The Stars Don't Shine

“Micah. Micah Kennedy?” called my first period Biology teacher, Mrs. Gallowitz, as I hurried into the room, trying to beat the late bell.

“Yeah?” I replied, taking a glance at the clock. “I’m not late, am I? I mean, I didn’t hear the bell ring. But maybe I’ve gone deaf and—”

“No, no Micah yeh’re on time,” she interjected, smiling slightly. “An’ I’m quite sure yeh’re not deaf. Yeh are hearing me talkin’ to yeh, are yeh not?”

I nodded my head, kind of feeling stupid. Maybe I’ve gone deaf? What kind of dumb thing was that to say? “Yeah, I am…” I had now made my way to the front of the room, by Mrs. Gallowitz’s desk.

“Anyways darlin’, I wanted to talk to yeh about tutorin’,” she informed me, her smile never faltering. It never did. Smiling’s nice and all, but not all the time. And especially not when you pay the bills by working at some shithole public school, dealing with bratty teenagers all day long.

“Okie dokie,” I nodded, mimicking her smile.

“Well y’know yeh’re one of the brightest ‘ere at Stocksbridge,” she began.

“And that’s really saying something,” I chuckled quietly.

“Oh hush,” her smile widened. “Well, still, you are very, very smart Micah. An’ well, there are some students that are, uhm, well, not as smart as you, we’ll say. An’ some are just proper dumb. An’ well, the boy I want yeh to tutor, is somewhere in the middle, kind ‘a borderline hopeless.”

That’s what I liked about Mrs. G; she was real. She didn’t beat around the bush. And she meant what she said. Always. More people should be like her, if you ask me.

“Oh, he sounds like a pure delight,” I teased, shifting my weight from leg to leg.

She smiled knowlingly back at me. “Yes, well, why don’t yeh just go to yer station and he should be in shortly. Oh, and he’s goin’ to need after-school tutorin’ sessions, as well. In math.”

“One question,” I said. “Do I get the green for giving the brain?”

Mrs. G chuckled and nodded her head, “Yes dear, of course.”

I’d do pretty much anything—well anything that wasn’t morally degrading—to get money. See, I was saving up to buy plane tickets and fly back to America. Back to where I was born. Where my mom was.

“Coolio,” I grinned, spinning on the heels of my Keds, walking over to my lab station.

I threw my heavy messenger bag on the floor next to the table, and climbed on top of one of the stools.

I wondered who was in this class that was so stupid that they needed tutoring. I honestly couldn’t think of anyone. Everyone in this class seemed to be relatively smart, well at least that’s how they appeared. Sure, they weren’t all geniuses like me—I was just naturally smart, I didn’t really have to put much effort into my work—but I didn’t think there was anyone in this class that was getting below a C.

The late bell rang and the announcements sounded through the intercom, but the stool next to me remained empty. Which told me even more about this kid I was supposed to be tutoring. He could quite possibly be one of those bad-ass boys who didn’t give a fuck about school, and never bothered to show up on time. Or maybe he got stuck in traffic, or over slept, or something stupid like that. I was hoping for the latter.

Fifteen minutes after announcements were over a boy with the most perfect, straight black hair sat on the stool next to mine. He had on a tight black band-I-didn’t-know T-shirt, tight jeans, and all black shoes. When he turned and faced me I nearly fell off my stool. Not because he was outstandingly handsome, even though he was, but it was because of who he was.

“ ’Ello love, I’m Oli,” Oliver Scott Sykes, my ex best friend, smiled at me.

Without really thinking, I blurted out. “I know who you are. I’m sure everyone at this school does. Especially the girls. Since you’ve slept with most of them.”

I despised Oliver. Not necessarily because of what he did to me, but because of who he became.

When me and Oliver were friends, many moons ago, he didn’t care what people thought about him. He didn’t want to be popular, he didn’t want to get in nearly every girls’ pants. He just wanted to live his life, stay away from popularity, and make music. But now, Oliver was a big man whore. Now, there were worse ones at Stocksbridge, but Oliver was still pretty bad. But the thing is no one hated Oliver for sleeping around. The girls all swooned at him, and the boys either respected him or were jealous of him. Actually, some boys swooned at him, too.

He chuckled, trying to act as if what I had said didn’t faze him. “I s’pose that’s true. But it’s a shame that yeh know who I am, but I don’t know who yeh are.”

My jaw quite literally fell to the floor. We used to take baths together, for Pete’s sake! How could he not remember who I was? Sure, I had people stop calling me by my middle name, and lost almost ninety pounds, dyed and grew out my hair, and grew up, but still. Oliver still should remember me.

“You don’t know who I am?” I questioned. It came out a little harsher than it was supposed to.

“That’s what I just said,” he nodded his head. “Well except fer what Mrs. G told meh.”

“And what was that?”

“That yeh’re bloody brilliant an’ I'm lucky to ‘ave someone like yeh tutor a dumb-ass like me,” he smirked. “But she fergot to mention ‘ow pretty yeh are.”

No way was he hitting on me.

“Save it, Oliver. Your ‘charm’ isn't going to work on me.” I used air quote around the word charm.

“Ow,” his face contorted into a fake pained expression. “No need to be so icy, love. I were only bein’ nice.”

Oh, if only he knew. “Let me make this perfectly clear, Oliver—I am your tutor, nothing more nothing less. Okay?”

“Aye, that’s what yeh say now, but things can change, an’ they will,” he winked at me, making my blood boil.

I was so upset because he used to make fun of me, along with everyone else, and now that I was skinny, he was flirting with me. I just couldn’t take it.

I couldn’t handle tutoring him everyday in lab and tutoring him after school. I couldn’t even stand being in the same room as him!

I grumbled under my breath and pressed my nails into my palms, trying to keep my composure. “And you can just go find yourself another tutor, because I quit.”

I gathered up my books, threw my messenger bag over my shoulder and stomped out of the lab.

Fifteen minutes spent talking to Oliver after four years of complete silence and I wanted to strangle him.