Drumbeats into My Heart

65. Seth and the Troll

"Good morning, Bridget," I announce tiredly as I push through the door of the tutoring center.

"Good morning. Word of the day?"

I slide my backpack off and thunk it onto a table. "Not today, sorry."

"Psh, nothing to be sorry for. Something the matter?" She sets her pen down and removes her bifocals.

I drop into a chair with a heavy sigh. "I biked up a murderous hill yesterday, in murderous hundred-degree heat, all to deliver something to a girl who probably wants to murder me."

"That's a lot of murder." She taps her finger on the desk. "Might today's word be hyperbole?"

I give her a one-shouldered shrug, too despondent to care that she might be judging me. Or that hyperbole is a great word. It's hard to care about anything today.

"All right, I see you're not in the mood for jokes today."

I flash her a brief apologetic smile before extracting a notebook from my backpack and facing away from her.

Jordi had looked magnificent yesterday. She had on a blue blouse that I'm sure would have perfectly set off the sapphire in her eyes. They had been closed as she played, sweat glistening on her skin. I'd been watching her from afar, trying to figure out what to say to her. I had no idea how to start the conversation I wanted to have. How to win her back.

So I didn't.

I just chose that moment to carefully place the MP3 player in her tip jar and scamper off like a scared puppy.

Now there's nothing left for me to do. Two weeks of pouring my heart out into the recordings has left me drained and sad. My last-ditch effort is a one-sided conversation with a microphone. I have little hope it'll make much of a difference.

The office door slams open and the ensuing clumping sound is like a football player stomping in. I looked up.

Nope, definitely not a football player.

Martin Babcock.

I sigh. Please, not today. I'm in no mood for the class shrew. What the boy lacks in stature he makes up for in churlishness and snide comments. With his thick glasses and plaid shirt buttoned all the way up the neck, people often mistake him for a bookworm.

He most definitely is not.

"Good morning, Martin," Bridget greets with her usual politeness.

"I'm here for my required torture session."

"Well sign yourself in." She slides a clipboard across to him. "It can't be that bad. Seth is the nicest, smartest tutor you'll ever meet."

Martin rolls his eyes at her, an action greatly magnified by his glasses. "How long has it been, like a hundred years since you took Trig?"

She's completely unfazed. "Thereabouts."

He guffaws. "You'd be perfect for Mr. Excitement over there. Hey, Seth! You should ask her out. I think she's got the hots for you."

I grind my teeth. Why am I scheduled to tutor a troll today of all days?

Bridget speaks, the weight of steel in her voice. "If you don't settle down, young man, we will notify your father that you have exhausted all the resources of this center and have no choice but to recommend paid private tutoring."

Martin raises his thick eyebrows. "Whoa, get a load of Miss Sound and Fury over here."

"Have you even read that book?" I grip the pencil so hard it's on the verge of snapping.

Martin shrugs. "Who cares? She sounds furious. Get it?" Getting no reaction, he rolls his eyes again. "Fine, let's get this over with." He trudges to my table and slams his backpack on it, causing me to flinch.

The door opens again, and the movement draws my attention. My eyes grow wide and the pencil drops from my hand.

It's Jordi.

I blink, not sure if I'm suffering from powerful wishful thinking.

She takes a tentative step in, eyes sweeping the office until she sees me.

Martin follows my gaze and whistles. "Hellooo blondie."

She ignores him, continuing to lock her gaze with mine.

I'm a parched man in the desert, dying of thirst, seeing a mirage. "Jordi?"

Her smile stops my heart. She's really here.

I grin back.

"I..." She takes a few steps toward me. "I wanted to return this to you." She holds up my MP3 player in her open palm.

"Wow, that's the most beat-up thing I've ever seen." Martin points at her hand as he chortles. "You gave that to her? No wonder she doesn't want it. How old is it?"

"Martin!" I flare at him though clenched teeth.

The boy raises his hands in surrender and sits down.

"I listened to it," Jordi said, stepping closer. "All your messages. And... I..." Her eyes flick to Martin and back. "I hear you."

"Wait, don't tell me you two are together!" Martin hoots. "Seth, how on earth did you bag this babe?"

I turn on him, practically snarling. "Martin, I swear, I don't know if you act this way because you really are stupid, or if you weren't given enough hugs as a child, but this running commentary on things that have absolutely nothing to do with you has to stop. In fact, you need to stop talking altogether. You want to know why no one likes you? Because you insult everyone! Every word out of your mouth puts people down. If you want friends, learn to shut the hell up!"

I'm breathing hard by the end of my tirade and my face feels blotchy. Not once in all the different scenarios I conjured involving reuniting with Jordi did I imagine Martin freaking Babcock being part of it.

He stares at me with wide eyes, visibly cowed and quiet for a change.

When I turn back to face Jordi, she's gone.

I race around the table and out the door, desperate to talk to Jordi. She had to be here still. She wanted to talk, right?

I scan the hall, the grounds, the street, looking for her swishing striped skirt.

But she's gone.

I hope she's not looking for the Vote button, because it's right over there. *stares at the star*