It was a dark, foggy night in November when he made his first appearance in the tutoring center. I'd been working there since the middle of my freshman year - I'm now a sophomore - helping my fellow students with everything from study skills to crafting a decent term paper to getting that elusive 'A' on the midterm or final exam.
Speaking of grades, a little background about me: I'm a straight 'A' student, have been ever since I can remember. Back in the day, I was a spelling bee champion, geography bee finalist, and national merit scholar. Now that I'm enrolled at State U, I'm double-majoring in pre-med and economics. I don't mean to brag - let's just say, academic success has always come fairly easily to me.
So, when it came time to find a job on campus that would pay the bills, the tutoring center was an obvious choice. I could catch spelling errors or fix bad grammar in my sleep. Teaching others about good study habits was as easy as, well, describing my own good study habits. The results spoke for themselves, right? Yes, there were those over the years who'd called me a nerd, or a snob, or worse; but now that my hard work was paying off - both on my transcript and in my bank account - I didn't really care.
By the time he came in that evening, I was fairly used to the routine. The student working the front counter brought him in to my office - oh, did I mention, I'd graduated to an office? Not that it was my own - I shared it with tutors who worked different shifts - but it was a perk for those of us who'd stayed with the job and proven ourselves. It was nice to have the privacy, whether the office was quiet and I was just doing my own studying, or whether I was trying to help someone.
Anyway, he handed me his paperwork, which consisted of a syllabus for a US History course, and a letter from his coach, explaining that if he didn't bring his grades up, he'd be off the football team. He grinned at me in that irritatingly confident way that jocks do, and I responded by sticking with the most professional demeanor I could muster. The lines were drawn - he was the cute jock who didn't care about his grades and thought he could get through life on looks and brawn, while I would show him that there was more to life than RBIs and touchdowns and penalty kicks.
Did I mention how attractive he was? Yeah, couldn't deny that. 6'2", blonde, blue eyed, with a great smile, and the great body of an athlete in his prime. I couldn't take my eyes off his big, strong hands, and when my eyes met his, I couldn't help but blush. All the more reason to put on my serious face, my professional demeanor. I walked around my desk and sat down, putting some distance between us.
"So," I said, looking down at the letter as if I hadn't quite caught his name, "Jake, is it? Where would you like to start?"
"How about with your name?"
"Oh, um, sure - sorry! My name's Kirsten. So, you'd like some help with the US History course?"
"Yup, I'm really struggling in that one."
"OK," I said as I thumbed through the syllabus, "it looks like you've already written a couple of papers for this class, and you have a midterm coming up? Any chance you have one of your papers with you, so I can see the kind of work you've been doing so far?"
He grabbed his workout bag off the floor, dug around in it for a moment, and pulled out a few pages - folded, wrinkled, stained as they were - and handed them over to me. I unfolded them, pressed them flat against the desk with my hand, and motioned for him to feel free to sit down, as I started to read. The big red 'F' at the top of the paper was hard to miss, as were the reasons for it; it was soon obvious that this guy had no concept of how to structure an argument, how to answer the question being asked, hell, how to spell! Yikes, I'd have my work cut out for me. I always did like a challenge, though.
"Um, OK. So, have you talked to your professor about whether he'd allow you to re-write any of your papers?"
"No way, he's really by the book. Won't accept anything late, won't allow retakes or rewrites. Not much point anyway, I've never been good at writing papers."
"Alright then, so it sounds like the midterm is where we should focus. How about we set up a time for you to come back between now and the test date? If you set aside some quality time between now and then to study, I can quiz you."
"Sounds cool. So, when should I come back?"
"Well, I could do Friday at 10am?"
"Hmm, that's kind of early for me, do you have anything later?"
Of course. Out all night partying, no doubt. "Well, I could squeeze you in at the end of the day Monday, that's my late day here. I have someone until 7, and then we close at 8 - would that hour work for you?"
"Perfect. It's a date." His eyes twinkled as he said it, and once again I blushed. Damn, ridiculous that he had this power over me. He probably couldn't even spell 'cat' if you spotted him the 'c' and the 'a' and hinted that it ended in 't', but here I was swooning like a schoolgirl.
"OK, I'll see you then. In the meantime, here are some handouts about effective study habits. Be sure to put in enough time between now and then that you know your stuff. I won't go easy on you!"
"I wouldn't have it any other way, Kirsten."
I watched him leave the office, and as he headed down the hallway, fold one of the study skills handouts into a paper airplane and send it flying. Jeez. I didn't have any other drop-ins that evening, so spent the rest of my time looking over his syllabus and drafting a list of questions I could ask him when he returned. The rest of my week was a busy one, with tests and papers of my own, so I have to admit I quickly forgot about Jake after leaving the office that night.
It wasn't until Monday morning that I thought of him again, as I stood in front of my dorm room closet, trying to decide what to wear that day. It shouldn't matter to me how I looked going in to work that day, and yet somehow, I did spend a few extra minutes picking out an outfit. Why did this idiot have this power over me? Did hot jocks feel any pressure to study so that they'd impress us brainy girls? Never.
What outfit did I choose? I guess I shouldn't leave you hanging. I went with a blue silk blouse, buttoned down the front, the one that brought a few complements on my big blue eyes every time I wore it; my favorite jeans, the ones that fit perfectly and look great with anything; and black pumps. OK, OK, so clearly I wanted him to notice me. Hell, it was worth a try. If knowledge itself wasn't enough to inspire him, maybe a little sex appeal could do the trick.
The day dragged on, with my own classes in the morning followed by a busy afternoon and evening at the tutoring center. Finally, 5 minutes late for his appointment, Jake wandered in and sat down. I felt his eyes move over my body as I shut the door to my office and walked over to the desk.
"So, Jake, have you found some time to study since I saw you last?"
"Ah, right down to business, huh? What ever happened to a nice 'hello, how are you today?', something like that?"
"Um, OK," I replied with a smile, "How are you doing today, Jake?"
