I stretch my back before packing away my notebooks into the bag. This class was brutal, and my hand hurts from taking pages and pages of notes. My parents are of the mind that hand-taken notes are the best way to learn, so no laptop for me. They buy my school books, pay for my tuition, but make me take hand-written notes.
I walk out of the classroom and into the busy hall, full of pre-law and law students, not bothering to stop as people stare and whisper. Walking fast to my next class, I take no heed in the rumors that seep out from the mouths of people who have no business talking about me. They have better things to do, like studying. Once in my Calculus classroom, I takes a seat and prepare for another grueling session. This is by far my worst subject.
The room is half filled with students ranging from Sophomore to Seniors. But my eyes are always drawn to one guy who doesn't fit in with the rest of the Ivy League pupils. He is dressed in dark colors and baggy hoodies that hang to his knees, but has some splatters of what looks like paint on his tight skinny jeans. His shirt features a picture of the current president staking people like Vladimir the Impaler. A black beanie adorns his head, completing the look of a person who does not belong at Pleasant Valley University.
This guy is Raven, if that's even his real name. He is an art student, and supposedly brilliant. I've overheard a couple of teachers complaining that he is wasting talent on art, of all things. The students don't even know about the brilliance. I even question it sometimes. He is very mysterious. I haven't seen any of his pieces, no one has, except the art teacher. He is just some kid who goes here, but I can never get him off my mind in our one mutual class.
Professor Liu comes in just as the class is supposed to start. He starts the class off with handing out test results. He hands me mine, and I join the group of kids groaning in failure. Liu is one of the more harsh and strict professors here at this school. Lots of kids are going to have to hire tutors before mid-terms. Now including me. Liu continues with his lesson on something I can barely comprehend, as on my paper, he wrote to see him after class.
The class seems to go at the speed of a snail, and an eternity later, I am standing in front of my Professor's desk. He looks up and takes off his spectacles. He sighs before beginning.
"You are aware that your score on the recent quiz was rather low, yes?" I nod, lowering my eyes. "I'm also sure you are aware that this class is needed for your Law degree. Which means, you need a passing grade. As of this moment, you are on the verge of failing."
"Sir, just give me a week to study, and let me take the test again! I can prove that I can get a good grade!" I exclaim, gesturing with my hands for affect. Prof. Liu sighs again, shaking his head.
"I'm sorry, I can't do that. It would be considered favoritism. You can do extra assignments for some more credit, but you need a tutor. So, I have taken the liberty of choosing one of my most promising students to take on this challenge. Ah, here he is. Raphael! Good to see you!" Liu stands up with a smile that doesn't arise very often. I turn around and am surprised to see Raven walking towards us. His posture is slouched, and he has dark circles under his eyes. He nods to Prof. Liu, then looks at me. I can just sense the distaste from him.
"Professor, it's Raven. So, this is the kid I'm tutoring? He looks like he could get someone better than me." He says, and I'm taken aback by how soft his voice is, like a feather could knock him over any second.
"Ah, yes, my apologies. This is Jake, and he is very close to failing my class. And no one is better than you. So, please take care of him. I taught his parents, and I would like to see him succeed too. I will be going, feel free to use this room after hours for the board." Prof. Liu walks out after grabbing his suitcase with papers sticking out. I stare at Raven, and he just looks at me with a deadpan expression. Then, he holds out his phone. The page where you input a new contact is pulled up.
"I need your info so I can set up a study time. I'm Raven, and I will-" I interrupt him.
"Yes, I know who you are. But I don't really need any help. I'm within passing range." I say, and he raises a brow.
"Really?" Raven says, sounding spectacle. "I'm pretty sure I heard Prof. Liu say that you are just barely passing. What was your grade for the last assignment?" He asks, and I tell him. "A 70? That is just passing. It might have been okay for high school, but this is college."
"I'm very well aware of that fact. But high school math was easier to learn." I argue, and he looks exasperated.
"Of course it is. That is the point. The things you learn are supposed to get harder the more you learn, because there is more to cram in your head. But if you think you can pass the next quiz in two weeks without my help, then I am of no use here. I have a job to be at, earning my own money." He turns and starts to walk away, but I stop him.
"Fine, I need help. My number is xxx-xxx-xxxx"
"There we go, now we are getting somewhere. You know, the first step to getting help is acknowledging that you need help?"
"This isn't an addiction problem, Raven. When are you available? And how much are you wanting for this?" I say, and he looks taken aback at my change in attitude.
"Well, I charge fifteen an hour, and I'm free today from 5:30 to midnight. Today, we will just see how much you know. I'll next you my address later." He says, all business, and not a single emotion on his face. He is also good at the art of not showing a single emotion.
"I have a regular arrangement at 5:10 to 5:30. Can we meet at 5:45?" I ask, and he nods then walks out, leaving me to question my life choices. He doesn't talk much, but he seems good at school, but maybe the teachers exaggerate his prowess in everything school. I leave, heading to my next class as the students pour into the room.
I get home, and Rufus, our butler, is waiting for me. "How was your day?" He asks me. He is really the only person I like, and I would consider him my friend.
"It was good, but I'm meeting with someone from my maths class after my run." He looks surprised at this, probably because I never meet anyone except Jessica, the girl I'm dating. He smiles happily, showing the space between his front teeth. "What?" I ask, feeling like I should say something.
"Nothing, nothing. Please, enjoy your time out, Young Master. Do not mind me, I'm just an old man." I laugh, and he follows suit, because he is only in his 50's. I head to my room to get ready for my run. My phone rings as I'm pulling on my athletic shirt. The caller ID says it's Jessica. I answer.
"Hello, Jessica. To what do I owe this lovely conversation?" I say, and curse my formality. I can never get my tone and wording right when it comes to talking to her. I've been with her for three years, since my senior year in high school.
"I'm free tonight. Want to do something?" My mood brightens, then dims.
"Sorry, but I'm meeting with someone for tutoring. I'm not going to be free until late. Do you want to rain check for this weekend?" I feel bad for blowing her off like this, but I really need good grades to impress my parents.
"No, yeah that's okay. We'll make plans later, okay? Don't worry, and have fun tutoring. Not sure you are cut out for teaching someone else, but try hard okay? Talk to you later. Bye," she hangs up, and I let out a big breath. She thinks I'm the one tutoring someone, not the one being tutored. I suppose it is best that way. I pull on my shoes and leave for my run.
I start from my house, then make my way towards the city, and the winding streets. About half-way in my run, I come across a commotion in my way. There is a crowd of nosy people, police tape, and lots of police. As I run past, I look and see a body covered in a sheet. I keep up a light jog as I go past, but keep glancing around at the operation to see how it works. I must have seemed suspicious to one of the police officers, as he stops me.
"Hey you! Stop!" I comply, and am suddenly being interrogated. "Why were you looking all over the scene? You look a little sus, do you have anything to do with that?" He points to the scene, and I'm taken aback by this. This is a clear misuse of power by this officer. Another officer stops him.
"Sorry, tension is running a little high right now. Your are free to go, and are under no suspicion." As I walk away, I can hear him scold the cop. "Don't you know who that is? That is Levi and Julia's Zimmerman's son, who is also a law student."
I try to ignore this, but it is not fair that people who are easily recognized as wealthy and in power are more likely to be let go free, even if they are guilty. I finish my run, change, and call a taxi to take my to the address Raven had texted me ten minutes ago. The ride is about 30 minutes long, and when I get out, I have no idea where I am, other than that I'm in a bad neighborhood. I look around at the buildings, and think about how the taxi sped away as quick as possible. I see no building numbers, so I choose one and walk towards it, but am stopped thirty feet from the building by three guys. All three are Hispanic looking, and have knives hanging by their belt loops. Surely, Raven doesn't live here.
"Hey, Chico, you don't belong here. Unless...you are looking for a little fun. Then, me and my amigos will gladly give you a good time." He smiles lewdly while giving his hips a little grind to emphasis his point. I take a step back, pushing my fear down and struggling to keep my face a blank slate. His friends smirk and keep glancing at each other. The one who talked, in the middle, moves for me, but as he tries to grab me, I feel a hand on my waist pulling me back. I close my eyes, waiting to be stripped right there, but nothing happens. I look, and there stands Raven, in jeans a paint splattered t-shirt, in front of me. I stand up taller, as not to look like I'm cowered.
"I thought I told you to not mess with anyone in my area, Diego. And I'm pretty sure your mama wouldn't be to happy to learn what you are doing with her cutlery." His voice holds a slight Spanish accent, which becomes more pronounced as he switches to Spanish and to the two younger kids with Diego. His voice is still soft, but has a lilt to it that makes it seem more confident than it is. I don't understand much Spanish, but I catch that they are only teenagers. After he is done scolding them, he drags me into an apartment building behind us, still muttering under his breath in what sounds like is his first language.
"I'm sorry about that. I should have waited for you. This isn't the best neighborhood. Are you okay?" He switches back to English, and actually sounds a little concerned under all of his blank-face demeanor. We walk to the second floor, and come to door 226, which the paint is peeling, and the knocker is hanging half off. He unlocks the door, and leads me in, locking the door after him, including all three deadbolts and slide lock. Very obviously not the best area. My first impression of the inside is...artsy. The living room was converted into an art studio, and several unfinished paintings are resting on easels.
His work on the other hand is...some of the best I've seen. It belongs in a museum or art gallery, not deep in the hood surrounded by gunfire. His technique shows years of dedication, as I know some artists whose flow of colors and stokes is not as rhythmic. It is like looking at a musical piece flow and all of the sections come together in harmony. Why he doesn't share these master pieces with anyone is a question I very much want the answer too.
"If you are done gawking, I have set up my dining room as a classroom. He leads me to the table that stands within viewing distance of the art room. This room is blank and colorless, without the life that was in the other room. There is a whiteboard on one wall, and it is full of equations that are not calculus. Even I know that. From the looks of it, it's like he is calculating the exact amount of force needed to get a rocket into space. As he erases it, I'm wondering why he's erasing such important work.
"Don't you need that?" I ask, and he pauses in his cleaning to answer.
"No, it was just something I was doing to pass the time while I waited for you. I already know the answer to this problem anyway. Let's get started. What do you understand is the question I need answered." I'm bewildered, as the teachers weren't exaggerating his genius status. The only thing that adorns these walls is a list of numbers, ranging from 140 to in the 200's. He writes down equations on the board from different topics in calculus. Once he is done, he turns to me. "I would like you to do these problems to the best of your abilities. Tell me when you are done." He walks into the other room and picks up a paint brush to start in on a half completed piece.
I start, and immediately can't focus. I try, but Raven painting is something that no one has seen, and as I watch his hand move with some unseen music, I'm mesmerized. He glances over, and I quickly turn back to my problems. My face is hot, and I don't know why. I focus extra hard on the problems, but know I got at least, if not more, wrong.
As Raven goes through my answers, he frowns and sighs, making notes and such in a notebook. He sets down the notebook, looks at me, and rubs his nose, sighing some more. "Well, do you want the good news or the bad news first?"
Uh-oh.
"Um...good news?" I say, sounding very much not sure.
"Okay, well, good news: You are not hopeless, but we have a lot of work to do. " He says, and I sigh in relief.
"Wait, whats the bad news?" I ask, wondering what could be so bad to get him this exasperated.
"Well, you only got five out of 30 questions right, so...yeah." I slump my head into my hands.
"Damn."