Chapter 50
You’re Doing What?
About a half hour into the tutoring session I hear a text on my phone. I check it quickly in case one of the girls needs something. I'm surprised to find a text from Adrian.
Adrian: where are you? We need to talk.
Me: at the library don't have time right now.
Adrian: too bad i’m done with this shit
I’m not sure what that cryptic text means, but I certainly hope he's not coming to the library. This is my first day back to tutoring and I don't need an Adrian episode to deal with.
I get my focus back on helping Carter with his biology, but all the while watching for Adrian. I’m praying he doesn’t show, but also hoping he does. So when I see him come through the front door and start scanning the tables, I’m torn in my response, so I sit and wait.
As he scans the room, I try to judge his mood. He looks relaxed but determined. Hopefully this won’t be another Adrian tornado. When he finds me, he begins to smile until he sees Carter, the sophomore I’m tutoring, sitting next to me. Time to baton down the hatches.
Within seconds, Adrian is standing over our table looking from me to Carter, the poor student who is about to be punished for needing to be tutored. When his gaze finally settles on me, I see a swarm of emotion in his eyes.
"What are you doing here?" he asks though the answer is obvious.
My natural response is to use sarcasm, but I'm smart enough to know this is bad timing.
"I'm tutoring Carter,” I say, gesturing to the terrified boy.
"No, you're not,” he says as if he words make it true. “You quit your tutoring job."
I see his breathing increase with the rapid rise and fall of his chest. That swarm of the emotions that was just in his eyes has all transformed to anger. Most of the other library patrons are now frozen, watching the scene play out. No doubt Adrian’s history of impulsive, if not entertaining, behaviors is something of a must-see here at Miami U. It’s part of the college experience.
"I did quit my job, but I need to pay my rent,” I say, gesturing to the books in front of me, “So, I got my job back.”
He continues to loom over us, his muscles becoming tenser with every second. I can see him clench his fists and the muscle in his jaw is twitching. He is staring at me, but I don't think he sees me.
It’s so quiet in here you could hear a mouse fart. I quickly glance around, hoping to find a friendly face to help, but all I find are anxious faces, hoping for a big show. That is exactly what I was hoping to avoid, mostly because it won’t be another playful show like the one in the cafeteria. This one won’t likely won’t be overlooked by staff.
I want to tell him I miss him and let him apologize, then beg me to come back, but this is not the time or the place. He needs to go home and calm down, not force me to have a private conversation, in public. Instead, I wait, hoping he’ll either leave or calm down.
After a few uncomfortable moments, he spun to walk away, but his anger is still boiling through his blood. On his way through the library he turns toward one of the smaller tables, grabs the edge of it, and flips it up into the air so hard, that when it comes down, all four legs are sticking straight up, and all four chairs have fallen over. The roar of anger he releases while brutally attacking the table, echoes through the library, sending several people running.
I rub my face with both my hands, frustrated at his temper and my lack of communication skills.
I give him a few minutes to calm down before I text him again.
Me: i'm sorry. Can we please talk when I get home?
I'm not surprised that I don't get a response, but I hope my text will be enough to calm him down before I get home. I also hope that this little stunt isn't the final straw that gets him kicked out of the school.
***
Adrian
Walking across campus, still half drunk, and completely pissed, at Keegan, or myself I’m not sure, I decide to text Katie. I tell her to pick me up so we can go to the bar. I know it’s the worst plan I’ve ever had, but I’m desperate to get Keegan out of my mind, if just for one night.
I’ve been waiting for her to call me, or text or come find me, for three days now, sure she didn’t mean it when she said she’s done. Seeing her now, getting back to her life, without me in it, I see she is done. Fuck, I can barely stay sober long enough to take a shower, and she’s out here tutoring some snotty kid about major biology concepts.
Once the text is sent, I turn off my phone, refusing to keep looking at it, wondering if Keegan’s called. I know she won’t, so why torture myself.