Chapter Text
Under any other circumstances on the planet, Weevil would not be sitting in Rebecca James’ office, waiting for a tutor to help him pass pre-Algebra. But, he needs to pass this class in order to move up and become a junior, and he needs to become a junior so he can one day graduate from this school, walk across the stage, make his grandmother proud, and then ride away from this fucked up town as fast as his bike can handle.
He’s pretty sure he can endure abject humiliation in order to achieve that goal. And he’s willing to risk it in order to make this happen.
When Miss James returns after what feels like a lifetime, she has little Veronica Mars in tow. Truth be told, he’s pretty happy about that. She’s never made much of an impression on him, but what he does know about her means that she probably won’t be holding this over his head for all eternity. And when she interrupts Miss James’, “Veronica this is - “ with a “Hi, Weevil” and a little wave, he feels like he’s won the tutoring lottery.
Miss James looks surprised as Veronica turns to her and continues, saying, “So, I’m going to need a pre-Algebra book, and the most recent test Mr. Brubeck gave. If you can get that to me by the end of the day, that’d be great. Weevil and I actually have lunch at the same time, so I think we can go over when our tutoring sessions should be then.” She turns to him and blushes. “If, you know, that works for you.”
It’s not as if he didn’t know the gang would find out about this sooner or later. Might as well be sooner, so he says, “Yeah. That works for me.”
Miss James, still looking shell-shocked, allows Veronica to lead him out of her office with only an “Okay, then. Let me know if there’s any trouble” echoing after them.
Once they’re out in the hallway, he grabs for her arm. Decides to change the trajectory, so he doesn’t scare her, and just grazes it instead. “So, uh, we doing this at your table? Or mine?”
She wrinkles her nose at him, and he finds it oddly endearing. “Um, neither? We won’t get anything done if you or I am getting hassled.”
“Hey, my guys -”
She shakes her head. “I’m not saying anything other than this: my table’s a no-go for you, because most of them are... ...well, they are who they are. And I don’t need to hear the come ons you know I will if we eat at your table. So, we’ll find neutral ground. And eat our lunches like civilized people without the running commentary track.”
He hates to admit it, but she makes a good point. So he just nods.
“Alright, then! I’ve got to get back to study hall. See you at lunch.” She bounds away from him, and he turns to go back to the class he’s failing.