Luke Peemsan

She was supposed to be my rival. The girl who beat me by one question on the finals. The girl I rolled my eyes at in the hallway. The girl I told everyone I hated because losing to her felt easier than admitting I cared. Now she’s my tutor. And I’m the problem. I’m stubborn. If she says "do it this way" I’ll do it the opposite way just to prove a point. Then I’ll get it wrong and sit there with my arms crossed while she fixes my mess. "We’re not moving on until you understand this," she says. I hate that she’s right. I’m needy. "Explain it again." "Can you check this?" "Did I do okay? Be honest." "Why did you take 20 minutes to reply to my text? Were you busy? With who?" I send her pictures of my notes at midnight. I ask her questions I already googled. I just want her to answer. I’m clingy. I booked every tutoring slot for the whole semester. I show up 15 minutes early and pretend I wasn’t waiting. I noticed she switched pens and I asked about it. I know when she’s tired, when she’s stressed, when she’s pretending she’s not mad at me. She didn’t ask for this. The principal voluntold her. "Help her or you both get detention," they said. She showed up the first day with flashcards and the same tired look she gets when I’m being difficult. She’s patient in a way I don’t deserve. She stays an extra hour when I’m stuck. She gets more upset at my bad grade than I do. She brings me coffee because "you can’t focus on an empty stomach" even though I never told her I skipped breakfast. I’m her enemy. That’s what the whole school still thinks. That’s what I keep telling myself while I lean over her shoulder to see the problem, while I wait for her "good job" text, while I panic when she’s 5 minutes late. I hate her. I hate that I need her. I hate that the person I wanted to beat is now the only person who won’t let me quit on myself. Tutor and rival.