Tutoring the Alpha

Chapter Two: After School Special

            My mind was lost on the prospect of a pop quiz in my Physics class later on that day when I walked into the Spanish classroom right at one o’clock. The bell rang, and I hurriedly tripped into a soft-cushioned chair among the thirty or so other students in my class. As always in Spanish, I pulled up the hood on my black sweater and hid my earphones from the teacher, who didn’t really give a damn anyway. Still, I felt I owed her the courtesy of pretending to pay attention to what she was saying, when in reality she could’ve been speaking Klingon and I wouldn’t have known the difference. To my surprise, as I silently rocked out to The Killers, my eyes grazed over a particular blue-eyed basketball player, bringing my thoughts to a screeching halt. Mickey’s in this class? I thought in bewilderment, quickly averting my eyes as he smirked and twitched his hand in a little wave from where he sat, on the other side of the ridiculous circle formation our “maestra” always arranged the desks in. She claimed it created a more open space for dialogue; to me, it just meant all the pervs across from me could look up my skirt when I sat down.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Mickey’s gaze scan over the rest of my body, and shivers ran down my back as my panties grew wet. His stare was intrusive and admiring at the same time, as though he was imagining me naked and liking what he saw. I was suddenly plagued with self-consciousness. Is my outfit too weird? Too slutty? God, why did I go with the really tight pants today of all days? As a proud enthusiast of punk rock music and dark clothing, I was never one to shy away from extreme outfits; although usually I kept it toned down so as not to attract too much attention to myself and consequently become a target for bullying. In today’s case, I wore a pair of skintight black leather pants, knee high combat boots, and a sleeveless black sweater with a hood and several random slashes, baring slivers of my tanned, caramel skin. 

               My father was a distinguished black professor, my mom a British therapist, creating three adorable biracial children with coffee-colored skin, crazy curly dark hair, and dark eyebrows. My oldest brother, Christian, was lucky enough to even inherit my mother’s sky blue eyes, which stood in sharp contrast with the rest of his dark features and added a certain exoticism to his looks, of which I was eternally jealous. I’d always resented my small dark eyes and lack of distinctive features.  

            After Señora had lectured for almost forty-five minutes, she released us to practice our dialogue skills with a partner. As usual, all of the athletes and the party girls partnered together; the nerds paired up with even smarter nerds, and the loners…well, I was the only one in the class, unfortunately. This left me to mutter random Spanish words in the spirit of Pitbull under my breath while I really just kicked back and enjoyed the song I was listening to. Seeing as Spanish wasn’t a requirement for medical school, I was only taking it to further enrich my brain, according to the guidance counselor at my high school, who had recommended I take a few classes “outside of the premed program”. God, she was obnoxious. Without warning, Señora was suddenly stopping in front of the pair to my left to make sure they were practicing, and I panicked, blurting out the first couple of Spanish words that popped into my head (again, I had a fondness for Pitbull in Spanish class).

“Dale! Uno dos tres cuarto, ass, mami, tienes jugar!” I slurred as quietly as possible, looking straight ahead with an expression on my face as if it took great concentration to muster up that foreign sentence, when in reality I was quite literally singing the lyrics to I Know You Want Me. Luckily, Señora seemed to think I was a hard-working, dedicated Spanish student and gave me a thumbs up in approval.

“Muy bien, Señorita Chambers.”

It took a lot of restraint not to burst out laughing the second she’d passed me by, but luckily the bell rang at that very moment. I think I even said ass somewhere in that sentence and she didn’t even notice, I thought to myself with a smile as I packed up my things and headed out of the stuffy Foreign Languages building. I was just giving myself a mental clap on the back at my own ingenuity when I felt somebody’s real hand make contact with my bare arm. Jumping, I turned to lock eyes with none other than Mickey Lafitte, and I involuntarily flinched back at the proximity of our faces as he fell into step beside me.