The Tutor

Chapter 5

The homeroom teacher, Mr Lyndsey, shuffled through a pile of papers before him and let out a long sigh, his eyes drooping with disappointment with each report that he glanced at. Rafe sat in one of the many desks in the now empty classroom.

"Rafe. I called you here today because I wanted to talk to you about your progress, about how you're settling in so far...Do you have any concerns you'd like to share?"

"No."

"You've had three detentions in the last four weeks. Two of those have been for tardiness and unsubmitted homework. You don't even show up to some of the lessons."

"I live far from the main buildings," he replied, looking out of the window, his patience with teachers waning. His homeroom teacher meant well - he was young and passionate about his job. But the sooner he realised that Rafe just wasn't cut out for school, the easier it would be for both of them. 

"Rafe—it's a ten-minute walk."

"I'm a slow walker."

Mr Lyndsey sighed and rubbed his forehead. "It's like you don't want to be here—"

"I don't want to be here. I was banished here. Kicked out of my home. Imprisoned in the middle of fucking nowhere."

"Language."

"Scusi," Rafe said, his hand half-heartedly lifting off the desk in apology.

He did not need yet another detention. Though, he didn't have anything better to do anyway.

The teacher sighed. "If you get one more detention, that is an automatic suspension. I will have no choice but to notify your parents if that's the case..."

Rafe pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, muttering swear words in his native tongue under his breath.

"Your grades are not up to the school's standards and if you continue this way, you're going to fail your exams..."

"I can't do it okay? I've tried!" Rafe snapped. 

"Have you tried the—"

"Homework club? Yeah, it's a joke."

He was trying to improve for the first time in a long time. What did his father want? Good grades, a place in a London university, no fighting, no irresponsible behaviour. His credit card had been taken away and a joke of an allowance was given. Not that there was much here to spend on anyway.

Rafe had been holed up in his room avoiding trouble. He made sure not to get completely wasted (though it was really hard to resist) at the parties and his only decent distraction had been watching football or playing it. His other form of entertainment was occasionally hooking up with girls or pissing off his permanently high roommate, Alex.

He would die of boredom here, but he would die trying.

The grades were the hurdle that he was unable to get past. Taking Miss McGrath's advice, he dragged himself to the school homework club. Mr Hyam, the supervisor of said club, was an ancient teacher with one foot in the grave, questionable hygiene, and constant, unnecessary physical contact. If the teacher hadn't been in his mid-hundreds, Rafe would've probably screamed at him for being so slow and monotonous. Bitterly disappointed, he was angry at himself for thinking that extra lessons after school once a week would change anything. It was too optimistic. None of the other teachers wanted to give up their precious time to help Rafe, but they were always available to reprimand him and remind him how awful his written work was.

Rafe was hanging by a thread and one more D on his homework would probably get him in trouble with his father faster than he could say social services.

"Rafe, I feel perhaps you should see the school counsellor."