Dare

One

EDITED: December 2020

"Then what do you expect me to do?" I asked my grade head with a snap.

"Attitude, Ms Slater," He said, rubbing his temple.

My grey eyes glared at the old man. God, can I just leave already?

Being called out of Literature to my grade head's office wasn't exactly pleasant, and learning that I was failing my math class and that meant that I was in for a stern lecture since math is one of the few subjects you're not allowed to fail at Santa Kalista Academy.

"Sir, you can't just tell me that I'm failing, and then tell me to get my grades up before the end of the semester. The reason I'm failing is because I don't understand anything!" I said, getting incredibly impatient.

"That's why your teachers and I have decided that in order for you to comply to our request, you need a tutor," He said.

"A tutor?" I scoffed.

"Yes, a tutor," He repeated.

"I'm sorry, but exactly how stupid do you think I am?" I asked, feeling incredibly offended that he'd even suggest that.

"Miss Slater, no one is insulting your intelligence. We simply believe that if another student tutor's you, you'd be getting the results we know you can achieve," He said.

"Fine! Whatever," I mumbled, exhaling a groan and rolling my eyes.

"Good. We already have a student in mind that will be a wonderful asset to your academics," He said with a small smile.

"I'll find my own tutor, thank you very much," I snapped, standing up and grabbing my bag, before hastily stomping out of the office.

Deciding that I didn't want to go back to my Literature class, I headed to the girls bathroom.

Looking in the mirror, I reapplied my lip gloss and mascara.

Suddenly, I realised that my grade head was right. I did need a tutor. My grades were slipping, badly.

It wasn't my fault though. I mean, if you had my home life, you'd be failing classes as well.

My parents have been going through a messy divorce for the past four months, and as hard as they've tried not to involve my older sister and me in their split, it's taking a toll on me.

You'd think being part of a wealthy family, one wouldn't care about your parents getting divorced. I mean, you just go to the mall and swipe your credit card a few times and you're all happy. That's not the case for me. Sure, having money is great, but it doesn't solve all your problems most of the time.

But then again, neither does blaming them on something else. And I've always sucked at math.

"Ella, you really have messed up this time," I muttered to myself just as the bell went signalling that it was time for lunch.

Walking down the hallway to my locker, I couldn't help but look around at the people in my school.

Let me tell you a little something about Santa Kalista Academy. Everyone here is a "rich bitch." Other schools think we're all snobs, and honestly, most of us are. Only the wealthiest of the wealthiest attend this school. But just because we're a high class school doesn't mean we don't have the highest drop out rate. I mean, after all, we can afford to drop out. It's not like a majority of us are going to college after high school. Most of us don't need to because of the very comfortable trust funds we have to fall back on.

Just ask my big sister, Kendall. She graduated two years ago, and now she spends her days shopping or at the spa.

Suddenly I felt my body collide with someone else's, but I was only knocked back, not falling to the floor or anything.

"Sorry," I mumbled, only briefly looking up at the person that I didn't recognise before continuing on my way to my locker.

Like hell I'm going to get a tutor. I don't need one. I'm perfectly fine with getting a D or the occasional F.

I just don't have time for that shit.