Chapter Text
Finals are fast approaching, and unfortunately for you, your smarts are down the drain. If there were a physical stat bar for your smarts, they’d be in the negatives. And you need to pass high school so you can move onto bigger and better things, like another high school that accepts young adults. Despite it being your own fault for not paying attention in class and refusing to turn in any homework, your teacher agreed to find you some last minute help.
Every Tuesday and Thursday for the next two weeks, you have to spend an hour after school in the library with your tutor, whom your teacher conveniently didn’t name. You spend all of lunch venting to Polly about your mysterious tutor. “What if they’re really mean? Or what if they’re too hot and I can’t focus?” you ask.
“You got this!” Polly says, giving you a ghostly pat on the shoulder. “No one’s too stupid to fail a Spooky High exam. I mean, Scott’s passed and I don’t think he knows how to read.”
You sigh. She’s got a point, but what if you’re the one exception and you get super kicked out of Spooky High? That wouldn’t look good on your track record. It’d be worse than all the tax fraud and orphan murder (adult orphans, that is). You’re hoping to get a nice, ugly tutor who can magically fix all your problems. There’s no use putting in all that effort if someone else can do it for you.
“Oh, speaking of which,” Polly says, breaking you from your trance of self-pity, “Damien has this little Pokemans card that Scott wants. Or maybe he took it from Scott, I don’t remember. Point is, Scott needs that card. He says it’s a ‘Lawrence Taylor’? I need you to get it back for me because it makes me sad seeing Scott mope around sometimes.”
Though that has nothing to do with being tutored, you glance over a few tables over to see what Damien and Scott are up to. Damien is half-leaned over the table, pointedly pressing his pointer finger into the table as though he’s trying to drive home his argument. Scott is staring down Damien’s finger like it’s a toy.
Your gray morals flash through your mind. You also don’t want Scott to be sad for the five seconds he remembers he doesn’t have the card he wants, but you also enjoy not being in pain. These cards mean nothing to you, but you’ve overheard Damien and Scott’s conversations about them. It’s the one thing those two can talk about and sound smart while doing so. Their friendship could crumble over a missing card.
But you’ve been bored recently, so fuck it. You agree and take on what once was obviously Polly’s responsibility and begin scheming. Stealing from the Prince of the Eighth Circle of Hell is not a task many are willing to take on. A man who prides himself on how well versed he is on torture and arson, someone who laugh at the demise of others, and you’re going to steal from him. Hey, you don’t need to worry about finals if you’re dead.
Monday rolls into Tuesday and you still haven’t got a clue who’s to help you pass the easiest courses this high school has to offer. You’ve convinced yourself you aren’t that stupid, but that these classes aren’t worth your effort. The truth is to be unfolded at a later date, if you ever get around to it.
Silently, you wait in the library after the final bell rings. The librarian looks at you with her single eye, like she knows something you don’t. Then again that’s how most monsters at this school look at one another, so you pay her no mind.
At 3:30 on the dot, you hear the library door open. You turn to see who entered, and hope this guy wasn’t your tutor. You’d seen him around campus before, and you’d heard plenty of stories. He despises inorganic materials, he refuses to participate in the popular and cliche, and he’s the hottest person you’ll ever meet. That hipster style of his makes you feel like you’re the poser merely for existing in the same room as him. By the looks of it, he hasn’t smiled genuinely at something in at least a century. Now, instead of studying for your classes, you want to study him : Liam de Lioncourt.
Liam spots you and approaches, books held against his side in one hand. He doesn’t look too happy to be here. He stands in front of the table you’re sitting at and stares down at you, his glare a reminder that you’re wasting his time. “You’re the one I’m tutoring?” he asks.
“Yeah, I-”
Liam holds up a hand and sits in the seat across from you. “I’m not interested in your qualms. I’m only here because it’s convenient and makes me look better in the eyes of the school board. If it weren’t for small-minded individuals such as yourself, intellectuals like me would have no one to shine over.”
Being insulted has never been a bigger turn on. You could listen to this guy ramble for hours and hours and only maybe get bored. “I’m really struggling with Monster History,” you say.
“I know,” Liam says. “You’re struggling in every class.” Liam reaches into his backpack and pulls out your report card, which states you’re failing, or nearly failing, every class. Before you can ask him how he got hold of your report card, he says. “I don't know how you’re struggling in these courses. Even toddlers who don’t know their colors can get straight B’s with this line up.”
You think for a second. Your courses aren’t that easy. Aside from this specific semester, you’ve always done pretty good in school, and have been put in the average or above-average performing classes. “So what classes are you in then?” you ask.
Liam scoffs. “The courses I study are beyond your comprehension, clearly.”
He’s speaking as if he’s getting his master’s in the most niche of subjects, which is something you’d expect him to be doing instead of attending a high school for adult monsters. “Shouldn’t you be in college or something? What could high school offer that college doesn’t for someone of your status?”
Liam goes blank for a second, like he didn’t expect you to challenge his mindset. “Do you want my help or not?”
You shut up and listen to Liam’s further instructions of what page to turn in your book. For the rest of the hour, you listen to him talk about Monster History, the ethics of what went down in history, what actually happened (because he was there for it) but you should ignore that because everyone is ignorant and thinks the truth is incorrect, and you’ve never paid closer attention to a lesson.
The hour doesn’t last long enough. You treasure every second and excuse your intense staring as being very involved in the super cool, not at all boring history of monsters. Worst of all, you actually learn a thing or two. Your brain retains information like a gross kitchen sponge retains dirt. Like if you try to wring it out, nothing would come out.
Right at 4:30, Liam packs up his books and notebooks. He mumbles something to himself that you can’t quite hear. Then again, he talks quietly all the time, you’ve learned. He stands from his seat and gathers his books and notebooks into his backpack. “What’s your favorite class?” you ask.
Liam continues putting his things away and stares at his task. For a second, you think he’s ignoring you. “Why do you ask?”
You can’t say. Because I want to know every single thing about you , so you come up with another, less weird reason. “Everyone’s got a favorite.”
Liam sneers as he zips up his backpack. “Favoritism is how things become popular. If one thing becomes favored by too many people, it’s thrown into the mainstream and loses all meaning it once had. I’d rather keep my top preferences to myself.” He slings his backpack over his shoulder and turns. Before he leaves, he looks over his shoulder at you. “But any class revolving around Literature or the Arts is bound to make you smarter.”
With that, Liam leaves you to yourself in the library. The door slams shut behind him and your gaze is permanently locked to where he just was. You’ve been told your whole life that flunking high school will get you nowhere, but it may be the best decision you’ve ever made.