Evan Peters Imagines and One Shots

My New Tutor - Seth Wosmer

"Don't you think you're being unreasonable, Mom?" I pleaded. "Everyone is failing that class, not just me. It's not my fault."

My biggest enemy was a piece of paper mailed home by the school. Report cards loved to come whenever my mother was less stressed. Today, she returned home from a relaxing spa day when the paper almost made her blow a fuse. My math grade was horseshit. But it's math. What did she expect? She should be mad at the idiot who added special characters. Those equations look like they're trying to communicate with their home planet.

"I figured you would say that, so I called Mrs. Arnold. All her students seemed to have trouble this semester," my mother acknowledged.

"See, what did I tell you? It's her, not me. It's not my fault she teaches like she's still in the stone age." I explained.

"You didn't let me finish." My mother said. "Everyone did awful except for one student. He's had yet to fail any class, and he's the only one who doesn't goof around. Care to explain why you consider her class as your nap period?"

The student she was talking about seemed obvious; his goofy smile was too memorable for me to forget. He'd let me copy his homework and wake me up whenever we were playing a movie. Seth wasn't annoying, but he was too brilliant. The cogs in my brain got jammed whenever he spoke to me. You couldn't even have a genuine conversation with the guy:

'Hey, Seth. The weather is nice, don't you think?' 

'Yes, but our precipitation levels are expeditiously increasing!" 

Like, bro! What? Enjoy the fucking sun! The direction this conversation was about to go was nothing new to me. It was now time for my hidden talent. Crybaby mode activated as my knees dropped to the floor.

"But mom! It wasn't just me. You said so yourself." I cried. "It's not my fault. I love you!"

She wasn't going for any of my shenanigans this time. She must have gotten a scalp massage at the spa because she was clear-minded. So much for her getting a spa trip as a birthday present from me and my brother again.

"You know where this is going, don't you?" she contested.

Avoiding this conversation was usually clockwork, but not this time. We'd discussed getting me a tutor plenty of times. She'd refrain because my grades would miraculously improve each time.

"Okay! Give me one month. I can get my grade up to B." I begged. "Maybe up to an A if I stop hiding her study prompts from her- she's starting to think she has dementia."

"No way! You do this every time. After your grades go up, they drop once again. At least when you have a tutor, you'll have no excuse." She expressed. "Besides, I've already made arrangements for tomorrow. And I swear to God, if I get a call that you're the one who stole Mrs. Arnold's dentures last month, you're grounded for life."

"Tomorrow. Tomorrow is Saturday." I whined. "It's the one day when I can fully relax and not think about school."

"Your Saturdays will be much different from now on. You can thank your sleep schedule for that." she notified. "And your dad has already agreed, so don't try and go behind my back and convince him to make me change my mind."

She was prepared for every move that would've been thrown at her, even my Daddy's Girl act. This was my first failure, and there was no way out. Something told me not to return that woman's dentures.

The next day came quicker than the cops in suburban neighborhoods. My new tutor was precisely who I expected since my mother mentioned him yesterday. Seth and I had multiple classes together, but most importantly, we had the same math class. It was safe to say he was the student who hadn't failed. He was smart without trying to be. And cute.