The Favor

Tuesday rolls in looking and feeling good. I enter school with a pep in my step, actually smiling as I walk towards my locker. I wait for a little while, and soon I hear those peppy steps I know so well. I turn to see Ceci hopping towards me as usual.

“Well, well, well… someone looks happy today,” she says, arching her eyebrow.

“I actually am. Considering yesterday’s situation, I thought I’d be feeling down today, but for some reason, I’m just really happy,” I tell her with a shrug.

I close my locker, and we head towards our science class. Mr. Kepner, our science teacher, might not be strict about lateness, but that man holds grudges.

Last semester, just because Osbert—one of Ryan’s blockhead friends—came late to class, he made him do a personalized test covering everything he had taught while Osbert was absent. To this day, I haven’t seen him come late again—and that’s saying something, considering how these footballers act like divas.

We soon reach the classroom, and it’s already packed. Mr. Kepner’s reputation is no joke. We find seats, and not long after, he walks in.

“Good morning, class,” he greets us, placing his flask on the desk. The man is clearly an avid fan of healthy living—his flask is always filled with goji berry tea.

“Good morning, sir,” we respond.

“Today we are going straight into equations,” he says, turning to the whiteboard.

He writes down a few equations and begins explaining them, and the class moves along just like that.

The rest of the day follows the same pattern, and soon we’re in our last lesson.

Having history at the end of the day is a true test of patience. To make matters worse, our history teacher speaks like he’s about to fall asleep. Mr. Weston is a fifty-year-old man who never fails to remind us that he has been teaching history for over twenty years. He doesn’t like corrections or interruptions—he considers his words gospel.

Just before he starts droning on, there’s a knock on the door. He goes to answer it and comes back looking at me as though I’ve committed a crime.

“Mr. Montez, you’re needed in Madam Agatha’s office,” he says.

I get up and make my way out of the class. When I reach her office, I knock.

“Come in,” she says, looking up from the document she’s reading. “Please, have a seat,” she adds when she notices I’m still standing.

“Good evening, ma’am. Mr. Weston said you were looking for me,” I say after sitting down.

“Yes. I need your help with something, and I fear you’re the only one who can help me with it,” she says.

I immediately sit up straighter. That sounds serious.

“What do you need my help with?” I ask. I don’t want to make promises I can’t keep.

“You know how football season is coming up, right?” she asks.

I almost roll my eyes. I’d have to be blind not to notice.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, the school board has imposed a rule—some players will be benched if they don’t improve their grades. And as you know, most of them are… academically challenged,” she says dryly. “I need your help tutoring one of them.”

I’m honestly shocked. This is the first time the school board has ever taken a firm stance on the football team’s academics. They usually turn a blind eye because of the glory and recognition the team brings when they win.

“Why the sudden change, ma’am?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.

She doesn’t look pleased, but she answers anyway.

“It appears we have a new board member who insists on academic performance—and he seems to have quite a bit of influence,” she says.

From her tone, I can tell Madam Agatha actually approves of this new member.

“Alright, ma’am. Who will I be tutoring?” I ask.

“I’ll be assigning you to Mr. Montague. You will begin tomorrow after classes.”

I blink in surprise. Ryan? I never thought he’d need tutoring. Seems like his new buddies aren’t as helpful as he thought, I think, a hint of vindictiveness creeping in.

“Well, Mr. Montez?” she prompts, tapping her desk.

“Sure, ma’am. It would be my pleasure,” I say, offering my signature good-boy smile.

That seems to satisfy her, and she dismisses me shortly after.

I practically float out of her office. Ceci immediately notices my mood and corners me as we’re heading home, launching into an interrogation.

“What did she want?” she asks, raising an eyebrow and tapping her foot.

“I’ll be tutoring Ryan starting tomorrow,” I say, confused by the strange excitement building in my chest.

“Oh… no wonder,” she says, her tone suggesting she knows something I don’t.

“No wonder what?” I narrow my eyes at her.

She just laughs and turns towards her house.

“Can’t you just tell me?” I call after her.

The little menace only waves in response.

Not long after, I meet up with Dad, and we drive home. My chest feels tangled with emotions, anticipation thrumming just beneath my skin.