The Flynn Effect

09 | a stupid grade

Jo

"LAST TIME WE were here, we discussed the themes of the book and today, we've talked about the settings. I think I can say, we're making progress. Miss Anderson wants our papers ready in about two weeks or something? So we really just need to work on your essay writing if you want to pass this class."

My student narrows his eyes at me and lazily fiddles with his pen. "You're not going to tell me what happened back there, are you?"

I ignore him. "I've not seen your writing before. Maybe you could write a sample on one of the themes and send it to me tonight?"

"Like an assignment?"

"Sure," I look up at him. "A tutor can do that. Let's start with something simple. Let's say, social class. Just a preamble of how you think it influences the novel. 10 p.m. That's your deadline, so you'd better get to work."

"You're mean."

"You're welcome." A heavy silence rests between us after that and I carefully arrange all my books in my bag. The library is quiet except for the sound of the coffee Mrs Anthony is brewing, half-asleep. A group of girls whisper and giggle as they exit, leaving echoes in their wake. When I look back at Flynn, he's folding his arms and arching a brow at me as if asking me where I'm going.

"The session's over," I inform him as I place my bag on my thighs. "Pay up."

He doesn't respond. He only looks at me like I've offended him. I attempt getting to my feet hoping he'd understand that the session is really over but his legs spread out under the table and his shoe cladded feet raise behind my ankles and lifts them up, before using his other foot to cross one of mine against the other. He keeps my crossed feet in between his legs and raises his brows at me.

I scowl at him. "What are you doing?"

"What happened back there? At lunch? With Johnston?"

"You're persistent, aren't you?"

"No, I'm Flynn."

I try my best to keep a neutral expression as I clutch my bag tighter against my chest. "I don't want to talk about it."

He leans forward on the table and looks at my wrist. The red imprint of Craig's fingers have become lighter and less painful. I unconsciously withdraw my wrist away from his burning gaze.

"He hurt you, Pryce. Is he giving you trouble of any kind? Threatening you or something?"

I really hope my expression gives nothing away. "No—"

He cuts me off. "I know who Craig Johnston is, Pryce. I've been on the same team with him. We've worked together and he's a dick. Barely respects girls and if he wants something, he'd go to any length to get it."

Laughter finds it way to my throat because I've been a firsthand victim of this before but if I laugh, I'll definitely cry and that would just make me look pathetic. When I look back at Flynn, his poker face gives nothing away but his clenched fists do.

"Has he done something to you before?"

An emotion flashes through his eyes and disappears immediately. "No," he says and then releases my feet from his. "More of took."