Save Me Please
Tutor
The rest of the day passes by in a blur of cruel rumors, being shoved into lockers and even crueler rumors.
But none of it has any weight anymore. Tonight I'm ending it all, and it's oddly comforting to know I won't have to deal with the stupid fucking homework, or the horrible bullies at my school.
Or my stupid crush on Harry Styles.
I remember the day I realized I liked him. I was in 7th grade, and we were assigned to be partners for something called History Day. Students around the U.S. gather in order to deeply go into a subject of their choice that has to do with the main theme. That year it was "Turning Points in History." So we (and I mean "I") chose the Lincoln assassination.
While Harry Styles is insanely attractive and athletic, he's not that smart. I ended up doing most of the work, but he was very helpful in the ways he'd get books for me and look up the stuff I told him to.
When we only got third place, I was heartbroken. I worked so hard but it obviously wasn't enough. I felt tears in my eyes, but I felt so stupid about it that I just turned away from everyone. But Harry wasn't fooled. He quickly got me in a hug and whispered, "You were great, Beck. The best damn partner I could've hoped for." And the combination of his sweet words, comforting hug, and his surprisingly-amazing smell, I developed a huge crush.
Then we didn't talk in 8th grade because we didn't have any mutual classes, then Max decided to ruin my life, which lead to high school. Then Harry and two other guys Niall Horan and Liam Payne became the first freshmen in 40 years to make Varsity on the soccer team, so he got boosted to the likes of Zayn Malik and Louis Tomlinson (popular upperclassmen also on the team).
And if you know what's good for you, then you don't talk to me.
Well, unless it's insults.
Which is why I'm definitely glad I'm killing myself tonight. Everything will finally be done.
My favorite teacher (Ms. Walkins, history) has this cardboard box she never uses in class. It's tiny, but should carry everything in my locker so I ask if I can borrow it.
"Of course, Beck. Have a great weekend." I just smile and nod.
Walking out of History, the last period of the day, I put in my headphones quickly so I don't have to listen to people not talk to me. Carrying Ms. Walkins' box, I open my locker quickly and put everything into it. People purposefully bump into me as they all rush out to enjoy the weekend, but I'll be done with this in a few hours.
Speaking of this, I should probably think about how to kill myself.
As I contemplate the many ways in which I could do it, I'm pushed over again walking to the bus. (It's one of those buses that say they leave right at 3:30, but our driver doesn't even turn the bus on until 3:50.) The stuff in my box falls out and I sigh at the inconvenience. The Wanted laugh and high-five each other as they rush away, Max's eyes making sure to linger.
Taking out my headphones aggressively, I just shove my phone and such into my pocket and try to get everything back onto the box.
"Those fucking football players, huh?" I hear a husky voice say as I see someone's large hands help me put stuff back in the box. I shrug, then look up and see who it is. It's Harry.
Fuck.
"Yeah." One-word answers should give him the hint I'm busy and don't want to talk. But I let him keep helping me, because hell, if it gets me out of here quicker.
"I need to talk you about something."
There's a silence. What does he want me to say?
"And?" I raise an eyebrow at him, getting the box into my hands.
"So you know how you're really good at History?"
"... Yes."
"Are you busy tonight? Because if I tank Ms. W's test, then I can't participate in soccer anymore. And I know how you're all smart and stuff, so can you help me study?"
One of the things about Harry is he speaks really slowly. But he was so nervous that he was speaking at the rate of a normal person.
"Aren't you gonna be, like, shunned for speaking with me?" I put bluntly.
"Maybe." Harry shrugs as we both stand. "But I really need your help."
"Sorry, I'm busy."
"Please." His amazing eyes get all puppy-ish and I bite back a sigh. "I know I've been a bit of a dick towards you these past couple of years but I could really use your help."
"Sorry." I get a tight hold on my stuff and decide to just go to the bus. Stepping outside of the doors, I see that my bus is pulling out, with some freshmen waving bye to me in a sassy, annoying way. I groan, tossing my head back in sheer annoyance. I just want to go home to kill myself, is that too much to ask?
Someone taps my shoulder. I don't have to turn around to know it's Harry. "Please, Beck? I need to keep playing soccer. And you're the only person who can make that happen. I promise, just a couple hours tonight and then I'll be out of your hair. Anything to make sure I don't actually fail."
I let out a slow breath in consideration. "Just two hours?" He nods, smiling a bit when he sees I'm considering it. "Fine. Can we just do it at your house and then you give me a ride?"
Harry bounces happily a bit in his step, making him like his middle-school self and not as much as this attractive soccer player. It's annoying and arousing at the same time.
Wow did I just think that?
Harry takes me to his car, and opens the door for me like a true gentleman. I smile but it's kind of forced. I know this will be a long couple of hours.
When I walk through the front door, Harry shouts, "Mom! I'm home! And I have Beck with me!"
Almost instantly Anne walks in from the kitchen. Is it stalkerish I still remember what their house looks like?
"Rebecca Braydon! Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?" She quickly envelops me in a tight hug. Anne's always been affectionate and adoring of me. She used to tell me I was the only one who could "help my poor Harry with anything." "How are you doing my dear?"
Suicidal, thanks for asking. "I'm great, Ms. Cox. How are you?"
"Fantastic! And you better call me Anne, my dear. None of that 'Ms. Cox' bullshit. Don't need me feeling old." She winks at us and playfully slaps at her ass. I laugh and Harry turns red.
"Mom, Beck is here to help me with Ms. Walkins' test this Monday. So we're going to study for a bit in my room."
"Okay! Have fun you too." Harry gestures for me to go up, but as I ascend the stairs I hear her say to him, "Not too much fun."
A "bit" at their house turns into from 4-11 at night. Harry took forever to understand the basics of World War I. But I was very patient, and managed to get through the events 1914 through the U.S's involvement.
So I couldn't exactly kill myself because Anne made me stay for dinner with her, Harry, and Gemma (his college-freshman sister who, apparently, thinks I'm awesome). Then we had to go back to studying which kept going on forever and I still couldn't even get him to understand why the U.S. got involved in the war.
"But they were Isolationist!"
"But the safety of the country and its economy was at stake so we needed to intervene. Not to mention, the Zimmerman telegram and the Lusitania-"
"What does the guy who shot Trayvon Martin have to do with anything?"
And then I give the LOUDEST MOST ANNOYED sigh in the world as I have to go over everything again.
Especially when I realize we still have a year left. "I am tired and we still have 1918 left."
"Mind coming over tomorrow? I really need your help."
I exhale slowly in consideration. I already gave him 7 hours, which took away priceless killing-yourself time. But at the same time, he's so hopeless and I'm already too invested for me to not see him get this last year.
I nod. And he does his little happy-grin-bounce on his bed. And I can't help but tiredly smile too.
Harry Facebook messages me his number, so he calls me at 10 in the morning to make me study with him. And I have to go over the difference between the Central and Axis Powers again before even starting 1918 so I end up staying 'til dinner again.
"But, by damn Harry I think you might pass." I say as I go to leave, getting my coat. It's surprisingly chilly in near-late October.
"All thanks to you, Beck. Have a great night." He hugs me and he still smells amazing.
When I plan on killing myself on Sunday, Harry texts me sporadically throughout the day with follow-up questions when I realize I want to see if he succeeds or not, so I have to wait 'til the end of the day on Monday. (She does those multiple choice tests that you can send the answers in via remote so you can see the answer immediately.)
I guess I'll have to wait 'til then.
But none of it has any weight anymore. Tonight I'm ending it all, and it's oddly comforting to know I won't have to deal with the stupid fucking homework, or the horrible bullies at my school.
Or my stupid crush on Harry Styles.
I remember the day I realized I liked him. I was in 7th grade, and we were assigned to be partners for something called History Day. Students around the U.S. gather in order to deeply go into a subject of their choice that has to do with the main theme. That year it was "Turning Points in History." So we (and I mean "I") chose the Lincoln assassination.
While Harry Styles is insanely attractive and athletic, he's not that smart. I ended up doing most of the work, but he was very helpful in the ways he'd get books for me and look up the stuff I told him to.
When we only got third place, I was heartbroken. I worked so hard but it obviously wasn't enough. I felt tears in my eyes, but I felt so stupid about it that I just turned away from everyone. But Harry wasn't fooled. He quickly got me in a hug and whispered, "You were great, Beck. The best damn partner I could've hoped for." And the combination of his sweet words, comforting hug, and his surprisingly-amazing smell, I developed a huge crush.
Then we didn't talk in 8th grade because we didn't have any mutual classes, then Max decided to ruin my life, which lead to high school. Then Harry and two other guys Niall Horan and Liam Payne became the first freshmen in 40 years to make Varsity on the soccer team, so he got boosted to the likes of Zayn Malik and Louis Tomlinson (popular upperclassmen also on the team).
And if you know what's good for you, then you don't talk to me.
Well, unless it's insults.
Which is why I'm definitely glad I'm killing myself tonight. Everything will finally be done.
My favorite teacher (Ms. Walkins, history) has this cardboard box she never uses in class. It's tiny, but should carry everything in my locker so I ask if I can borrow it.
"Of course, Beck. Have a great weekend." I just smile and nod.
Walking out of History, the last period of the day, I put in my headphones quickly so I don't have to listen to people not talk to me. Carrying Ms. Walkins' box, I open my locker quickly and put everything into it. People purposefully bump into me as they all rush out to enjoy the weekend, but I'll be done with this in a few hours.
Speaking of this, I should probably think about how to kill myself.
As I contemplate the many ways in which I could do it, I'm pushed over again walking to the bus. (It's one of those buses that say they leave right at 3:30, but our driver doesn't even turn the bus on until 3:50.) The stuff in my box falls out and I sigh at the inconvenience. The Wanted laugh and high-five each other as they rush away, Max's eyes making sure to linger.
Taking out my headphones aggressively, I just shove my phone and such into my pocket and try to get everything back onto the box.
"Those fucking football players, huh?" I hear a husky voice say as I see someone's large hands help me put stuff back in the box. I shrug, then look up and see who it is. It's Harry.
Fuck.
"Yeah." One-word answers should give him the hint I'm busy and don't want to talk. But I let him keep helping me, because hell, if it gets me out of here quicker.
"I need to talk you about something."
There's a silence. What does he want me to say?
"And?" I raise an eyebrow at him, getting the box into my hands.
"So you know how you're really good at History?"
"... Yes."
"Are you busy tonight? Because if I tank Ms. W's test, then I can't participate in soccer anymore. And I know how you're all smart and stuff, so can you help me study?"
One of the things about Harry is he speaks really slowly. But he was so nervous that he was speaking at the rate of a normal person.
"Aren't you gonna be, like, shunned for speaking with me?" I put bluntly.
"Maybe." Harry shrugs as we both stand. "But I really need your help."
"Sorry, I'm busy."
"Please." His amazing eyes get all puppy-ish and I bite back a sigh. "I know I've been a bit of a dick towards you these past couple of years but I could really use your help."
"Sorry." I get a tight hold on my stuff and decide to just go to the bus. Stepping outside of the doors, I see that my bus is pulling out, with some freshmen waving bye to me in a sassy, annoying way. I groan, tossing my head back in sheer annoyance. I just want to go home to kill myself, is that too much to ask?
Someone taps my shoulder. I don't have to turn around to know it's Harry. "Please, Beck? I need to keep playing soccer. And you're the only person who can make that happen. I promise, just a couple hours tonight and then I'll be out of your hair. Anything to make sure I don't actually fail."
I let out a slow breath in consideration. "Just two hours?" He nods, smiling a bit when he sees I'm considering it. "Fine. Can we just do it at your house and then you give me a ride?"
Harry bounces happily a bit in his step, making him like his middle-school self and not as much as this attractive soccer player. It's annoying and arousing at the same time.
Wow did I just think that?
Harry takes me to his car, and opens the door for me like a true gentleman. I smile but it's kind of forced. I know this will be a long couple of hours.
When I walk through the front door, Harry shouts, "Mom! I'm home! And I have Beck with me!"
Almost instantly Anne walks in from the kitchen. Is it stalkerish I still remember what their house looks like?
"Rebecca Braydon! Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?" She quickly envelops me in a tight hug. Anne's always been affectionate and adoring of me. She used to tell me I was the only one who could "help my poor Harry with anything." "How are you doing my dear?"
Suicidal, thanks for asking. "I'm great, Ms. Cox. How are you?"
"Fantastic! And you better call me Anne, my dear. None of that 'Ms. Cox' bullshit. Don't need me feeling old." She winks at us and playfully slaps at her ass. I laugh and Harry turns red.
"Mom, Beck is here to help me with Ms. Walkins' test this Monday. So we're going to study for a bit in my room."
"Okay! Have fun you too." Harry gestures for me to go up, but as I ascend the stairs I hear her say to him, "Not too much fun."
A "bit" at their house turns into from 4-11 at night. Harry took forever to understand the basics of World War I. But I was very patient, and managed to get through the events 1914 through the U.S's involvement.
So I couldn't exactly kill myself because Anne made me stay for dinner with her, Harry, and Gemma (his college-freshman sister who, apparently, thinks I'm awesome). Then we had to go back to studying which kept going on forever and I still couldn't even get him to understand why the U.S. got involved in the war.
"But they were Isolationist!"
"But the safety of the country and its economy was at stake so we needed to intervene. Not to mention, the Zimmerman telegram and the Lusitania-"
"What does the guy who shot Trayvon Martin have to do with anything?"
And then I give the LOUDEST MOST ANNOYED sigh in the world as I have to go over everything again.
Especially when I realize we still have a year left. "I am tired and we still have 1918 left."
"Mind coming over tomorrow? I really need your help."
I exhale slowly in consideration. I already gave him 7 hours, which took away priceless killing-yourself time. But at the same time, he's so hopeless and I'm already too invested for me to not see him get this last year.
I nod. And he does his little happy-grin-bounce on his bed. And I can't help but tiredly smile too.
Harry Facebook messages me his number, so he calls me at 10 in the morning to make me study with him. And I have to go over the difference between the Central and Axis Powers again before even starting 1918 so I end up staying 'til dinner again.
"But, by damn Harry I think you might pass." I say as I go to leave, getting my coat. It's surprisingly chilly in near-late October.
"All thanks to you, Beck. Have a great night." He hugs me and he still smells amazing.
When I plan on killing myself on Sunday, Harry texts me sporadically throughout the day with follow-up questions when I realize I want to see if he succeeds or not, so I have to wait 'til the end of the day on Monday. (She does those multiple choice tests that you can send the answers in via remote so you can see the answer immediately.)
I guess I'll have to wait 'til then.
No prob. :)
8/5/13