The Tutor

“Ugh, I just don’t get this at all. When will French be of any use to me?” Kirsten Clark whines in the library at UCLA. The librarian emerges from behind a bookcase and makes a shushing sound at her. The blonde rolls her eyes at the 5’3, gray haired woman. She couldn’t look threatening even if she tried. Nevertheless, Kirsten returns to her notebook, determined to raise her grade in Ms. Devereaux’s class. For someone who has lived in France for a decade, relocating to LA to teach some college kids French must really feel like a drawback. During her last exam, Kirsten had gotten a grueling D. The minimum requirement for Mrs. Devereaux’s class was a B. So, if she wanted to pass the most useless class in her mandatory curriculum, last minute cramming wouldn’t suffice. And there she was, having spent the past hour in the library without managing to understand anything about “le futur proche.”

The girl appeared to have entered the zone, when suddenly, she hears the creaking sound of a wooden chair being pulled next to her desk.

“Oh, is that the futur proche you’re trying to study? Hmm… pretty easy if you ask me.” A grave voice asks, curiosity piquing this stranger’s interest.

“Do I know you?” Kirsten inquires, annoyance obvious in her tone.

“No, I don’t think we have been properly introduced, nor do we share any classes together. If we would have, I think I would have noticed eyes as pretty as yours.” He blatantly dismisses her reaction to him sitting down next to her.

“Spare me, whatever your name is. Unless by any chance, you can help me score a B on Catherine Devereaux’s exam next week, so I don’t get expelled for my low grades, find another clueless target to charm. Either you make yourself useful to me, or you scram off to another table.” She waves her tiny manicured hand at him almost instantaneously.

“Hey, there’s no need for passive-agressiveness here, cherie. I got your message. If you must insist, I’m pretty much Cathy’s favourite. But if you don’t want my help, I can’t force you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a movie class to attend.” The young man stands, takes a bow and almost just as silently as he entered the library, he heads towards the exit. Within five seconds, the insolent blonde calls back at a very high volume.

“French boy! I’m sorry. Eh, how do you say it? “Je suis desole!”  Her loud apology only attracts the attention of Mrs. Collins, the librarian, who peers at her from behind her half-moon shaped glasses without uttering any other word.

“N’ayez pas peur, jeune mademoiselle, je vous sauverai.” The tall brunette replies valiantly, striding back to her desk. That only makes her raise a brow at him. Clearly, he’s good. Not only that, but she does have to admit, she’s impressed. Of course admitting that to him would only do more damage to her pride. Lord knows how much Kirsten cares about her pride and reputation. Everyone at UCLA perceived her as unmovable and that wasn’t about to change right now.

“Did you just use futur proche on me?” She asks, backing up a little bit.

“Ah, I see where our little “nid de poule” is. You recognize the context in which futur proche is used, but you cannot use it yourself. I’m Cameron Goodkin by the way.” He says it all in one breath, not before flashing a dazzling white smile right in her direction. The guy looked like he could act in a Colgate commercial, that’s how white his teeth were. Upon closer inspection, Kirsten realized that he did not look half bad either.  He must have been at least 5’6, his build was semi-athletic like and he had the most amazing bluish-green eyes she had ever seen in 20 years of living on Earth. She must have been staring like an idiot for about 5 minutes straight because it’s only after she hears his fingers snapping in her face, she starts coming back from initial shock, which soon becomes awe.

“And your name is? Oh, good, you’re back, I thought I had lost you for a moment.”

“Kirsten Clark.” She says, sternly, clearing her throat. Her hand is now extended towards him, in an attempt to patch things up and start things fresh. Next thing she knows, he grabs her hand and kisses it gently. That she did not see coming indeed.  

“Alright,  miss Clarke. I’m usually pretty straightforward. You’re definitely not someone to miss. Which is why I have a proposition for you.” He announces whilst resting his chin in his seemingly calloused hands. He is looking at her the entire time.

“I’m listening.” Kirsten urges him to continue while maintaining the same intense stare.

“It’s obvious that you know some stuff here and there, not well enough, but, it’s not a bad start. Which is why, I’m offering to tutor you the entire week leading up to Mrs. Devereaux’s exam.” He flashes his pearly whites again, confident as one college student can be. He pauses, then proceeds to add. “On one condition, however. My services do come at a price, I will let you know.”

“Name your price.” Kirsten states determined. Her hands are now resting on her hips, fingers digging into her gray cashmere sweater. After the verbal abuse and mockery she submitted him to, this guy must have some balls if he chose to stick around and help her out.

“It’s quite simple, ma cherie. You, me, coffee at Paul’s. The day and hour is to your liking.”