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Recently you’ve been struggling to keep up with your classes. Well, one class, if you’re being totally honest. Not only have you been unable to grasp the subject material for the past couple of chapters, you’ve been pretty distracted.
Distracted by what, you may ask? 1.) it’s more like whom, and 2.) Henry Bolet Jr.
Now, it’s not like you’re one to prioritize a crush over academics, but there’s something about the goth that makes you develop thick fog around your brain where you can’t think much of anything else but him.
You honestly don’t think you’ve seen him much outside of class. You’ll get an occasional glimpse at him somewhere else on campus, but you don’t really see him doing anything. He doesn’t seem to have a group he hangs around with or even a single friend, for that matter. Occasionally you’ll see that Nickerson guy talking to him, the one on the football team, but you have a feeling they’re acquaintances at best. It feels like Henry just wants to get his business done and leave.
You want to change that.
It’s not that you don’t try to focus—you absolutely do—but the last unit and this one has been a struggle, which is something your assignment grades can attest to.
Why not just ask for help? To answer that question, you’re someone who more often than not suffers in silence and would rather try to fix a problem yourself. To your credit, it does work…
Sometimes.
Your eyes absentmindedly drift away from the projector screen, shutting out Professor Gardner’s voice as she drones on about whatever this unit involves. Your gaze naturally lands on him. You’d much rather study Henry than the class material. His own eyes stay ahead, occasionally traveling down to his notebook to add more notes. At one point a piece of dark hair falls from its place and into his line of vision, and he brings the hand not preoccupied up to brush it away from his face.
Your gaze darts down to his hand scribbling away. His fingers are long and slim, silver rings adorning his thumb and ring finger. His cuticles are trimmed, and his black nail polish is showing signs of wear. You wonder if his handwriting is as neat and polished as his navy blue cashmere sweater and ironed slacks or if it’s a mess of black ink across the pages like the pencil eyeliner bleeding under his eyes.
And then you wonder…
Can Henry help you?
Why didn’t you think of this sooner? You’re not doing well in this class, Henry is smart, and you like him.
Why not ask him to tutor you?
Not only will you (hopefully) learn something, but you will also get the opportunity to actually know him.
Weirdly motivated, you settle back into your seat, facing forward again. You attempt to take some notes before you’re caught slacking and to try to calm your nerves before you approach Henry.
Before you know it, class is over, and your notebook is a little less blank than before. You pack your stuff up, sling your bag over your shoulder, walk out of the classroom, and wait. You can feel nervous electricity flowing through bone and tissue as you stand there for what seems like minutes, but you know it’s just your nerves making it feel as such. You’re just about to turn around and hightail it out of there like the weenie you are when you see him, finally, pass through the doorway.
Now’s your chance…
“Um, excuse me?” You ask.
Henry’s gaze whips up from the floor to yours, clearly surprised.
“Yes?” He responds, scarred eyebrow raise in question.
Play it casual.
Straightening your back in an attempt to seem unbothered, you respond.
“You’re Henry Bolet, right?”
“Uh, yeah… need something?”
Thankfully, he doesn’t seem annoyed or mad, but it’s clear he’s a bit shocked that someone came up to him to have a conversation—maybe even a bit uncomfortable, which you don’t blame him for.
“Well, yes, actually. I’m having a bit of a hard time understanding what’s going on in Gardner’s class right now. You seem pretty smart, so I wanted to ask if you’d be interested in tutoring me,” you explain.
There’s a moment of silence between the two of you. Henry’s gaze is on the ceiling in thought, probably trying to figure out if you’re being genuine or making fun of him.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to or don’t have time,” you backtrack, “you’re not obligated to help some random person who happens to be in the same class as you.” You wring your hands and laugh nervously, knuckles popping from the twisting and pulling.
“Sure, I don’t mind.”
Your hands stop their movement, lifting your head to meet his crystalline gaze.
Hoping your voice doesn’t seem too eager, you ask, “Really?”
“Yeah, I don’t really have anything going on. Why not?” He says.
Mentally fist pumping, you grin.
“Cool beans. I appreciate it,” you say.
He returns your smile, the right corner of his mouth twisting into a small smirk.
“Sure thing. Here.”
Henry whips out his phone from the back pocket of his slacks and flips it open, navigating to the ‘New Contact’ page.
“Put your number in—it’ll be easier to get in touch with each other.”
He holds the silver device out to you, and you take it from his hand. You suppress the urge to squeal with joy.
Typing in your number and your name with a smiley emoticon at the end, you hand his phone back to him.
“Your turn,” you say, pulling out your own phone.
He follows suit, black nail polished thumb flitting between each key. He saves the information and hands it back to you. His fingers brush your palm, surprisingly warm.
“There. Have a good rest of your day.”
Henry nods, turning on his heel to go wherever the hell he goes in between classes. Before he can disappear around the corner, a thought crosses your mind.
“Wait!” You call out, loud enough for him to hear but quiet enough to not disturb anyone else in the hallway with you. He turns around, both eyebrows raised.
“Yes?”
You walk quickly towards him so you don’t have to shout out your personal business to the public.
“I’m off work on Wednesdays and weekends. Do any of those days work for you?” You ask.
“The weekends usually work for me. How does this Sunday sound?”
“Ah… Sunday is perfect. We can go to the local library if it’s not too crowded. Is 4 a good time?”
“Sounds good to me. See ya.”
Henry gives a small and turns back around, heading off to wherever the hell he usually goes after class.
You sigh and think to yourself that you need to draw a relaxing bath when you get back to your apartment.