Princess

By Staci Stallings

Chapter 1

'Those ugly posters are everywhere,' Heather Nolan thought angrily as she pushed her rounded, black glasses back up the narrow bridge of her nose. She bent from her shoulders and sipped her drink for a moment. However, in a breath, her gaze traveled back up to the poster hanging on the ledge above her. Who really cared that the Jaguars were "Unstoppable" this year? In the whole general scheme of things, how important was it to be able to dribble a little ball down a court and put it through a hoop? It was just so unthinkable to her that anyone would put any effort into that endeavor at all-much less pay money for it.

With a jerk she twisted her fingers through the tangle of wavy, mouse-brown hair and flipped it from her shoulder onto her back. Money. That was the issue that she kept bumping up against. There was never enough of it, and yet the college just threw it away by the handful on sports. Where was the justice in that? It seemed like every other day they were cutting programs and scholarships for students like her who wanted the education, but when it came to sports, there was always more than enough money for whatever new program that came along. It made her sick just thinking about it.

"Heather. Hello. Earth to Heather," Jennifer Santana, the one person on the whole campus who bothered to talk to her on a semi-regular basis, said, waving her hand in front of Heather's face.

Immediately Heather snapped back from the melancholy thoughts. "Oh. Hi. Sorry." Only a moment to acknowledge Jennifer's presence, and then she went back to her drink and the depressing thoughts.

"He's really good looking, isn't he?" Jennifer asked as she laid her books on a chair and pulled up another to sit on.

"Who?" Heather asked, not really caring about cute guys at the moment.

"Anthony Russell."

"Who's that?"

"Anthony Russell." Jennifer hooked her thumb over her shoulder at the poster behind her. "The point guard for the Jaguars. I mean, he's black and everything, but he's still really-uh, easy on the eyes."

Heather yanked the anger back to her as she went back to her drink. "I hadn't noticed."

"Yeah right. You were staring at that poster so hard, I thought you might burn holes through it."

"Oh, yeah, the Unstoppable Jaguars." Heather pushed the other side of her thick wavy fall of hair over her shoulder and scowled. "How wonderful they are. The college gods. Oh-wow. They're so cool. I don't know why they don't just bronze them and put them up in every classroom to remind us all why we are really here."

Jennifer's light-copper eyebrows reached for the ceiling. "Whoa. A little on the edgy side today, aren't we? What's got you so riled up?"

"It's just been one of those days." Heather sighed. "Tuition is due, dorm fees are due, I've still got two books to buy for classes, and my bank account reads a big fat zero."

Concern drained onto Jennifer's face. "But I thought you had that work-study thing lined up for this semester."

"Yeah. So did I. Until I got this this morning." Heather held up a cream envelope and then dropped it back to the table next to her. "'Dear Ms. Nolan, We regret to inform you that the work-study program you were signed up for has been cut due to insufficient funding.' Insufficient funding my foot. They just need more money to pay their stars up there on that poster."

There was a long pause, and Heather knew Jenn well enough to know her brain was spiraling to find any positive thing it could to say.

"So what are you going to do?" Jennifer finally asked.

"I don't know." Heather shook her head and exhaled slowly. "I've thought about it all day, and I just...I don't know. All the decent jobs in town have been taken already, and I'm not going to go back and ask Mom and Dad for more money now." She shook her head again and punched back at the tears rising in her throat. "I don't know. It just makes no sense to me why the real students in this university get the shaft while guys like Anthony Russell, who wouldn't know a noun if it walked up and introduced itself, get to live like kings."

"Yeah," Jennifer said sympathetically. "I see what you mean, but who knows, maybe things will turn around. You never can tell."

"Yeah? Well, please, tell that to anyone up there that might happen to be listening. 'Cause right now without some serious cash, I'll be enrolling in Hanson Junior College before the end of the term."

Jennifer nodded. "I'll be sure to put in a request for you."

"I'd appreciate that." Dejectedly Heather picked up her backpack, swiped her hair out of the way, and righted the backpack onto her shoulder as she stood. "Well, I've got to get to English. I might as well learn all I can before they kick me out. You know?"

"Well, good luck," Jennifer said as Heather started for the door. "And hey, chin up!"

"Yeah, chin up," Heather replied with all of the enthusiasm of a wet noodle. "See ya later, Jenn."

"See ya."

Not even the unseasonably warm weather outside could brighten Heather's spirits as she kicked her booted feet past the flowing print skirt that hung nearly to her ankles. What was the point of even going to classes anymore? All those long hours studying, making the Dean's list every semester and even the President's list once just so she could go back and be a waitress in some dive back home? It wasn't an exciting thought.

At the Language Building, she yanked the heavy door open and trudged inside. She glanced up as she entered the stairwell and once again saw the scowl of the Unstoppable Jaguars staring back at her. The fury rose in her gut until she could barely keep herself from ripping the poster down and tearing it into tiny red, white, blue, and black shreds. It wouldn't help her situation, but it sure would feel good.

English classes had always been her favorite. The papers that everyone else groaned and moaned about seemed to her to be personal challenges from the professors, and she loved it. Now she wondered, taking her seat for Professor Mather's Dramatic Plays class, how much longer that love affair would last. She had already had Mather for two other classes, and he seemed to like her work. In fact her perfect A record in his class seemed to not even be in question this semester-provided that she could scrounge up enough money to make it through this semester. She pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind even as she twisted the hair that hung nearly to the middle of her back into a knot at her neck and held it there with the hand that wasn't preparing to take notes.

They were discussing "Hedda Gabler," and when class started, for once that day Heather forgot about even the money situation. This was her arena. Here she could be the star, and it was exhilarating. The hour flew by, and before she knew it, she was stuffing books back in her backpack.

"Ms. Nolan?" Professor Mather said over the noise of the departing students.

The book in her hand stopped in mid-stuff. "Yes, sir?"

"Could I see you in my office for a moment?"

"Oh." Heather quickly deposited the rest of her books in her backpack and swung it to her shoulder. "Sure."

What in the world was this about? They had just taken a test, and she thought she had done well on it. Today, however, it wouldn't surprise her to find out she had bombed it too. The questions flowed through her brain at ever-increasing speeds as she followed the short, balding professor down the hall to his tiny office. The room reminded her of her dorm room-books stacked everywhere trying desperately to seem organized in a space too cramped to organize anything.

"Ms. Nolan," Professor Mather said, sitting down in the cracked leather chair behind the desk and folding his hands on the stack of paper in the center of it.

"Yes, Sir?" she asked, standing awkwardly, unsure of whether to sit or stand.

Professor Mather waved her into the chair on the other side of his desk that wasn't stacked with books. "Oh, please, have a seat."

"Thank you, Sir." Nervously she sat down on the edge of the chair and swung the backpack in front of her and onto her knees.

"I'm sure you are wondering why I called you here, so I'll get right to the point." Professor Mather leaned across the desk. "Would you be interested in becoming a tutor?"

"A tutor, Sir?" Heather asked, stumbling across the words.

"Yes. I have a student in my Great Works of Literature class who's really struggling, and quite frankly I don't think he's going to make it without some help."

What registered on her face, she couldn't be sure, but her heart registered only utter confusion.

"You were my first choice," Professor Mather continued, "but of course if you are not interested, I could always find someone else."

"Oh, no. I'm interested. I just...umm, I wasn't prepared for this, that's all."

"Good. Now before we go any further, I need to tell you this is no ordinary student, and the English department would like to keep his being tutored as low-profile as possible."

Confidential tutoring? Heather thought, puzzled. What was he, the King of Oahu? "I understand," she said, sounding less than sure.

"Good." His countenance relaxed. "Of course, we're prepared to pay you for your services. How does $200 a week sound?"

"Two hundred dollars?" Heather asked in undisguised shock. "Are you serious?"

"Very serious."

"That sounds…umm." Heather tried to regain her composure. "That sounds just fine, Sir."

"Great, so we have a deal then?"

She willed a smile to her face. "Yeah, okay. We have a deal."

"Well, I appreciate your willingness to help out a fellow student in need," Professor Mather said. "I'll just give Coach Winton a call right now."

"Coach Winton?" Heather's head throbbed to life as Professor Mather picked up the phone and began dialing. "Umm, Sir, you never actually told me who it is that I'll be tutoring."

"Oh, yes. Sorry about that. His name is Anthony Russell. He's the..."

"...point guard for the Unstoppable Jaguars," Heather finished in a daze as the chair back caught her shoulders.

But Professor Mather was already speaking to someone on the other end of the line. Everything started moving in slow motion as the realization hit her like a left hook-she would be tutoring him. The snarling face, her nemesis from the posters. This couldn't be happening. Suddenly she couldn't breathe. He was the reason she was in this mess in the first place! She couldn't help him. No, she wouldn't help him!

"Okay," Professor Mather said. "If Tuesday doesn't work for her, I'll have her give you a call. Great. See ya, Bill." He hung up the phone. "It's all set. Anthony will meet you in the lobby of the English Department Conference Rooms on Tuesday at four o'clock. Bill...uh...Coach Winton said if that isn't convenient for you, you could call and set up another time. You can use the small conference room in the Department. I'll reserve it for Tuesdays and Thursdays four 'til six-if that's all right with you, of course. Now, if you decide you need to schedule another time, just contact me. That will be no problem.

"I can't tell you how much I appreciate you taking the time to do this, Ms. Nolan." Professor Mather stood. "You've saved me a good amount of sleep I'm sure."

Somehow she stood, but she couldn't really tell how.

He led her the two paces to the door. "Oh, and here is a copy of A Tale of Two Cities. That's what we're reading now. If you need anything else, feel free to ask. Thank you so much."

And she was out in the hallway wondering where her voice and sanity had gone. She had meant to tell him no when he got off the phone. She could have said that Tuesdays wouldn't work for her, lied that she had a class or something, but she just sat there like an idiot. Now what was she supposed to do?

Standing on the other side and looking at the bleach-tan door, she weighed her options. She could always knock on that door right now and tell him no. Yes, that's what she should do. She forced her hand up to knock, but something stopped her.

Two hundred dollars a week. Her chest constricted around the amount. Two hundred dollars! This was the answer she had been hoping for, praying for-right here, so close she could almost touch it, and she was going to turn it down? For what? Because basketball was stupid? Because she should be the one getting special treatment not Anthony Russell, poster guy for the academically challenged?

No, she decided, letting her hand fall back to the soft material at her thigh, this was her chance to make it-her chance to control her own life. And Anthony Russell or no Anthony Russell, she wasn't going to let it slip through her fingers. Besides, she reasoned as she straightened her shoulders, she didn't really have to try all that hard to help him.

'Four hours a week,' she thought, looking down at the well-worn novel in her hand. Resolutely she turned to leave the office. 'It's only four hours a week. I can do this. Besides it's for the best cause there is-me!'

"Look out Unstoppable Jaguars," she said to the empty hallway, "here comes Heather Nolan."

Chapter 2

On Tuesday Heather arrived at the Conference Rooms early. She was usually early, but today it kind of annoyed her. After all, she didn't want to look too eager.

'I want to salvage at least a little pride,' she thought, vowing to be late for their next meeting.

The Conference Room secretary, who was barely two years older than Heather, glanced up from her desk. "May I help you?"

"Yes, I'm Heather Nolan." Unconsciously she pushed the glasses back up on her nose. "I'm supposed to meet..." just then she thought about what Professor Mather had said about this being "low-profile," and her words strangled to a stop. She didn't know if the secretary was in on this or not, and she didn't want to screw up anything on her first day. "I mean, umm, I am scheduled to use one of the conference rooms at four o'clock."

The secretary checked her list. "Ah, yes. You will be in the little conference room at the end of the hall. But you're a little early. Aren't you?"

"Yeah, I am. I'll just wait here if that's all right."

"That's fine. Make yourself comfortable," the secretary said, waving her to the chairs opposite the desk.

Heather sat down and surveyed the expanse of office, and her gaze landed on the clock on the far wall. She had at least fifteen minutes to kill. Trying to look like she had planned it that way, she pulled out her philosophy book and settled in to read. She ducked her head over the book so that her hair closed out all else. Piece-by-piece she shut out the outside world.

However, she hadn't been reading long when she noticed that the secretary at the desk was trying to type something on the typewriter that looked a million years old and apparently worked like it too. The keys would sound together, and the secretary would swear under her breath, roll that paper out, and roll a new piece in. But the same thing kept happening.

About the fifth time, Heather was shaking to keep herself from laughing. The secretary was getting more and more frazzled each time, and by now she was near a fit of rage. Suddenly, she looked at Heather who immediately stopped shaking and pretended to be reading.

"It's four o'clock now," the secretary said shortly. "Why don't you go wait down in the conference room?"

"Okay." Heather gathered her things before walking as quickly as she deemed polite down the hall and slipping into the end conference room. Once the door closed, however, she burst into laughter. Not loud enough for Ms. Typewriter to hear, but laughter nonetheless. When she finally regained her composure, she took a seat by the tiny sliver of a window opposite the door and began to take in her new surroundings.

The room was definitely not a conference room. It was more like a little hole in the wall. In fact, Heather doubted whether more than four people could even be in the room at one time. She glanced at the clock. He was already five minutes late.

'You would think that he could at least tell time,' Heather thought as the bitterness crept across her. 'That's okay. I'll make good use out of the time anyway. They can just pay me to read my own stuff. That'll fix 'em.'

She pulled out her philosophy book again, but try as she might, she could not keep her mind on Kant and away from that clock. By 4:10 she was angry, and with each second that ticked away, she got even angrier. They were paying her two hundred dollars a week to help him pass-not even do well-just to pass, and he couldn't even show up on time? What kind of an arrogant jerk was he anyhow?

"Think philosophy," she told herself, firmly. She bent further over the book, wishing she could close out the world as easily as she did on most other days. "Don't think about that jerk. Just get your own work done. Kant. Emanuel Kant. He believed...He believed…What did he believe? How should I know what he believed? I can't concentrate like this."

She slammed the book closed. This was going to make her crazy. Once again her attention snapped to the clock. He had two minutes, and she was gone. Even tenured professors only got 15 minutes to show up, she reasoned, why should Mr. Hotshot get any better?

Mr. Hotshot. Mr. Anthony Hotshot Russell. She hated him. With every fiber of her being she hated him.

Taking the concrete steps two at a time, Anthony Russell hurried to the front door of the Language Building, which he opened with barely a yank. He was late, and he knew it.

"God, please don't let her leave," he begged as he ran down the hall to the Conference Rooms. "She's my last chance." With no pretense, he yanked that door open and strode into the room.

"May I help you?" the secretary, sitting primly at the desk, asked.

"I'm here..." Anthony said, looking around for anyone who looked like a tutor that he could introduce himself to before she left, "for tutoring."

"Oh, yes. Mr. Russell, how nice to meet you," the secretary said with a warm smile. "I watch all of your games."

"That's nice," he said without really hearing her comment. Then he stopped himself. "I mean...uh...thank you...Do you...uh…know where I am supposed to go by any chance?"

"Oh, yes. The end of the hall. She's been here awhile," the secretary said.

"Thank you," Anthony said and turned down the hallway. She's been here awhile. She's been here awhile. Great! Awhile? Awhile? What was that? Ten minutes? Fifteen? This was not the way he had wanted to start out.

He pushed the door open with one shove, and half-an-instant later heard the crash on the other side as the door hit a chair that was standing too close.

CRASH! The girl seated at the tiny table jumped up so fast, she knocked her own chair to the floor as well, and when it hit the floor, she jumped again.

"Oh, man," Anthony said as embarrassment swept over him. He held a hand up to her to calm the all-out panic in her face. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. I am so sorry."

A fall of wavy brown hair followed her motion as she reached down to yank her chair from the floor.

"Here, let me get that for you," Anthony said, mortified by his clumsiness. As he crossed the room in one stride, he slung his books onto the little table. But just as he reached for her chair, he heard the first book hit the floor on the table's other side, and then from his vantage point looking under the table, he saw the papers from his notebook slide from the table to the floor with a slow-motion waterfall effect.

"Oh, jeez." He righted her chair in one sweep and quickly knelt down under the table to retrieve his wayward belongings. He pulled the last paper off the floor and got his feet under him to stand, but he didn't judge the table right and smacked his head on the edge of it.

"Ow!" he yelped, rubbing the skin at the top of his head. Putting a hand above him to judge the table, he stood slowly, making sure to leave plenty of room between his head and the table this time.

'What an idiot she must think I am!' he thought embarrassed. He stood to face her and braced himself for what he knew was coming. He couldn't even look her in the eye.

"Hi," he finally said, holding out his hand, his gaze glued to the floor, "I'm Anthony Russell."

Heather stood in dumbfounded silence. She had never seen anything like this before-EVER!

"Hello," she said, shaking out of the shock and trying very hard to sound professional. "I'm Heather Nolan. It's nice to meet you." She extended her hand to shake his.

"Ms. Nolan, it's nice to meet you," Anthony said as his hand smothered hers.

"Oh, please, call me Heather." The words had to choke themselves past the derision in her throat. How could she be nice to this creep? After all, he was 20 minutes late, and then he almost scared her to death! But her parents had taught her well, and she was polite to a fault. This guy wasn't going to make her change now.

"You can call me Anthony," he said with a slow, shy smile.

She ran a hand down her skirt to either smooth it out or to get her palm dry again, she wasn't quite sure. "Well, Anthony, you make quite an entrance."

Anthony ducked his head and squeezed his eyes closed. He glanced back at the door. "Would you mind terribly if I try that again?"

"Try it again?" Heather asked confused.

"Yeah."

"O...Okay. I guess so."

"Great! Just a second." He grabbed his books, righted the other chair, and disappeared outside.

Heather was amused in spite of herself.

This time the door opened slowly-very slowly, and Anthony entered smoothly, books in hand, looking every bit the ultra-cool basketball star he obviously was.

"Hello." He extended his hand. "I'm Anthony Russell."

"Hello, Mr. Russell," Heather said, taking his hand. "It is nice to meet you. I'm Heather Nolan."

"Nice to meet you, Ms. Nolan," Anthony said formally. "And please call me Anthony."

"Okay, Anthony. You can call me Heather."

"Okay, Heather. I really appreciate you waiting for me. I'm sorry I'm so late."

"It's all right," Heather said, wishing it wasn't so easy to be polite to him. "Just don't make a habit of it."

"I won't," Anthony said with that same slow smile, and this one went all the way into the deep, near-black of his eyes. "I promise."

"Good. Now, how can I help you?"

They both sat down, and Anthony, Heather noticed, placed his books very carefully on the table this time.

"Well, I don't really know the best way to explain it. So maybe I'll just start from the beginning," he said clearly measuring each word that found the air between them.

"That sounds good."

"My reading skills are not the best. I mean I can read and all that, just not this stuff." He held up A Tale of Two Cities. It was one of Heather's favorites. "I just don't understand it no matter how hard I try. And Professor Mather, he's really cool and everything, but he expects us to take pop quizzes on this stuff before we even discuss it in class, and I just can't do that."

Heather knew very well about Professor Mather's pop quizzes. There was no such thing as just getting by with them. Either you knew the material or you didn't, there was no middle ground. She folded her hands on the book in front of her. "So tell me what you find so difficult about the quizzes."

"I don't know. I mean I don't usually understand what I read in the first place, and that used to be all right. I could read it and get what I could out of it, go to class, listen to the discussion, and..."

"Get by," Heather finished for him.

"Yeah." His gaze snagged on hers for a second and then fell to the books on the table. "Except Mather's class is different. His quizzes are gonna kill me. Fact, I don't know if I'll be able to even play in the spring if I don't pass that class."

Ah-ha. So that was why this was so important to everyone all of a sudden. Heather knew that Professor Mather expected a lot of every student who walked in his classroom-no special grading curves for anyone. But here was a problem-failing the star basketball player or bending your rules? Heather almost felt sorry for Professor Mather. No wonder he hadn't been sleeping well.

"So. What is it that you want from me?" Heather asked, hearing the iciness creep into her voice.

He looked genuinely meek as he sat there head down, obviously searching for the right words. "I don't know really. Umm, maybe we could, you know, discuss the book a little or something, just so I know what's going on a little better."

"Oh, so I read the book and tell you what it says, so you can pass the quizzes?" Heather asked, and sarcasm bit through the statement. Money or no money, she didn't want any part of this.

"No!" he said in instant torment. "I didn't say that. I mean I'm going to read it and everything. I just need you to, you know, discuss it with me, see if I got it right or not."

She wanted to get up and walk away right then, but she forced herself to stay where she was. "Okay, so where are you in Tale?" All she needed was for him to say he hadn't even started it, and she would be gone.

His face pinched together like he was in pain trying to remember. "Well, there was something about a horse and this guy is chasing this carriage-thing, and the guys inside think he's a robber or something. But he has this message about recalling somebody or something. I think…I don't know for sure…that's just what I got out of it."

Heather sat, trying to decide how much of that description he could have gotten from the discussion in class or from the Cliff Notes. But why would he even go to that much trouble? she finally reasoned. There was no reason for him to think they wouldn't just pass him anyway. She decided to accept that at some point he had at least tried to do some studying of the book.

"Well, so far you seem to be on the right track. How far have you read?"

"Well, just the first two chapters, and then I panicked," he said dejectedly.

"Panicked? Why?"

"I don't know. I guess I just realized how hopeless it all is. I can't read this stuff. Who am I trying to kid? It's just hopeless."

She laughed incredulously. "Why do you say it's hopeless? You're only on the second chapter, and you seem to have at least a vague idea of what is going on."

"Yeah, vague-a nice way of saying I don't have a prayer." He sat back in his chair with a barely noticeable shake of his head. "I don't even know why I try. It's just hopeless."

"No," Heather corrected herself as much as him. "I didn't mean vague like vague. I meant vague like, 'you're at least trying' vague. But come on, you've only read the first two chapters. I mean how can you decide it's hopeless already?"

"It took me four hours to read the second chapter. There are like 45 chapters in this thing, and Mather expects us to read like five or six chapters a week. I can't do that. It's hopeless."

He bent over his knees and put his hands on his forehead. He was talking more to the floor than to her. In spite of herself, Heather was starting to feel sorry for the guy. Anyone who spent four hours reading one chapter couldn't be a total flake.

"If you don't want to help me," Anthony said without ever looking up from the floor, "I'll understand. Believe me, you wouldn't be the first one to say it's hopeless."

It was almost painful to watch him. He looked so sad and defeated sitting there, gaze glued to the tiles at his feet.

"Hey," Heather said gently putting her hand on the table toward him. "I never said it was hopeless. You did."

"Yeah, but you were thinking it," Anthony said in the most defeated voice she had ever heard. "I just said it before you got the chance."

"I'd never tell you it's hopeless. In fact, I think you must have a lot of guts if in spite of trying this hard and not getting it, you're willing to ask for help," Heather said, and as she said it, she knew it was the truth. He might be unstoppable on the basketball court, but right now he looked like a scared little kid badly in need of a pep talk. "Now, here's what we're going to do. First of all, you're going to sit up straight."

He looked up at her in confusion. "Huh?"

"Nobody can read like that. Now I want you to sit up like you believe you can read this stuff, and not only read it, but understand it with no problem," Heather said, taking charge.

His face showed the doubt in his brain. "You think just sitting up straight is going to help me read?"

"It's a start," Heather said. "Now, are you going to sit up or what?"

Immediately Anthony sat up straight, gazing at her like she'd lost her mind.

"Now. I want you to open up Tale and start reading," she commanded.

He grabbed his book with one swipe and flipped through the pages. "Where?"

"Where you left off."

"But how will you know what's happening?"

She settled back in her own chair and paged through the book. "I've read it."

His search through his own book stopped. "You have?"

"Several times. Now read."

Hesitating just a second at that comment, he opened to Chapter 3 and started to read. As he read, the words came in halting fits. He chopped phrases in two like he was splitting kindling wood. Syllables snapped in half like cracked sticks under a foot in a forest. Heather knew that A Tale of Two Cities is difficult to follow the first time you read it under good circumstances but the way he read, it was nearly impossible to understand even a few words much less an entire sentence. After the first paragraph, she couldn't take it anymore.

"Wait. Wait. Wait," she said, waving her arms to get him to stop.

His glance was contrite. "Pretty bad, huh?"

"Not stellar exactly," she hedged. "But better than I expected initially."

"Pretty bad," he said matter-of-factly.

The façade of optimism collapsed around her. "Okay. I won't lie to you. I didn't understand anything you just read."

He exhaled. "I thought so."

"But that just means there's lots of room for improvement," Heather said, formulating a plan even as she spoke. "How about this? We'll go back to sixth grade."

The skeptical look was back. "Huh?"

"Remember in sixth grade when the teacher made you read out loud in class?"

"Yeah," he said as dejection overtook skepticism. "I remember-I got to read the first week, and then only the smart people got to read after that."

She stopped in mid-command. "What does that mean?"

"Are you kidding?" He stretched his long legs out in front of him and smoothed out one khaki pant leg. "You heard me read. I'm terrible. Once the teacher heard me read a couple of times, she never called on me again."

"But you were the one who needed it the most," Heather protested but then thought back to her own grade school years, and she knew it was the truth. She had always thought it was fun to read in class, but she also remembered how torturous it was to wait for some of the slower kids to read. She understood only now that they were the ones who had needed the practice most. "I guess I never thought about what kids like you were going through, but from now on, that's going to change. I'll tell you what. You read a paragraph, then I'll read a paragraph. And we'll get through this together. Okay?"

A hint of a smile glistened in his eyes. "Okay."

"You go first."

He started reading. Most of the phrases still didn't make sense, and he read painfully slowly, but Heather had to give him credit for trying. When she read, she tried to read slowly enough so that he could read along, but she put the phrases together so they could be understood.

They read for an hour, first him, then her. And at the end of the hour, they had finished the third chapter.

"That's it? Wow." Anthony looked at the clock. "That only took an hour."

Heather pushed up the edge of her glasses. "Yeah, but did you understand it?"

"Kind of. Some guy's in a wagon going on a trip, and somebody else has been recalled to life-whatever that means. I think it's the same person that the guy thinks has been buried alive for 18 years."

"Well, I am impressed," Heather said with an honest smile. "So how many chapters are you supposed to have read for your next class?"

"Umm..." He dug in his notebook, which Heather noticed looked like a paper storage plant. "By Wednesday...? Through four."

"That means we have one more chapter to go."

His gaze went to the clock. "Yeah but we only have thirty minutes."

"That's plenty of time."

"Yeah, right."

"Just don't look at the clock. Okay? Look at the book, and read."

He began Chapter Four. Heather noticed that already his reading was a little better-still painfully slow, but better.

She was reading now. It was amazing how well she read, he thought, but he wished she would read her parts just a little faster. The more they read now, the less he would have to struggle through alone when he got home. He checked the clock again. Fifteen minutes left-that wasn't nearly enough time to get through the rest of this.

"Hey! Anthony? Where'd you go?" Heather asked, stopping in mid-sentence.

He focused on his book. "I'm reading."

"No you aren't. You're looking at the clock."

"No, I wasn't."

"Yes, you were. What, do you turn into a pumpkin at six or something?"

"No," he laughed, a little embarrassed. "I just wish we had more time to finish this."

Suddenly she was standing next to him like a teacher with a yardstick. "Okay, Mr. Russell. I want you to move your desk."

He looked around in confusion. "Desk? What desk?"

"Okay, so it's not a desk," Heather said, faltering, but only for a moment. "I want you to move your chair."

"My chair? Where?" Anthony asked, looking around and thinking there was no place to move the chair to.

"Stand up," she directed.

"What?"

"I said, 'Stand up.'"

He was totally confused by now, but he quickly obeyed and stumbled to his feet.

She swung the chair so that it was facing away from the wall with the clock.

"What're you doing?"

With a hard look she sized him up. "Put out your arms."

"My…?"

"I said, 'Put out your arms.' What are you deaf?"

'Not deaf, just confused,' he thought, but he held his tongue even as he held out his arms obediently.

"Yep, just what I thought. Contraband."

"Contra…" He looked down at his arms. He didn't see anything that looked like contraband.

She unfurled her palm. "Hand it over."

"Hand what over?"

"The watch."

"My watch? Why?" he asked, even as he took it off and handed it to her. He knew by now that arguing was pointless.

"There." She took the watch and put it in her pocket of her denim jacket. "Now we can read-no clocks."

"But what about when it's time to stop?"

She sat back down. "I'll tell you when to stop. Now, sit down and read."

Anthony sat and fumbled with his book. He didn't know what else to do. No one had ever done anything like this before. He was beginning to think she was a jellybean short of a bag.

"'He did not begin, but in his indecision, met her glance...'" Anthony began hesitantly.

They continued reading until they finished the chapter.

"Now," Heather said. "How much of that did you get?"

"Well, let's see, I know that Mr. Lorry is some kind of banker or something, and he has to tell Miss Manette something about a doctor who doesn't have the same name he used to, and the news isn't going to be easy for her. And he wants her to come with him."

"Good. So do you feel ready for Mather's class tomorrow?"

"Yeah, I guess I do," he said, and the strange thing was, he really did feel ready. As he stood, he glanced back at the clock. "Oh, man, it's almost 6:30. I'm sorry."

"For what?" Heather asked as she gathered up her own books.

"I kept you past time. I didn't mean for you to do that," Anthony said as guilt gnawed through his brain. Here she was helping him out, and he had kept her late.

She nailed him with one, single hard look. "Okay, let's get one thing straight right now. I don't do things I don't want to do. If I didn't want to be here helping you, I wouldn't be here. So don't worry about it." The look gave way as she reached into her pocket and handed his watch back. She stuffed her own books in her backpack and swung it to her shoulder. "Tell you what. This one is on me, but next time, it's gonna cost you."

"Thanks," he said grateful for more than just the watch. "So, I'll see ya Thursday then?" He opened the door and held it for her with his foot.

"Thursday it is," Heather said, walking out into the Conference Room lobby. "And this time try not to tear the building down getting here."

"I'll try."

At the Conference Room door, they went their separate ways.

Chapter 3

Thursday Heather was early again. The secretary didn't even think twice before sending her down the hall to the conference room, which was just fine with Heather. She needed a little peace and quiet. She had a Chemistry test coming up, and she was not ready for it.

Chemistry was her worst subject by far this semester. She had never liked science or math, and Chemistry comprised a good dose of both.

Her papers were spread across the table as her pencil raced furiously across the notebook page. It wasn't until he walked in that she realized she had been studying for almost 30 minutes without hardly taking a breath. Chemistry would be the death of her yet.

"Hey, Teach," Anthony said brightly. He held his hands out for approval. "See, no chairs."

She laughed as he carefully placed his books on the table.

"What, no grand entrances?" she asked, straightening her glasses.

"No. No more grand entrances. One of those is enough."

The pencil in her hands twisted sideways. "No arguments here."

"So what're you studying?" he asked, nodding at the papers spread all over.

She exhaled sharply. "Chemistry. And it's going to eat my lunch if I'm not careful."

"A brilliant teacher like you having trouble? I don't believe it."

"It's true." Her hands gripped the sides of the table as she started to stand. "In fact, now that you know the truth, do you want to trade me in for a new model?"

Good-naturedly, he leaned his chair back against the wall blocking her escape route. "No way. You aren't going nowhere."

"Rats!" She looked at him teasingly and then glanced at the clock, which made the braid at her back slide from her shoulder to her back. "So, late again. I see."

"I know. Sorry about that. But just stop this time. I don't want to owe you too many."

"So, should I take your watch again, or are you going to be good?"

"I'll be good. See." He picked up his chair and spun it around. "I'll turn my chair and everything. No more clocks."

"Good plan," Heather said, thinking that he seemed much more relaxed this time around. "So did you have a quiz?"

"No. Man, I can't believe it the one day I'm prepared, and no quiz. I think he planned it that way."

She shrugged. "It won't matter. You're going to be ready for the next quiz anyway."

"Oh, you think so, huh? And what makes you so sure about that?"

The smile came from the center of her heart. "Because you have a great teacher of course. Now let's get cracking on that book."

"Okay, but I've got to tell you, I already read about half of the next chapter."

Her movement stopped. "You did?"

"Yeah. So do you want me to start like where I left off or at the beginning of five?"

She dug her book out from under the mountain of textbooks and notebooks arrayed in front of her. "Where you left off of course. Let's hear it."

Indeed, to her amazement, he had read about half of the next chapter. She wondered as she heard him read how long it had taken him, but she didn't want to undermine his confidence by asking.

They finished Chapter Five in record time and reviewed it quickly. Then without so much as a "what time is it?" they plowed into Chapter Six. It really seemed to Heather that Anthony was getting the hang of this. His reading was still very slow, and some of the phrases were still chopped at weird places, but at least she could understand most of what he was reading.

It wasn't long, and Chapter Six was finished also.

"And the time is now…5:50," Heather declared, looking up.

"5:50?" he asked, swinging around so suddenly that he almost fell off the chair. "Two chapters, in under two hours? I can't believe it."

"Well, it wasn't quite two chapters. You read half of the first one before you got here."

"Oh, yeah. Right. I did."

Silence filled the tiny room for a beat.

"So, what next?" Heather asked.

"Well, with it being Thursday and all," Anthony said as if she might execute him if he said what he was thinking. "I was wondering if we might be able to read a little further so I don't have so much to read over the weekend. Just for ten minutes though. Whatever we don't get read, I'll finish on my own."

"No problem. Part Two, here we come," Heather said. She was really starting to enjoy this in a weird way.

Maybe it was just that she really liked teaching. The thought of going into teaching had crossed her mind, but she didn't think she could handle the slower kids without driving herself crazy, so she had decided instead to focus on writing. It wasn't solid, but she figured it would pay a few bills.

At 6:15 she stopped him. They were only a page from the end, but she had told Jennifer she'd meet her for dinner, and she didn't want to be late.

"Ah, man, I told you to stop me before it was too late," Anthony said in his deep baritone voice that filled every molecule of air in the entire room when he looked at the clock.

"Hey, I'm getting paid for two hours, so you are going to get two hours," Heather said. She began collecting her papers from the desk, arranging them in order, and stacking them neatly into her folder.

For a long moment Anthony watched her. "So, are you always that organized?"

"Organized? I wish." Heather stowed her Chemistry book back into her backpack.

"What do you mean? It looks like you have everything all neat and organized," Anthony said, and then he picked up a sheet that lay on her open notebook. It had marker colors all over it. "What's this?"

"Nothing." She grabbed for the paper quickly, but he swept it away from her.

"Formulas," Anthony said, looking closely at the paper. "But what's with all of the colors?"

"It's nothing. It's just something I came up with-a system. That's all," Heather said, wishing she could snatch the paper out of his hand and run, but running-just getting past him to the door-was out of the question.

He studied the paper and then her. "What kind of system?"

"It's nothing." She shrugged and returned to stuffing her belongings into the backpack. She really did not want to go into her own study habits with him. The few friends she had at the dorm teased her to no end about how hard she studied, and she just couldn't take it from Mr. Hotshot Himself.

"So this is for your Chemistry test?" he asked. "The one you told me about earlier?"

For a moment she wished she hadn't pulled her hair back today. It sure wouldn't hurt to have a shield to hide behind right at the moment. "Yeah."

"And the test is...tomorrow?"

"No, it's Monday. Now can I..."

"Monday?" His eyes widened in shock. "And you are already studying on Thursday?"

"Of course," Heather said as her mouth wound around itself. This conversation was making her more uncomfortable by the second, and all she wanted to do was escape from the evaporating air of this tiny room. "You know some people did come to this university for an actual education-not just to show they can dribble a little ball up and down a court."

It was a cheap shot, and she knew it. Immediately, Anthony's face fell, and she felt bad for saying it.

"Oh." Quietly he handed the paper back.

"I'm sorry." Heather grabbed the paper and stuffed it into her backpack, "I don't know why I said that. It was stupid. I'm sorry. It's just that I'm late for supper, and I…" There was no excuse, and she ran out of steam midway through one she was trying to use that was going nowhere. She pushed the edge of her glasses up as she looked at him. "I'm really sorry."

Without looking at her, Anthony stepped to the door and opened it for her. "I didn't mean to keep you."

She wanted to say something to take the last few minutes back. She wanted to take those words back, but she couldn't. So instead she jerked the backpack onto her shoulder and stepped past him into the hallway. "You really didn't keep me, Anthony. I just need to be going that's all," Heather said gently.

But the damage had been done. Sadness and hurt flowed off of him in torrents. It hurt her to see him look so-defeated. As they walked out into the lobby, she tried one last time, "I really am sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"That's okay," Anthony said with a glum smile. He opened the Conference Lobby door for her. "You aren't the first...I'll see you Tuesday."

And she watched him walk down the hall, shoulders slumped, head down.

"You aren't the first," she repeated to herself as she watched him turn the corner, and the words sent knifing pains into her lungs. "That's just great, Teach. Just what he needed to hear. Jeez, how stupid could you be?"

But there was nothing she could do about it now, so she turned the other direction and headed home.

When Heather reached the top step of the three flights and rounded the corner to her dorm room, she immediately saw Jennifer sitting in the hallway next to Heather's door. Terrific. There would be no "I was waiting for you" excuse to fall back on. The straight, copper-colored bob turned at Heather's motion, and in one bound Jennifer jumped to her feet, her hands following all the way up to her hips. "Where've you been? I was starting to get worried."

"Out." Heather ducked past Jennifer and unlocked her door. She really didn't need another grilling.

"Out where?"

Heather hadn't told her friend about her new assignment, and she didn't plan to either. "I was studying in the library, and I lost track of time. Okay?" Heather threw her backpack on the bed a little harder than she intended, and it thwacked against the bolster.

"Oh, okay," Jennifer said, backing off. She leaned against the wall next to the tiny closet and folded her freckled arms in front of her. "Where's Donna?"

Heather looked across the room at the swamp of clothes, debris, and half-eaten pizza. "Who cares?"

Jenn exhaled. "So have you found a solution to your money problem yet?"

A picture of Anthony's slumped figure flashed through Heather's mind, and fumbling with the books arrayed on her desk, she squeezed her eyes closed to make it go away. 'Yeah,' she thought divisively, 'running other students into the ground.' But she just said, "Yeah. For now anyway."

"Really? That's great," Jennifer said, brightening instantly. "What is it?"

"What is what?" Heather asked as she searched for her lunch ticket although she'd already forgotten what she was looking for.

"Where'd you find the money?"

"I'd rather not talk about it." Finally she retrieved the ticket from her desk where it always was. "Come on. Let's eat. I'm starving." Cheerful was her aim, but she missed that mark terribly.

Together but silently, they went downstairs to the dining room, which by now was packed. The dinner crowd. On the nights they ate together, they usually tried to eat early to miss this headache, but tonight it was inescapable. They got in line, and Heather slouched against the wall opposite the windows leaving Jennifer the ancient radiator to lean against. Try as she might, Heather could not get the image of Anthony walking down that hallway out of her mind.

'He didn't deserve that,' Heather thought with a shake of her head. 'You aren't the first. I wasn't the first to do that to him. What a great teacher I am. Teacher-nothing. I'm not even a great person. Why did I have to go and shoot my mouth off like that?'

She was lost in her thoughts and had all but forgotten about Jennifer.

"So, how about those Unstoppable Jaguars?" Jennifer suddenly asked.

"Wh…?" Heather looked up and tried to focus on her friend through the ache that shot through her at the reference.

Jennifer pointed to the poster hanging in the hallway by the cafeteria doors. "The Jaguars. You know. The Unstoppable Jaguars? The gods incarnate?"

Heather looked up and found herself staring right into Anthony's scowling game face. It was so strange. Up there, he really did look unstoppable. If not unstoppable, then at least like he'd run over you without blinking twice if he had to. It was so different from the Anthony she knew that it almost seemed like two totally different people.

"I bet Loganville spent a fortune on those posters," Jennifer said. "I mean, jeez, they're everywhere."

"Tell me about it." Heather sighed sullenly. It seemed like everywhere she went these days Anthony Russell was staring back at her.

"Kind of makes you feel like you're in 1984 or something. You know with big brother watching you all the time." Jennifer dropped her voice an octave so she sounded something like Vincent Price from "Thriller." "Be careful what you do, Big Brother is watching you."

Heather kicked away from the wall, followed the line two steps, and retook up her position. "You sure don't have to wonder what the higher ups think is important around here." The weight on her shoulders increased in size and mass until Heather was practically bent in half under it. She felt like someone had just punched her in the stomach. Then she glanced up at the poster, and her anger returned. Defiantly she straightened. She just needed some perspective, that's all. Why did she feel bad about hurting the guy anyway? He was just a leech-taking the school for all it was worth. He was on a full-blown scholarship she was sure, yet he could barely read. He shouldn't even be here. This was probably just his little stepping stone to making the million dollar salary in the pros. Life just wasn't fair, Heather thought as she looked again into his snarling face.

But then another image clouded that one, and it stung the backs of her eyes-Anthony with his head down, the hurt in his eyes, the way he said, "You aren't the first." It sent a knifing pain through her lungs that brought tears to her eyes. She should just forget about it, but somehow she couldn't. Finally, just before her brain actually exploded, she decided she needed something to take her mind off of Anthony Russell altogether. Without questioning the thought, Heather said, "Let's go shopping."

"Shopping?" Jennifer asked, never moving from the radiator. "Yeah, right." Then she really looked at Heather. "Now?"

Heather was already walking, fighting to put distance between her and the poster. "Yeah, we can go to the mall, and get something to eat there."

Jennifer ran the six steps to catch up. "You don't have an unbreakable date with Chemistry or something? It is a school night, you know."

Although she heard the comment, Heather chose to ignore it as they pushed out the doors to the parking lot. Okay, so she studied a lot. That wasn't a capital offense. On top of that, for once in her life she was going to go have fun and forget about everything school. It was the only way the edge of her brain could think of to get away from thoughts of him.

"Besides," Jennifer persisted as they crossed past the cars, "I thought you hated shopping."

"I do, but I also hate standing in line for hours to eat cooked cardboard."

"Good point."

They got in Jennifer's car and drove out of the parking lot. Heather's car was available, but not very dependable, so the few times they had actually gone out, they took Jennifer's. As soon as they drove off campus, Heather started to relax. Leaving campus was a great idea. It was just what she needed.

"So what are we going to buy anyway?" Jennifer asked.

"Who says we are going to buy anything? Maybe we'll just walk around and look."

Jennifer's freckled forehead arched for the ceiling. "Walk around and look? Okay, who are you, and what have you done with Heather?"

"I'm right here."

"No, I mean Heather. Heather Nolan. What have you done with her?"

"I'm right here."

"No, the Heather Nolan I know doesn't just decide to go shopping on a school night for no reason, and she certainly doesn't plan to hang out at the mall with no definite mission."

"Well, maybe this is the new and improved Heather Nolan."

A smile lit Jennifer's pale cream features. "I like her already."

At the mall they ate corn dogs from The Corndog King and then began wondering around. This actually was kind of fun. No wonder people could do this for hours.

"Hey, what do you say we go try some things on?" Heather asked, looking in one of the windows.

Jennifer looked at her like she'd just sprouted horns. "Okay, now I know you've really gone off the deep end."

Her braid swung over her shoulder as Heather playfully teased her friend. "Oh, come on. Just this once."

Jennifer didn't protest any further as she followed Heather into one of the trendy stores Heather knew Jenn shopped at a lot. It was definitely not Heather's style at all, but this was about looking not buying so she gleefully slipped around the racks to look for something outrageously not-her.

"What about this?" Heather held up a leopard print blouse off of the first rack she came to.

The look on Jennifer's face said she couldn't believe Heather had even asked, but she just shrugged. "Sure, try it on."

Heather picked out several more very un-Heather-like outfits, and by now even Jennifer was getting the fever. "Here how about this little black skirt?" Jennifer said, holding up a skirt so short Jenn had to know that Heather wouldn't even try on.

"Bring it along," Heather said without even a beat of hesitation. "I'm headed to the dressing room."

Jennifer followed in stunned silence with the skirt in her hand.

Heather buckled the belt on the fuchsia dress, purposely not facing the mirror. Most of the time she hated trying on clothes, but this was different. This was just for fun-not serious like her usual I-have-to-pick-something-in-the-next-two-minutes-I-really-hate-this routine. She cinched the belt and turned to look in the mirror. Amazingly she actually looked pretty good in it.

"Come on. Let me see," Jennifer called from outside the dressing room.

It always made her self-conscious to model for people, but tonight Heather decided to just have fun and not worry about it. She stepped out of the dressing room and into the circle of the three-way mirror.

"Whoa!" Jennifer gasped when she caught a glimpse. "That is gorgeous!"

"You think?" Heather asked, smoothing out the dress over her flat stomach. Her hand continued down the A-lined skirt that hung to mid-calf. She admired the dress in the mirror, turned and spun her head to check out the laced-up back. It really did fit her nicely. Very sleek, but casual too.

"Man, you are a knock-out in that."

"It's just the dress," Heather said modestly smoothing it out again.

"No way. I don't know many people who could carry that one off. I certainly couldn't."

The dress looked almost made for Heather's medium-tall, slender body, and the fuchsia made her pale white skin look like satin and her hair look somehow darker than it usually did. She was really more accustomed to jeans or frumpy gray skirts, but she had to admit this dress was perfect.

"Okay. Next outfit!" Heather jubilantly skipped back to the dressing room. She didn't want to get too attached to anything. She was only looking, not buying.

The leopard print blouse looked so cool on the hanger even Heather couldn't resist it. She pulled the fuchsia dress off and hung it neatly on its hanger before pealing the wild blouse off of its hanger. 'Jennifer just thought she liked the other one,' Heather thought when she caught a glimpse of it in the mirror. 'But what to put with it…? That black skirt.'

She struggled a little with the zipper on the skirt and then turned around to assess the damage, but she wasn't prepared for this sight. Even without her shoes on, she looked like she had just stepped out of a magazine. The leopard print made even her braid look like it belonged on a fashion model. She swiped off her glasses and struck a pose for the mirror. Even blurry she looked good.

"Do you need some help?" Jennifer asked, breaking into her daydreams.

"No. No." Heather quickly jammed the glasses back onto her face and readjusted the top button. "I'm fine. Just a second." She made a final adjustment to the skirt and stepped outside.

Jennifer's whole countenance fell with the sight. "Holy cow! Are you sure you aren't an alien who's abducted my friend?"

"It's nice, huh?" Heather walked slowly to the mirror.

"Nice?" Jennifer followed her to the mirrors. "Fabulous would be a better word."

"The skirt's a little short." Heather scrunched up her nose at the image in the mirror and tugged at the skirt.

Jennifer shook her head. "I don't think you'll hear any guys complaining." The reflection of Jenn in the mirror appraised Heather. "Why don't you wear stuff like that? You would have guys flocking all over you."

Heather laughed. "Yeah, right. Where would I wear this?"

"You could always come out with us sometime. It really wouldn't kill you."

"I don't do the bar thing, remember?" Heather appraised her reflection, knowing that pulling off an outfit like this took more than getting it on anyway.

Jennifer shook her head and scoffed. "You are the only person I know who actually came to college to study."

This topic always grated Heather's nerves as did Jennifer's laissez faire attitude toward everything school. "I guess I could wear it to the library."

Thankfully Jennifer dropped the whole partying idea. "Well, one thing's for sure none of the guys there would get any studying done."

One more look and Heather checked her watch. The store was going to be closing any minute. "I'd better get this off before they throw us out of here."

"How are you ladies doing?" a sales clerk asked just as Heather ducked into the cubicle.

"Fine," Jennifer said.

"Will you be making any purchases tonight?"

"No, I don't think so. We're just looking. Thanks though."

Heather was glad she was already in the dressing room. She hated talking to sales clerks especially when she didn't plan to buy anything when she came in. She always sort of felt like a thief or something. She dressed back into her street clothes, hung the others back up, and pulled on her tennis shoes. She straightened up and looked in the mirror. There she was again-boring, old Heather Michelle Nolan. She stuffed those tired old feelings down inside of her and tried to be cheerful as she stepped out. "Ready?"

"Ready," Jennifer replied.

They walked out of the mall and drove back home with Jennifer talking non-stop about the outfits. "Really, you would have guys falling all over you in either one of those."

"Now that would be a switch." Heather laughed. "Heather Nolan. Hunk Magnet."

They both laughed. It wasn't that Heather was un-dateable so much as that she never let the guys see the dateable part of her.

'But,' she reminded herself for the millionth time, 'I'm here to get an education-not to find a man.'

At her dorm room door Heather thanked Jennifer for a fun evening, and they parted company. It was still relatively early, and Heather was glad her roommate had obviously found other accommodations for the evening. She really needed to get some more studying in before going to bed. With a yank, she swung her backpack up onto the desk, and opened it, but the first paper she pulled out was the crumpled one she had stuffed in there earlier. Instantly, the pain knifed through her heart with a jab that took her breath away.

She dropped into the chair. She had to apologize to him. It was the only way she would be able to think straight. And she couldn't wait until Tuesday either. By then she'd be a basket case-she was a basket case now. Before she lost her nerve, she grabbed the phonebook and began flipping through it. "P... Q... R... Ra... Ri... Roberts... Rucher... Russell... Anthony... Anthony... Anthony... huh... no Anthony. Rats!" The dorm office would know his number, she thought. She found the number for the Athletics Dorm and dialed it.

"Hello?"

"Umm, yes," she said to the voice on the other end. "I'd like the phone number for Anthony Russell please."

"I'm sorry. I can't give out that information," the lady said.

"Oh. Okay. Well, how would I find out what his number is then?"

"I really don't know, M'am, but I can't help you. Sorry."

"No problem. Thanks." Heather hung up the phone. "Unlisted. Great. Okay. Now, how could I get his number? It can't be that hard. Let's see. I could call...who could I call? I could call Professor Mather. No, he wouldn't know. I could call the coach. He'd know. That's good. But what am I going to tell him? Umm, I could tell him I ended up with Anthony's book or something. That might work. Okay. Let's see. Coach Winton... W...W...W...Wi...Winton. Crud, what was his first name? Bob? No... Joe? No. Come on think!" Her finger traced down her choices. "Bill. Yeah. That's it. Coach Bill Winton."

She was amazed that the number was actually there, and she quickly dialed it.

"Hello," a female voice on the other side said.

"Hi, umm, this is Heather Nolan, and I'd like to speak with Coach Winton please."

"Are you one of his students?"

"No. Not really, but I really need to speak with him. Please."

"All right just a second."

In a heartbeat, Heather had Coach Winton on the line.

"'ello?" the deep voice barked.

"Coach Winton, umm, hi. This is Heather Nolan. I'm Anthony Russell's tutor..."

"Oh, yes! Heather, how are you doing?"

She started breathing again when her brain registered that he wasn't going to jump right through the phone and chew her out. "I'm fine, Coach. Umm, the reason I'm calling is that I need to get in touch with Anthony, but I can't seem to get his number. I was kind of hoping you had it."

"Is everything all right?"

"Yeah, yeah. Everything's fine. I just need to...give one of his papers back that accidentally got mixed with mine." Her hand landed on the crumpled paper lying on the desk, and she pushed the instant thoughts it brought back away from her.

"Oh. I see. Just a second, I'll see if I can find that number. It should be...right...here. Yes, here it is: 555-9716."

She grabbed a pen and wrote it down. "9...7...1...6."

"That's it. Anything else I can help you with?"

"No. I think that's all for now. Thanks," Heather said, hoping that would be the end of it.

"So how's Anthony doing anyway?" the coach asked just after the beat she should've used to hang up the phone.

"It's going okay," Heather hedged. 'At least it was.'

"Well, good. If there's anything I can do, just let me know."

"I appreciate that, and thanks for the information."

"No problem."

And mercifully he signed off.

Exhaling like she'd just been given a reprieve from the gas chamber, Heather hung up the phone. She dreaded this next call. What in the world was she going to say to him? This was so awkward. Just apologize, she told herself. Tell him you're sorry for being an idiot and get it over with. She picked up the phone and held it to her ear like it was a grenade that might go off at any second. Her fingers dialed the number, and then she listened as the phone on the other end rang. Once. Twice. Oh, great she was going to get an answering machine.

"Hello?"

Anthony. She tried to say hello, but nothing came out.

"Hello?" he said again.

"He...Hi," she finally managed. "Umm, Anthony?"

"Yes, this is Anthony. Who is this?"

"Umm, Anthony, this is Heather. Heather Nolan. You know from tutoring."

Anthony's end went totally silent.

"Did I wake you up?" Heather asked as she twisted the cord through her fingers.

"No. I just wasn't expecting your call. How did you get this number?"

"I called the coach. He gave it to me."

"You...you called Coach Winton?" Anthony asked, and she heard the shock.

"Yeah. Why, is that a problem?" Suddenly she realized she could've gotten Anthony in trouble by talking to the coach.

It took him a long moment to answer. "No, I guess not."

"Good." She tried to relax, but it didn't work. "So, how's studying going?"

"Fine. I guess," Anthony said not very convincingly.

"That's good," Heather said, and she exhaled again. This wasn't working. It just wasn't right. Apologizing over the phone was taking the coward-way out. She had to do this face-to-face. "Umm, listen, I was just wondering...if you're going to be able to finish those other two chapters by Monday."

"I hope so. I'm going to try anyway."

"Well, you know, I got to thinking that Mather loves Monday quizzes, and I sure would hate to leave you on your own so soon-not that I don't think you can do it or anything. I just thought that, well, that you might like some help finishing them this weekend." The words were wrapping around her chest like an anaconda, but the silence that followed was worse.

For a full second he said nothing. "Yeah. I would, but you don't have to."

"I don't do anything I don't want to do-remember?" she asked, grabbing for playful and barely reaching it. "How does Saturday sound? We could like go out to the park or something-it'd be a nice change from that hole in the wall they call a conference room."

"O…Okay. That sounds good." His confusion jumped into her mind with his words. "What time do you want to meet?"

"Oh, I don't know. How does two o'clock sound?"

"I think I can do two."

"Great," Heather said with relief. "Then Southwest Park at two o'clock, meet me by the big fountain."

"I'll be there," Anthony said, "with bells on."

She smiled for the first time since he had walked away. "I'll see ya then."

"Okay, see ya."

And he hung up.

Anthony looked at the phone lying on his desk just inches away from his opened Tale of Two Cities book. Now that was one of the weirdest calls he'd ever had. She called the coach to get his number? That might be trouble, but she wanted to help him over the weekend, and reality was, he needed all the help he could get at this point. Southwest Park? Maybe Heather Nolan wasn't like all the rest after all. He bent over the book and went back to reading.

Copyright Staci Stallings, 2004

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