Work Text:
A seven. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. You can count to seven on both hands. It takes less than 7 seconds to take a deep breath. There are seven days in a week. Seven months is two months less than a full term pregnancy. Seven is a single digit number.
So how on God’s green earth did Mathieu manage to get a 7% on his history test?
“I just do not understand. Was your name the only thing you wrote?” Yuliya said, pinching the bridge of her nose and glaring at Mathieu through the rearview mirror.
“Actually… it was marked as missing for a while because I forgot to put my name on it.”
Yuliya's white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel shut Mathieu up. Yuliya watched him hunch in on himself and stare at his feet, but that pitiful look wouldn't work on her. Mathieu had been keeping the 7% he got on his test and the subsequent 22% he had in his AP U.S Government class for a month. It took finally checking her email spam folder for Yuliya to discover the 13 emails his teacher had sent, each message from “Mrs. Afzal” growing more desperate.
Yuliya had immigrated to a different country, spent decades solving nuclear equations, earned a PHD, survived a nuclear explosion, adopted two kids, and this was still the most frustrating thing she had ever experienced. She did not think she asked that much of him. She understood enough that passion lay in different places for different people, and as long as her kids brought home passing grades, she was happy. She would not deny the way would light up when they received perfect grades in science, triumphantly explaining concepts Yuliya had all but invented. She was proud of them. So a 7% had to be a mistake, one that she could fix.
She mumbled under her breath, pulling into the parking lot behind the school. ”Let us go. I want to see what the issue is. I hope this ‘Afzal’ woman knows what she is doing.”
-
Standing outside room 2103, Yuliya grew surer by the second that Mathieu had never even set foot into the room. It was in a completely different building from his usual classes, a building they had not even seen during orientation. The plaque on the wall listed off achievement after achievement, all under the name “Yuusra Afzal.” Yuliya could only wonder why a former federal policy analyst would resort to public school teaching, and why she couldn’t pass her knowledge onto her son.
“You are sure this is your class?”
Mathieu nodded, peering in through the slim window. “I sit right there. Ms. Afzal moved me to the front after the first week.” Yuliya gave an unimpressed grunt.
The sound of heels clacking against the linoleum floors alerted the two to the slightly out of breath woman coming up behind them. Her eyes wrinkled as she smiled apologetically, combing some of her shiny dark hair out of her face. An air of confidence guided her every move, her demeanor, the slight curve of her red lips, the quiver of her irises scanning Yuliya. Her clothes were perfectly ironed, tapered and wrapped around her form. “It's good to see you, Mathieu.” She grabbed Yuliya's hand, giving it a firm, professional shake that awakened Yuliya from her stupor. “I'm your son's teacher, Yuusra Afzal. It's a pleasure to meet you.”
“The same for you,” Yuliya says curtly, having to manually force herself through the typical pleasantries. “I am Yuliya Yurchenko,” she adds.
“Yuliya Yurchenko.” Yuusra repeats, unnecessarily in Yuliya's opinion. She steps in front of them to unlock the door, revealing a modest classroom. The walls are lined with bookshelves and there's a copy of the constitution pasted in the front of the room. Yuliya nods in reluctant approval, there's nothing that would distract Mathieu in here.
Yuusra sighed and set down the manila folder she was carrying on her desk. Yuliya and Mathieu followed suit, sitting across from her. “I’m sorry we had to meet under these circumstances, Ms. Yurchenko. But I'm glad you came,” Her eyes flickered to Yuliya with her last words, a ploying smile tugging at her lips so quickly that Yuliya almost missed it.
“I'm sure you have many questions and concerns, but I first want to assure you that Mathieu is a wonderful student.”
Yuliya shot him a look. Mathieu looked away and stared at the American flag plastered across the wall instead. “I am sure,” Yuliya said dryly. “Is a 7% considered wonderful in your classroom?”
Yuliya expected her to get serious, to get offended at the insinuation, to scold Mathieu, maybe even to scold her for not bringing him up right. She did not expect her to laugh. The sound startled her— but even more, the tightness she felt in her chest as she watched her face erupt with laughter. “You're hilarious,” she sighed.
Yuliya didn't hear that often, if at all. She frowned at how Yuusra seemed to take the upper hand from her so easily. She couldn't help but approach this simple meeting like one would a war, Yuusra just made it seem that dire. Yuliya was in the perfect position to be angry and completely justified in being such, yet Yuusra's entire disposition made her feel ridiculous. What was she playing at? Was the terrible grade a trick to bring her here for some kind of psychological warfare? Yuliya thought a government spy teaching AP Government was somewhat conspicuous, but she didn't put it past the U.S. That would explain why she was so attractive.
“Is this grade funny to you?”
“Not at all. I'm just… so pleased that there are still parents out there that are so dedicated to their children's education.”
Right. This was about Mathieu's education, not Yuliya's pride. But the tone in Yuusra's voice sounded like she was talking about something completely different. Yuusra stared at her expectantly, her dark eyes sparkling with anticipation behind her thick lashes.
“You barely know me. How can you be sure of that?”
Yuusra laughed again. “Perhaps stubborn is a better word. You showed up, didn't you?”
“I showed up for my son.”
Yuusra cleared her throat. “That's right. About that…” And suddenly the playfulness that had annoyed her was gone. Yuusra's voice was steady and professional as she opened the folder to display Mathieu's work throughout the semester. She went on about the Bill of Rights and court cases monotonously, only sparing Yuliya a glance whenever she would grimace at the numbers scrawled atop the papers. It was just how a meeting with her son's teacher should go. How she expected it to go.
“Mathieu can handle this class if he believes in himself as much as we believe in him. He's a smart kid. He has good ideas. He just needs more guidance, and that's something we need to work together on.” All this talk of ‘we’ like they were a unit, like they were one in the same. They were not the same. They were a north and south pole, and in this moment, Yuliya did not care that those attracted, not repelled each other. Yuliya looked for anything she could scrutinize to prove it. Her tone was too friendly, not professional like Yuliya would be. She talked too much, never letting the silence just sit. She smiled like she had to convince you of something. She wanted to trap Yuliya in her orbit. She would not fall for it.
“Ms. Yurchenko, I want to offer you some personal tutoring.”
“For Mathieu,” Yuliya says slowly.
“For Mathieu,” Yuusra says dismissively, casting him a weary glance as if she just remembered that he was there. “I just think it's important that we get to know each other. Did you know it's incredibly helpful for a student to form a strong parent-teacher bond, Ms. Yurchenko?”
“I did not.”
“Now you know. We could do some bonding Friday night if you're free. For Mathieu. Call it our first tutoring session,” Yuusra beamed, propping her arm up against the desk to rest her head. She tilted her head, quickly looking Yuliya up and down before returning to meet her gaze.
“You have nothing better to do on a Friday night? You want to spend it with your student's mother?”
“I want to spend it with you. For Mathieu, of course,” she tacked the last part on quickly, warmth rushing to her face. Yuliya's lips pressed into a small smile— even she could get too ambitious. Mathieu took a break from counting the ceiling tiles to stare at his teacher.
“You are bold, Ms. Afzal. I've never seen anyone so… passionate about ‘parent-teacher bonding.’”
“Please, call me Yuusra. And I assure you I only have Mathieu's best interests at heart. But if I happen to satisfy some of my own interests on the way…”
Mathieu looked between the two women, shifting in his seat uncomfortably. “I'm allowed to be there too, right?”
“No,” Yuusra said, at the same time that Yuliya said, “Yes.” The two looked at each other, and then at Mathieu.
“I mean, of course you are! Don't worry, you'll have plenty to do,” Eye twitching, Yuusra gave him a shallow smile before turning back to Yuliya.
“We will keep in touch then, Yuusra.”
“Actually, that reminds me— my files are missing a lot of your contacts, Ms. Yurchenko.”
“Is my email not enough?”
“I'm afraid not. The school requires that we have the parents’ phone numbers as well.” Yuusra pushed a blank paper in front of Yuliya, who reluctantly scrawled her number down.
“...Feel free to add any social media too.”
Yuliya looked up at her incredulously. “That is allowed?”
“Of course! It's actually recommended that we be friends with the parents on social media so we can… so we can stay updated,” Yuusra nodded like it would make Yuliya believe her more. To her surprise, the paper was returned to her with a Facebook handle written under the number. Yuusra lit up, and Yuliya got the feeling she had just made a horrible mistake.
“I forgot to mention, the school is now requiring we have the parents’ marital status on file.”
“What?”
“School policy,” Yuusra shrugged. Her attempts to appear casual fell embarrassingly flat to Yuliya. She could see the excitement burning in her eyes, practically falling out of her seat as she waited for Yuliya to answer.
“I am single,” she said finally, regretting the words the second they left her mouth.
Yuusra nodded solemnly, lips pursed together to hide the wide smile threatening to spill across her face. “Thank you. Very good to know. And are you on Hinge?”
“You are pushing it.”
-
“What's up with you?” Nasimiyuu plopped down beside Mathieu on the couch. Mathieu was turned around, peering over the back of the chair and into the kitchen. Soft, romantic music spilled into the living room, like it had been for the past month.
“I have a B now,” Mathieu sighs.
“You don't sound too happy about that.”
“Mrs. Afzal hasn't tutored me once! She just shows up and does this!” He gestured wildly towards the kitchen, where Yuusra and Yuliya have spent the last 2 hours ‘cooking dinner.’ Yuliya stood behind Yuusra at the stove, her hands running through Yuusra's hair and twirling the ends of the dark locks. The word ‘twirl’ didn't seem like it even belonged in the same sentence as Yuliya. Yuusra seemed to laugh every time Yuliya opened her mouth, unsubtly shifting her body to be closer to her. In the last five minutes, neither of them had even looked at the food on the stove. Their eyes were stuck on each otber, like they were magnetic.
“I see…”
“I have no idea how I got an 86 on the last test.”
“You have no idea?” Nasimiyuu asks, suppressing a giggle. Mathieu looks up at her in confusion. “Don't worry about it then. And don't bother studying anymore.”
“I won't. I wasn't doing that before, anyway.”