. Mormons.”
“You’re an LDS Mormon kid, then?”
Jason grinned. “Exactly.”
“Well, I’m not one. Is that going to be a problem for you?” In a way, I hoped it would be. It would make a great excuse to get out of what I was sure would end up being a fiasco.
Jason looked surprised. Almost offended. Or hurt. “No, why would it be?”
I shrugged uncomfortably and looked away. “I don’t know. No reason, I guess. It shouldn’t make any difference at all, right? I mean, we’re not going to be studying religion, right?” I was babbling like an idiot, and I knew it.
“Exactly,” Jason said. For the second time.
“Well, let’s get on with it.” I quickly reached down and snatched my English book out of my bag. “It looks like we’ll be studying Ambrose Bierce this week. Have you read ‘The Boarded Window’ or ‘An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge’ yet?”
Jason looked at me in surprise. Again. “Actually, I haven’t. Not yet, anyway—”
Why hadn’t I guessed as much? I could feel my blood pressure rising. “How am I supposed to help you if you haven’t even read the material?”
“I’m sorry—I had football practice and a game this weekend, and we had some family stuff going on—”
Great. Just great. “It’s going to be impossible for me to help you if you haven’t read the assignment. I’ve got too much studying and reading and papers to write myself to do all of yours, too.” I stood up and started packing my bag while I practically yelled at him. Jason stood up, too, and at least had the decency to look worried.
“I’m not asking you to do my papers for me. Wait—please don’t leave.” I glanced up, my English book in one hand, and forced myself to look at him. Jason sighed. “Look, I’m sorry. From now on, at the very least, I’ll have my reading done before I meet you. This won’t happen again, okay?”
“And I should believe you because . . . ?”
“Because I promised Mrs. Dubois I wouldn’t be late again, and I’ve kept my promise to her, haven’t I?”
I didn’t know what to say to that, because that fact was true. Barely, but still true.
But Jason wasn’t done yet. “I’m going to be honest with you, okay? My grades aren’t the best, and English is my worst subject. If I fall below a ‘B,’ it’ll lower my grade point too much, and I won’t be able to stay on the Varsity football team.” I must have looked annoyed, because he hurried on before I could interrupt. “I realize that football means nothing to you, but it’s important to me. If there was something I could do in return, I’d do it in a second.”
I wasn’t sure I believed that, and I wasn’t about to let it soften me up. “How’d you get into Honors English if you’re not good at English?”
Jason shrugged. “I’m too smart for Sophomore English, I guess.” I rolled my eyes, but before I could say anything, Jason hurried on. “Okay, okay—actually, I did have some strings pulled so I could be in the class. I want to take AP English when I’m a senior, but I can’t get into that class without going through sophomore and junior Honors English first.”
“Why do you want to take AP English?”
Jason looked at me as if I was a complete idiot. “So I can take the AP test and hopefully pass and get some college credit in high school—why else?” I opened my mouth to say something cutting, but Jason wasn’t finished yet. “Besides—getting rid of a few English classes in college will give me more time to practice football, study, or whatever. And, it won’t hurt to have a few more classes out of the way before I go on a mission.”
“A mission?”
Jason grinned. “For my church, for two years. Most guys leave at nineteen, and that’s when I plan to go. I figured taking AP English as a senior would be a good idea, but I didn’t count on massive amounts of reading and paper writing. But if I have someone help me who can show me how to find all the cool stuff in stories and poetry, I know I’ll be able to handle this.”
I said nothing while he stared hopefully at me. How was I supposed to react to that? I folded my arms across my chest and looked hard at him. “Three times.”
“What?” The confusion on his face was priceless.
“Read the story we’re assigned each week at least three times. The first time, read just to enjoy the story. The second time, read it with the paper’s thesis in mind. The third time, read it to underline passages that will support your thesis. Then you’re ready to discuss the story with me, and then you can write your paper. After that, we’ll work on editing and proofing.”
Jason grinned. “Sounds good.”
“And if you turn this into a big joke and try to act all ‘too cool for school’ with me, like you think English literature is stupid and boring and a waste of your time, then we’re done.”
He nodded and kept grinning. “Okay.”
I nodded and sat back down in my seat. “Good. Open your book and start reading.”
Jason quickly slid into his chair and obediently opened his book with that annoying grin still on his face and started to read. I busied myself with the beginnings of my own paper, but I couldn’t help sneaking looks at him out of the corner of my eye. It was strange—this feeling of power I had. Here he was, this big, tall football player allowing himself to be ordered around by me. How strange, I grinned. No wonder so many people went to college to become teachers!
When the bell rang, I quickly gathered my books and papers together and leaned down to stuff them in my book bag. When I sat up to grab my pen, I jumped. A large, flat, white box with a small pink bow sat on the table just under my nose. I looked up at Jason questioningly and nudged the box suspiciously. “What’s this for?”
“For you, of course.” He tried to act all casual, but he seemed—nervous. Definitely.
I frowned, still looking at the box. “Why?”
“So that you’ll consider staying on as my English tutor.”
I looked up blandly at Jason. “So this is a bribe, then?”
“I prefer to think of it as a gift.”
Before I could say anything else, Jason tossed his backpack over one shoulder with a “see ya” and sauntered out the library door. I stared at the box for I didn’t know how long before finally reaching out to tug the ribbon off and open it.
I couldn’t help gasping. Inside a bed of pink tissue paper with L’Armoire’s unmistakable gold sticker lay a sweater—a light blue, cashmere sweater. With a square neckline and long sleeves. A small note card was tucked inside the sweater. “They were all out of purple ones. Hope you’ll like this one anyway. Thanks for being my teacher.—Jason.”
CHAPTER SIX
o, how did you like ‘Desiree’s Baby’?”
Jason waited until he had pulled his literature book out of his
backpack and settled himself at our usual table in the back corner of the library for tutor/study hall before answering. I’d been tutoring Jason for about three weeks now, but I hadn’t let myself decide whether he preferred to sit at practically the farthest reaches of the universe because he really wanted to focus on studying literature, or if he didn’t want any of his friends to know he needed tutoring. Or, the fact had to be faced, no matter how much it hurt—if it had something to do with me.
“Pretty crazy ending, don’t you think?”
I snapped out of my thoughts and glanced at Jason before I shrugged. “Yes and no. Kate Chopin loved to end her stories with ironic twists.”
Jason shook his head. “I thought it was sad he didn’t find out the truth—that he was the one ‘born under the brand of slavery,’ not his wife—until it was too late.”
I raised my eyebrows. “How can you be so sure he didn’t know all along?”
Jason looked at me with surprise. “You don’t really believe he knew all along, do you? I mean, she was his wife, and he loved her.”
I grinned. Tutoring Jason was turning out to be a lot more fun than I had ever imagined. I loved bringing up opposite ways of looking at the stories and watching him stumble around, trying to mull over a new way of looking at something. “The great thing about literature is that it’s like arguing a case in court. As long as you can find evidence to support your theory, you have a chance of winning, so to speak.” I tapped Jason’s textbook with my pen. “You go ahead and write your paper with your belief that he didn’t know until it was too late. Just be sure to support your opinion with examples from the story. I’m writing my paper to the opposite effect.”
“Yeah, well, we’ll see who gets the A this time!” Jason grinned.
I rolled my eyes. “I love Kate Chopin’s stories, because things are never what they seem to be. Reminds me not to make a judgment call until I know all the facts.”
Jason nodded seriously. “Funny how you can learn that kind of stuff from stories. I mean, we talk about things like this in seminary and church. And we read about it in the scriptures all the time.”
I wasn’t sure what irked me more: his actual statement or the annoying way he had of working a religious comment into every tutoring session. Without fail. Sometimes he actually dared to throw one of his religious comments around in Honors English. As a res
ult, I was unwillingly learning more about the Mormon church than I ever wanted to. He was studying his religion’s bible—the Book of Mormon—this year in his seminary class, and he got a gigantic kick out of “casually” tossing out stories and statements by the characters in his scripture book with bizarre names like Nephi, Moroni, and Zerahemnah during our tutor/study hour. Sometimes I left his religious comments and stories alone with a shrug, and other times I just couldn’t. This time, I couldn’t.
“Great literature should always instruct as it entertains. Why is it a shock to you that you can learn moral truths in some place other than the Bible and somewhere other than a seminary class or church?”
Jason looked surprised. “I didn’t mean for it to come out sounding like that. It’s just that these are just stories—”
“And the Bible isn’t full of ‘just stories’ that are meant to teach? Since you seem to read your scriptures so much, you should know how powerful stories are and how well they can get a message across. Sometimes better than straight preaching on a topic, don’t you think?” I had to really fight to keep myself from smiling at the flustered look on his face while he stuttered, trying to think of something to say.
“Yes, I guess, at times.” I could feel my heart starting to pound weird and fast like it always did when Jason looked at me too long, so I looked away and thumbed through the pages of my literature book for “Desiree’s Baby.” Bigger irony for me than any of Kate Chopin’s endings was that I had to admit that the tutoring sessions with Jason had been going surprisingly well. He was always on time, had read the material, and had interesting comments and questions ready to discuss. He didn’t act at all like a stereotypical high school football star. It almost shocked me how much he got into studying stories and poems. I was seeing more and more every day why Honors English was the best place for him. I would never have admitted this to anyone, but I could secretly admit to myself that I looked forward to tutor/study hall. The time had gone by so fast it was hard to believe we’d been working together for a few weeks now and that October was almost here.
The Secret Journal of Brett Colton Page 4