New story... had a dream that can't let go of my head, so you get the output.
And it was a very good dream. Oh yes.
�Pure Simple Catering� certainly, Mrs. Trumbull� for how many?� My mom sat on the edge of the desk behind the big commercial stove and put on her glasses. Then she looked up at me through the bread racks and whispered �Katie, could you please check the front?�
I quickly shoved my ACT results into the pocket of my apron, but she was too busy taking notes on the back of a sheet of parchment to have noticed. Cumulative of 21� math score was 16. Impossible. It was going to be impossible to get into even a state college with that kind of score. I had a hard lump in my stomach and wanted to cry, but instead I grabbed a tray of �clairs and walked back up through the swinging double doors into the coffee area of my mom�s restaurant. I checked the pair of lounge chairs up by the sunny window, where two cute college guys were arguing over philosophy and nursing two hour cups of herbal tea that had to have been cold by now. I wish that they hadn�t been so poor so that I could walk over there and pour them some more. I was wearing a nice scoop neck t-shirt today and if I bent over just so, they might lose a little interest in Descartes. I considered comping them each a cup of tea, but, as my frighteningly professional mother was fond of mentioning, we weren�t a non-profit for a reason.
The bell above the door rang and in walked my math teacher at the academy, Dr. Cleever. I had straight As in every class but his. Last quarter, he gave me a C +, but I didn�t blame him for that. I do the work. I just don�t get math. Dr. Cleever is a great teacher and never acted like I was wasting his time when I would ask him questions about things that were probably totally stupid. I always felt a little guilty around him, because I felt like I should be able to get an A in his class too, if I only were better at math. And stuffed down in my apron pocket was another example of a way that I had failed again.
�Hi Dr. Cleever! What can I get for you today?�
�Hello Katie.� He smiled at me. He always had a nice warm smile and seemed as though he genuinely enjoyed seeing his students, which was one of the reasons that I really liked him. Also, he was younger than most of my teachers, only a few years out of graduate school. While my other teachers were wearing polyester recycled from the seventies, Dr. Cleever wore sleek Banana Republic flat front olive colored pants and a perfectly pressed button down shirt left open at the color to show just a tiny curl of his light brown chest hair. Sometimes, it drove me to distraction, wondering just how much hair he had on his chest� was it a little patch on the top, or did it trail down into a line that would dip toward his beltline? And what of what came below? And then I�d look at his fingers. My friend Michaela told me that you can tell what a guy�s penis will look like if you look at his fingers. Dr. Cleever had long fingers on strong hands.
It�s no wonder that I had a hard time in math.
�What�s good today?� His eyes darted over the chalkboard behind the counter.
�Well, if you like pea soup, we�ve got��
�KATHERINE ELIZABETH!�
Dr. Cleever and I both turned at the sound of my mother�s harsh tone. She was standing before the swinging kitchen doors. In her hands, a formerly crumpled piece of paper that could only have been my ACT results. Even as I patted my apron pocket, I knew that it would be empty.
�Were you going to tell me about this?�
�I just got it today! I just read it a minute ago!� I hissed. I wanted to die. Especially in front of Dr. Cleever.
�Why is your math score so low? Isn�t 16 too low to get into a good college?� Her brow was furrowed with worry and irritation. My mother was an extraordinary woman and did not accept mediocrity, especially not from her daughters. My older sisters were each a pediatrician and a bio-physicist, so the bar had been raised nice and high, practically in the stratosphere.
�I have high everything else!� I wanted to die. Die. Just kill me now, God, unless you�d like to rip off my shirt to completely annihilate me in front of Dr. Cleever and now great, also the college boys had stopped talking and were looking over at us.
�Actually, Ms. Bell,� Dr. Cleever cleared his throat and spoke softly. �Could I see that please?�
�Oh, goodness, Dr. Cleever, I�m sorry, I didn�t notice you. Yes, well, this is a coincidence! Yes, by all means.� She handed over my scores as though they were poison.
He quickly read the scores, saying nothing. Then he raised one eyebrow, making my stomach do another somersault. �Hmmm�. Well, it does seem as though she�s unfortunately got one really awful score pulling the rest of them down. If she were able to get that math score up into the low twenties, the rest of them would bring her cumulative up into a 26 or 27 range. If I�m not mistaken, I believe Stanford�s minimum is a 25. Luckily, Katie�s got strengths in her other categories, so I think that college admission boards would weigh that as well as her extracurricular activities.�
�You�re going to retake it. Just so you know. You�re retaking that test.� She shook her head.
�I know! God, Mom! It�s not like I have any time to study for it anyway, with cross country and helping you out.� Why are we discussing this here? Why? Why? Why?
�Katie�� Dr. Cleever said softly, �Did you do your best on the math portion? Did you try to figure out the problems on paper before answering?�
I nodded, suddenly feeling as though he understood what I was going through and knew that I wasn�t just being a slacker.
�Well, then, Ms. Bell, it seems to me as though even if Katie retook the test tomorrow, it wouldn�t increase her score enough to make a real difference.� My mother started to protest. �But� but. I think I know of a way that we can solve this. As you know, I simply cannot get enough of your delicious cooking. My wife is a Fulbright scholar in Austria and I really don�t like to cook for myself. I would be willing to extend tutoring to Katie five times a week until her test in exchange for five meals from your delicious kitchens.�
�Oh Dr. Cleever, that hardly seems fair. I�m sure that you�re a busy man.�
�Yes, but it is fair. You�re a busy woman who commands a premium for what is truly a valued commodity. When I was a graduate student, I tutored undergrads in math for $25 a session, which is roughly what my bills come to when I stop in for take-out meals here twice a week. I would come more, Ms. Bell, but my teacher�s wage does not allow me the luxury. I would be more than happy to tutor Katie if she brings dinner and one of your incredible desserts with her. Sound equitable?�
I glanced dubiously at my mother, but she was already shaking Dr. Cleever�s hand and saying �Deal. Is tomorrow good for you?� She had obviously done the math and realized that it would cost three times that to hire a tutor with a PhD, and since he was willing to take food in exchange, the cost was next to nothing.
�Tomorrow�� He said, turning to me and smiling a different kind of smile. �Yes�looking forward to it.�
I walked down Dr. Cleever�s street, armed with my book bag in one hand and a big brown takeout bag containing Dr. Cleever�s dinner in the other. He lived on a big old street that wound along the river, full of hundred year old trees and Victorian houses. Finally, I walked up a brick stair and knocked on an ornate wooden door, complete with a leaded glass window. I didn�t know if I should expect Dr. Cleever or Lurch from the Addam�s Family, but was relieved to see his fragmented form appear in minute between the bevels of the glass.
�Katie� please, come in.� He opened the door distractedly. I noticed that he wasn�t wearing shoes or socks, his bare feet padding along the plush antique rug in the hall.
�Pizza delivery!� I wisecracked.
�Ah� hmm� yes� pizza.� He closed the door behind me and rubbed his chin, making a sandy sound against the stubble.
�It�s a joke. It�s seared lamb on foccacia. I think there�s also polenta chips and some of that Mediterranean pasta salad�� My voice trailed off as he wandered down the hallway and disappeared into a doorway. I didn�t know what to do� he just walked away? This was so awkward.
�There�s also some brownie tiramisu!� I shouted after him.
He peaked his head back into the hall. �My apologies. Please� come into my office and sit down.�
I walked into his office and found it rimmed with shelves upon shelves of books, photos of old bearded guys, and pictures of him and his wife in a gondola and another of them in front of the Eiffel Tower.
I set both my bags on the floor. �Wow, you guys sure have traveled a lot.�
�Yes, my wife� her parents gave us a trip to Europe for our honeymoon.�
�Lucky you.�
�Perhaps. Now, Katie, I want to finish up this bit of writing that I�m in the middle of. Until then, sit on that side and do some practice exercises to get warmed up?� He didn�t wait for my response, simply sat back down, flipped open his laptop and began tapping softly on the keys.
I took the ACT practice book out of my satchel and then sat at the chair directly on the other side of the desk. His desk was full of papers and books, so the only place for me to fold out my workbook was right behind his computer screen. I started to work on some algebra, but kept getting distracted by how weird this was. I was sitting in Dr. Cleever�s house, across from Dr. Cleever, who didn�t have any shoes on. In fact, I was sitting there, inches away from him and it looks like he�s looking at me.
Wait, he was totally watching me.
I looked up and lifted my eyebrows. He continued staring.
�Dr. Cleever?�
�Hmmm? Oh, sorry, sorry� lost in a thought. Keep practicing.� He tapped my workbook and then resumed typing.
We worked like that for what had to have been thirty minutes. I was sitting opposite the fan on the back of his laptop and every time it would turn on, I would be washed in hot air. My face turned red, and then my mouth got dry. I would remember to wear layers of clothing next time.
Finally, he sighed, and I felt his exhale against the tops of my fingers. He clicked once, twice with his mouse, and then snapped the laptop closed.
�Ok, that�s over with, now we can begin. But first� are you hungry?�
�Thirsty, definitely, thank you.�
�Don�t tell me you�re one of those girls who refuse to eat anything?�
�No, Dr. Cleever, thank you. I didn�t bring enough for both of us. You can go ahead, I�ll be fine.�
�Come.� He stood up, held out his hand and waited. I didn�t know what to do, but then I placed my hand in his and he helped me up out of the chair. He grabbed the takeout bag and I followed him to the kitchen. He opened a cupboard and took out two glasses and two plates that I recognized from years of catering fancy dinner parties as a fine china pattern from England. He dug into the bag and withdrew the foccaccia, polenta chips and pasta salad. He opened the sandwich, took a big chef�s knife from the wooden block on the counter, and sliced it perfectly in half, and placed each half on a plate. He then opened the pasta salad.
�No salad for me, thank you.�
�What? You don�t like your own mother�s famous Mediterranean pasta salad? I�ll bet there isn�t a teacher in school who isn�t addicted to this stuff.�
�No, I don�t like artichokes.�
�Ah, but that�s the best part. And they say it�s an aphrodiasiac.�
My eyes got wide. He looked at me and then straightened his back. �Well, that�s what they say, anyway. Good, more for me. Milk?�
Over dinner, we talked about colleges and what I thought my major would be. He told me about going to Helsinki to study under some important math guy, and about how it was light all the time while he was there and how he would tape the lens caps for his camera over each eye to go to sleep. Soon, the weirdness of Dr. Cleever being, well, Dr. Cleever had completely worn off and it was just not a big deal. And he was starting to be even more sexy, with his tousled Hugh Grant hair and big melty brown eyes behind those wire rim �smart guy� glasses.
And then he cleaned up our plates, he grabbed the box containing dessert and nodded back to the office. I looked at the clock and I had already been here two hours.
�We�re over our time limit.�
�What time limit?�
�You told my mom an hour for $25� so I thought I�d be here an hour.�
�Do you have somewhere else to be?� He peered over me, eyebrows raised and suddenly he was the somewhat intimidating Dr. Cheever once more.
�No, I just thought that you�d��
�I�ll decide that, little girl. Now� math.� He pointed at my chair across from his desk and then began to clear off his papers.
My stomach did a turn. He called me �little girl�? That was weird. In class, he usually referred to us by our names, or, if he wasn�t happy with someone, their last name. Little girl? And why did that make me feel giddy?
