The Tutor

and other surprises

Credit: B K Marshall via ChatGPT AI

From the time I started school, teachers used to say that I had potential, but all I cared about was sports. Even though I wasn’t big enough for football, it was my fantasy sport, and I pictured myself being a quarterback in the Super Bowl, and going into the Hall of Fame.

I pretty much blamed the Clark side of my family for my build, which was super tall and skinny. Girls weren’t crazy about guys like me, so throwing myself into basketball gave me something to look forward to after school.

And I was good at it. Most of my friends were on the basketball team, and we went out for pizza after wins. Eric and Matt were big on teasing me about how much I ate and still stayed skinny.

“Justin could eat the whole thing and stay a toothpick.”

They didn’t mean any harm, but it bugged the shit out of me, listening to all this crap about my weight.

Both of them were total chick magnets, even though Eric’s girlfriend, Megan, was starting to tighten the reins on him, but he didn’t seem to mind.

Matt and Eric were good friends, and we synced together well on the court, having played together for years in the neighborhood.

My parents were under the illusion that I was good enough for a basketball scholarship to college. I did have a few trophies to show for my shooting, but our school was a little postage stamp in the state, and colleges weren’t going to come begging for me.

As part of my parents’ plan, they hired a tutor for my foreign language study. Most good colleges require taking a foreign language. I was pretty good at math, but stunk at the language things.

My mother asked me what days were free of practice and told me Monique would help me get my grades up for “a full ride to State,” as Dad liked to put it.

The afternoon the tutor was coming, my mother encouraged me to dress business casual, a new term she had latched onto recently. My parents were great, and I tried not to mess with them about anything. I was upstairs when the doorbell rang, and my mother got into her singsong ‘company is here’ voice.

“Justin will be right down. May I get you some water or a soda?”

I heard her before I saw her.

Her accent was thick. Her voice was hot. Monique was French.

As I approached her near the desk in the den, she stood up and shook my hand. My heart nearly stopped at the curve of her jaw and the way her hair touched her shoulder. And she was shy, kind of like me. I was hooked.

And I was in big trouble, knowing nothing about girls and never taking a shot with them.

But I can’t think of anything else but Monique.

Stick around until after I get through this cyclone of feelings, because a lovesick dude isn’t getting a full ride to State, no matter what Dad or anybody has to say about it.