- "Deals work best when each side gets something it wants from the other" –
~ Donald Trump
Later that day, Liam found it difficult to breathe with the math sheet pushed in front of him, consumed by the lurking shadow of his teacher, Mrs. Olive, staring back at him intensely. The class had begun promptly with the pop quiz and they had just under twenty minutes to race through the 5 structured questions which were divided further into questions entitled a, b, c or d. The teacher, Mrs. Olive, was quite plump with ample bosom that Liam was certain would have easily spilled out with the slightest move, had it been any bigger. The way they filled out her blouse, the material strained to hold them together, stretched to its limit, leaving conspicuous gaps between the buttons.
"Damn…"
"Good afternoon, class. Today, we'd be having a pop quiz," her voice was quirky with a queer high-pitched tune to it, "Ah ha! I bet I'd smell out all those who have not touched their math books for weeks, had it been we never took notes in this place. Hmpf!"
When all the papers were distributed, Mrs. Olive stood at her desk and set the stopwatch.
"Begin."
Pens speedily ran over papers and a thick fog of silence prevailed. Liam couldn't dream of being any unluckier than he was right then and there, receiving a pop quiz on his first day. Twenty minutes seemed to take forever to fly by and even at the end of it, Liam's paper remained untouched except for his mark of acknowledgement of the paper being his. The test was a shimmering white adorned with words, just as it had been when he first received it. Ms. Olive sent death glares at each terrified student as she sauntered through the maze of chairs, retrieving the tests that lay flat against each desk. Liam swallowed hard. He could only begin to imagine how she would react when she noticed that he had been pretending to write all throughout the twenty minutes and had only managed to produce his name at the top left corner of the page, paired with the date. Before he knew it, Mrs. Olive was nearing his seat, and she adjusted her glasses unto her nose bridge once she got there.
Liam waited for it with closed eyes, the dramatic scene to unravel simultaneously of how he was lacking too many screws in Math to even give one question a shot. However, to his surprise, a parody of a smile played on her lips, leaving Liam baffled. Impossible, he thought. Either she was blinded by fog on her glasses or chose to ignore the fact that he truly did not care to give any question a shot, afraid of adding a tinge of blue or black to the flawlessly white paper. When all the papers were collected, the school dismissal made itself known to the world as the school bell sprung to life.
"Class is dismissed; you are free to leave," Mrs. Olive beamed.
The sound of stationery clicking and papers crackling immediately arose at her words, and students went flying after the door in glee. Mrs. Olive's smile grew wider.
"Liam Sanchez, however, remain in class, please."
He knew it; it was too good to be true. He had already messed up on the first day. What was once a process of gathering stationery in relief became one of wooden movements. Mrs. Olive's gaze lingered on him as the limp, self-conscious figure approached her cautiously. There were two seats on the right of her front desk, he observed, yet he was the only one asked to remain. He began to ponder about it in the short space of time, and just then, a warm draught made itself ever present in the room.
"Mrs. Olive, you asked for me to remain after class earlier today."
Liam looked up from the cup of stationery that sat timidly on Ms. Olive's desk and locked eyes with the girl who stood in the doorway, innocently holding a sheet of paper between her fingertips. She had silky straight, jet-black hair that cascaded down her back and bangs that shaded her icy grey eyes, bleached of life. His eyes raked lower, and he took a mental pause as he observed the trunk of her body. To his surprise, she had a prosthetic right leg.
"That explains the two seats…" Liam muttered.
The two sat down next to each other without any form of communication and stared blankly at Mrs. Olive's overly beaming face. Liam could feel the tension connecting all three of them, as well as the dark aura that suddenly invaded the bright room. She gathered a few papers together and laid them in front of her, hinting the start of their dialogue.
"Liam Sanchez, this is one of your fellow classmates, Emma Waltz. Emma Waltz, this is Liam Sanchez."
"I know," the girl muttered, "What do you want? Don't beat around the bush."
She knows? Liam gazed at her from the corner of his eyes. She seemed unamused and he began to wonder if that was always her façade. Not to mention how blunt she was with her words, harsh like static.
Mrs. Olive continued, "Very well then, Waltz. The opportunity presented itself like no better time than now. It appears that our friend, Liam, needs some help getting up to scratch with what he is behind in. "
Liam swallowed hard at the mentioning of his name. She really had to rub it in, huh, he thought.
"Since you're one of my strong students, why not pitch in and help him, hm? He will be like your student, study buddy, whatever you wish to call it, as of now. You are to teach him math and make sure he is as good as you are in a month's time."
Emma's facial features hardened upon hearing Ms. Olive's instruction. It was obvious, by the way her eyes narrowed to slits, that she was not having any of this.
"Ms. Olive... I respectfully refuse."
She smirked. "You can't. I'm the teacher here. I decide what the hell I want, once I deem it necessary. "
The girl gritted her teeth. "Logically speaking, that is impractical. Why be so absurd?"
Ms. Olive's smirk widened, and she rose from her seat, making her way over to Emma and stooping to her level.
"Don't worry, refusal to accept is just fine. Just prepare to be a disappointment, once again."
Liam observed the two, unsure of the nature of the unspoken words firing between the two. Emma kept her gaze straight ahead, fists developing on her lap. She had reached the brink of annoyance and wasn't sure how much longer she could maintain composure. Liam took the time to steal another glimpse of her, the warmth of her body near his skin, but this time, however, she was already staring. Dammit…
"Don't get any bright ideas ticking off in that perverted mind of yours." she rose, hugging the paper in her hands to her chest.
His cheeks turned a shade of pink, and he immediately looked away. He was so caught up in his head that he didn't realize when Mrs. Olive had left the classroom minutes ago. Before long, he finally registered the current situation: she must have just accepted and was now going to be his peer tutor... or something like that. He gazed at her again when suddenly her words registered - perverted. Perverted?
"Who- Who are you calling perverted?? Maybe you're the one with the perverted mind here, seeing that you were so quick to jump to a conclusion like that!"
She narrowed her eyes. "Only perverts stare."
"Who's this?" a foreign voice chimed.
Liam looked across from the girl's shoulder and noticed a boy with amber hair that was ruffled yet put together. He was waiting in the doorway with his hands in his pockets. He looked over at Emma with a mirrored unamused look. Who was he, Liam asked himself.
"Hm," Emma murmured, "Liam Sanchez, this is Rooney Craig. Rooney, Liam."
Rooney grimaced. "He's coming with us?"
"I could guarantee not today but, in the future, yes. I'm supposedly stuck with him for a month."
Stuck with him for a month… they made him sound like a disease. Liam swung his bag over his shoulders and stood up from his seat. There was nothing about the two that was of interested him regardless. All he knew was that he now had to be taking math lessons from a 'teacher' after school, a girl. He rose to his full height and he started excusing himself from the already awkward and tense situation. Just when he reached the doorway, Emma reached out for the end of his shirt and held it in a fist.
"Liam…" she muttered and drew closer; her warm breath caressed his ear. "Promise me after I teach you and you're as good as me, you would always leave 1st place for me. I teach you Math and you leave 1st place to me, always. Deal?"
His adam's apple bobbed. The grip she had on him wasn't like the ones in those love novels that made your toes curl and gave you the tingles. It was more like a ruthless commander making a death threat.
"You left the math test blank, didn't you? There's some benefit in what I'm saying. I could have refused to teach you. Leave 1st place to me at all times, and I'll teach you or else you're stuck with a Math teacher who will crush your ego, brick by brick, after noticing how horrible you are at Math. Deal or not?"
He remained frozen in thought. Emma was suddenly acting as if she had initially formulated the idea of lending him a hand in math since he left the test blank. Why was she so adamant on wanting to be first? Was it really all that big of a deal?
"Deal or not?" she gripped his shirt tighter.
He sighed.
"Deal."