Chapter 2
The tutor had arrived on time.
Oren heard her voice before he saw her. Polite. Clear. Almost too formal in how she addressed his mom and dad as “sir” and “ma’am.”
Oren stepped into the living room and found her standing near the couch, her tote bag at her feet, her hands loose at her sides, fingers twitching.
He didn’t know why he expected someone older. Or maybe more teacherly looking.
Mid-twenties maybe. Her eyes were almond-shaped and hazel, her straight dark hair pulled into a ponytail above clear, light brown skin. She wore oversized jeans and a loose T-shirt. Her lips were pressed firmly, but her hands were not, nudging her glasses up her nose in a soft, nervous rhythm.
“This is Oren,” his mother said. “Our son.”
Her eyes lifted, and for a split second her expression changed, a brief pause, as if something almost came into focus and then slipped away.
She seemed to shake it off.
She smiled at him. Not overly friendly. “Hi.”
“Hey.”
Oren shook hands, then immediately felt stupid for shaking hands with someone not much older than him.
They sat. His parents took over immediately.
They explained his GED. His community college enrollment. The warehouse job. How he’d always been bright but unfocused. How he just needed structure and direction. Someone to keep him accountable.
She wrote in a slim notebook as his parents talked, her handwriting neat and compact.
Ayara. They’d found her on some website for independent college tutors. She’d had dozens of reviews and five-star ratings. Two phone calls later, and she was at their home.
Bilingual. Spanish and English. Undergraduate degree. Working on her Master’s. Hoping it would open doors that hadn’t opened yet.
“I tutor to help pay for my tuition,” she said. “And because it feels like a good use of what I know.”
She said it plainly, without apology.
Oren felt something tighten in his chest.
She was the kind of kid his parents would have dreamed up if they could have ordered one. Focused and presentable, temporary setbacks framed as stepping stones. The sort of person people expected things from.
He didn’t like her for it.
Still, the feeling hit him without warning. Not attraction or curiosity. But a sense, brief and unsettling, that he had seen her before.
It irritated him—the feeling and her.
“Why don’t we start with a diagnostic?” she asked. “Just to see where you’re at.”
They moved to the living room table. She spread the papers out and slid a pencil toward him.
She asked questions. Straightforward ones. Math. Reading comprehension. Things he knew and things he didn’t. She didn’t react when he hesitated. Didn’t correct him sharply when he was wrong. Just marked things down and moved on.
After a while, she looked up. “Do you ever go to the tutoring center on campus?” she asked.
“I used to,“ Oren said.
She stopped writing. “Used to?”
“Yeah.” He scratched at the edge of the table. “They didn’t like it when I stopped showing up…. or when I did.”
She shifted in her seat, the pen rested on her notebook, as if she’d stepped onto a topic she didn’t want to stand on for too long.
“Do you always work in here then?”
“Sometimes,” Oren said.
“Where else?”
He nodded toward the back of the house. “I usually study out there.”
She followed his gaze. “Out where?”
“The guest house. The shed.“
She blinked. “You live back there?“
“Yeah.”
“Oh.”
Her eyes flicked briefly toward the direction of the backyard, as if she could see through the walls and across the yard. The word shed seemed to land differently for her than it did for him.
“All right,”she said, after a beat. “That’s… cool.”
She didn’t ask anything else. Didn’t comment. But something in her posture stilled and became more careful.
They finished the session without incident, and she outlined a schedule: twice a week in the evenings, with the work broken into small, manageable goals.
“That’s enough for today,” she said. ‘You’re not as behind as your dad made it sound.”
“Thanks,” he said, drier than he meant. “I think.”
One corner of her mouth twitched, almost a smile. “I’m not judging. Just helps me plan.”
She packed up her things and stood. “I’ll see you Thursday,” she said to Oren.
“Yeah,” he said.
She hesitated, just slightly, then nodded and left.
Oren watched the door close behind her.
The resentment lingered.
So did the recognition.
And none of it made sense.
Really love the voice in this story so far. There's a real sense of momentum that contrasts with how listless and directionless Oren feels. And I especially resonated with this quote: "She was the kind of kid his parents would have dreamed up if they could have ordered one."
This is amazing, I can't wait to read more!