The Science of Tutoring

      “I’ve decided I would rather you just fail me right now than continue this torment.” 
	“Chris, I’m not failing you. We are only a quarter into school,” Mrs. Hamby clapped a pair of erasers together and coughed as the dust flew into her face. A lot can be said about a person who claps erasers together inside a building. Like: that person is not smarter than a 5th grader (Jeff Foxworthy would be disappointed), or: that person is really stupid. But Mrs. Hamby was actually extremely smart, so smart that sometimes she was really dumb. If that makes any sense.
	“I’m going to end up failing anyways. I’m simply saving you the agony of grading my papers,” My arguments made perfect sense, if you asked me. Mrs. Hamby obviously didn’t agree as she sighed and turned an intense look on me.
	“I’m not letting you fail Calculus. This is the last math class you will ever have to take in high school; I know you can make it.” I wanted to argue but I knew it would be for naught. Do people still say ‘for naught’? They should, if they don’t; it’s a cool expression. 
	“Then what do you suggest I do?” 
	“Well, you’re in luck,” Mrs. Hamby said with a large smile. Mrs. Hamby was the type of teacher who smiled a lot and actually cared about her students. Which is extremely rare in my school. 
	Now before I go any farther, perhaps I should explain a little about myself. My name is Chris Dowe, pronounced like ‘dough’. I can’t tell you how many times people have messed that up. This was my senior year at Lancaster High School in the middle of nowhere Iowa. My freshman year I hadn’t taken a math class, opting instead for an art course. So now, my senior year, I had to make up for it.  
	“Why am I in luck?” 
	“I just happen to know a student who would be willing to tutor you.” 
	“No. Thank you, but no,” I said firmly. I picked a piece of lint off my shirt and truend a dry stare on my teacher.
	“What? Why not?” Mrs. Hamby asked, confused by the abrupt answer. She returened stare with an equally dry one.
	“I’ve tried tutors before and it never works out. I either hate them or they hate me and I end up failing anyways,” I explained, dramatically flipping my brown hair out of my face. 
	“Not this one. I think you will really like him.”
	“Mrs. Hamby I don’t-“
	“You don’t even know him, Chris. Give him a chance, okay? He’s an excellent student and extremely nice.” Mrs. Hamby sighed and leaned against her desk. 
	“You only think that because you’re a teacher. Kids are different when they aren’t in class,” I argued. 
	“Chris.” Mrs. Hamby gave me the whole ‘I’m-the-teacher-and-you-are-the-student-so-you-better-do-what-I-say’ look. “It’s okay to ask for help every now and then.” I sighed loudly and crossed my arms.
	“Oh my, God, fine. I’ll meet him for one session and if he’s a complete tool than I’m done.” 
	“That’s all I ask,” Mrs. Hamby smiled warmly. 


	The next day I actually didn’t want the school day to end. I know; weird, right? The end of the day meant meeting my tutor in the library. The end of the day meant meeting my probably extremely douchey and lame tutor in the library. I eyed the clock warily, ignoring my droning English teacher. Five more minutes. 
	“Just get it over with, Chris.” I muttered angrily. I cringed as the bell rang and hauled my backpack onto my shoulders, pulling my hood up in the process.
	“Hey, Chris,” Robert Stryker stood up at the same time I did. 
	“Yeah?” 
	“A group of us are going to the mall with some of the girls, wanna come?” he asked with a hopeful expression.
	“Sorry, kid. I’m busy.” Busy doing what; I wasn’t about to say. I’m not one to brag about being tutored. Roberts four years younger than me, why he was in a senior’s English class was anyone’s guess. I liked to think he was some test tube baby the government experimented on. Hey, it could totally happen.
	I took my time gathering all my things from my locker, dragging my feet and stopping to talk to as many people as possible. 
      The hall emptied the closer I got to the library. I was five minutes late, but judging by the kid’s expression standing outside the library, I might as well not have shown.
	“You’re late.” 
	“Hello to you, too, ham hock.” 
	“Whatever, let’s just do this.” The kid was taller than me by a good five inches; he was also a good five inches wider than me. He was freaking huge. His face looked like it was permanently set in a scowl and his short brown was greasy and in need of a good wash. 
	“You’re my tutor?” I asked incredulously, following him into the library. I made sure the librarians were there incase the kid tried to jump me. 
	“Yeah, you got a problem with that?” he growled, literally growled, at me. 
	“No, no, not at all…” I replied off-handily, patting my pockets to make sure my wallet was still there. We moved to the back and sat at a small and secluded desk. Easier for him to attack me, I suppose. He silently handed me a stack of papers and I looked down at them surreptitiously. “Am I holding these for a reason?”
	“You’re going to do them, dumbass,” he grunted. I raised an eyebrow incredulously. 
	“Aren’t you supposed to teach me how to do it?”
	“It’s simple. Just read my notes.” 
The paper glared up at me, obnoxiously white and full of squiggles I didn’t understand any of it. I sighed started on problem one. 

10 minutes later I was on the same problem. 
	“Are you seriously still on number one?” my tutor scowled (he had some strange name that I can’t even try to spell). 
	“No. I finished problem one. I was about to start number two.” I retorted. 
	“Let me check.” 
I slid the paper over to him, watching as his face got redder and redder by the second. 
	“No. No, God!” He slammed his hands down on the table, causing me to jump back in surprise. “You’ve done this completely wrong-argh! Seriously? How can you be so dumb?!” His face looked like a giant pimple ready to pop, and I was afraid for a second it might actually explode. 
	“Uh…quite easily, actually.” 
He punched the table top and threw the paper at me. “All you have to do is freaking combine the like-terms, take the radicals out of the fractions, and simplify!” 
	“Um, yeah, now repeat that in English?” 
	“Oh my, God!” the kid stood up suddenly and flung his chair across the room. Holy crap I was dealing with a psycho. 
	“Yeah…I think I’m going to go,” I dodged a flying backpack and sprinted out the door. 


	“Chris how do I know you aren’t lying? I know you didn’t want a tutor, this seems like the perfect excuse.” 
	“The dude was like a freaking wild animal! Ask the librarians if you don’t believe me,” I exclaimed at Mrs. Hamby. “I swear he flipped his chair. I’m surprised he didn’t over turn the entire table.” 
	“He’s never like that in class,” Mrs. Hamby muttered thoughtfully.
	“It’s like I said: kids are different in class.” I leaned back in the chair I currently occupied and placed my feet on the desk. I stretched my arms above my head and yawned. 
	“Okay, so he didn’t work out. I know a girl that might, though.” Mrs. Hamby pushed my feet off the desk and splayed her hands on it in front of me. “And you aren’t getting out of it, either.” 
	“Yeah, because the last one worked out super well for me,” I snorted. Mrs. Hamby just rolled her eyes and began telling me about how wonderful this Scarlet chick was. 

      I actually had biology with Scarlet the next day. She approached me with a huge smile on her face and I was struck dumb by how pretty she was. 
	“Would like to have our session today after school at my house?” She asked sweetly. Her hair was fiery red and bounced in springy curls every time she moved. 
	“Uh, sure?” 
	“Great! See you then!” She gave me the directions to her house and then she was gone, curls flying as she skipped down the hall. 

	The drive to Scarlet’s house was about 15 minutes.  Her house was, well, a mansion. I whistled appreciatively and then rang the doorbell. It opened almost instantly, and a tall woman stood smiling down at me. She had the same red hair as Scarlet and laugh lines were starting to frame her eyes. 
	“Hi, I’m Chris. You must be Scarlet’s sister,” flattery is always the best way to make a good first impression.
	“Oh, aren’t you just a sweetie pie. I’m Carole Jacobs. I take it you’re here for Scarlet?” 
	“Uh yeah,” I answered lamely. Carole led me inside the house, her heels clicking loudly on the wooden floors. The first room had a huge flat screen TV and surround sound in it. A jukebox was hiding in one corner and a pool table was poking out from another room. I took it all in with large eyes. 
	We passed another room filled to the brim with shoes and clothes. I thought, for a second, it was Scarlet’s room, but then we moved past it. At the end of the hall we stopped, and Carole knocked lightly on the door. 
	“Be right there!” A muffled voice called. A minute later Scarlet’s curly red hair popped into view. “Hi,” she greeted brightly. She pulled me inside and then plopped me down on the floor. I heard her mom shut the door on her way out. Her room was plain enough, white walls surrounded by a strand of Christmas lights. We both sat cross-legged on the ground, books strewn out on the floor before us.
	“So your mom seems really nice,” I started awkwardly. Scarlet snorted and propped her head on her hand. 
	“Yeah.” She mumbled lamely. “So, do you want to get started?”  
	“Uh. Sure. I have the most difficutly with these equations,” I began while pulling out some papers. 
	“Let’s not talk about math. I know much more interesting things we can do,” her hand was suddenly rubbing a pattern on my jeans. It started at my knee cap before traveling as close to my crotch as humanly possible.
	“Uhhh what are you doing?” I gulped. 
	“Tutoring you,” she smiled wolfishly. Her ‘sweet-girl’ disposition started to melt away until all that was left was a girl blinking owlishly at me. She placed her other hand on the side of my face, bringing me down for a kiss. I gasped and pulled back immediately. 
	“What are you doing?” I asked sharply. She grinned up at me with large green eyes. 
	“Don’t you want me?” She asked innocently. She pulled me down for another kiss, and this time I let her. Hey, I’m a teenage boy, can you blame me? We toppled onto the ground, her on top of me. Her hands suddenly left me and started lifting her shirt above her head. Which is when what was going on clicked. I pushed her off of me and jumped up. 
	“You seem like a really nice girl,” she stared up at me cutely, “but I can’t do this.”		“Why not? We don’t have to tell anybody,” She bit her lip. I stood half-way between the door and her. Her offer was so tempting but-
	“Sorry, but  I really gotta go.”
	“Wait, please don’t go.” She said brokenly, grabbing my hand. I quickly extracted myself and flung the door open.
	“Sorry, I just…yeah, I’m going,” and then I was running out of the house, passing her mom who looked like her sister.

	“So what’s your story about why this tutor didn’t work?” Mrs. Hamby glared at me from her desk, distractedly tapping a pen. 
	“Uh. It just wasn’t working out. Difference of opinions and what not,” I lied. I wasn’t about to tell my teacher that I had almost done the dirty with a very hot girl, but very much my hot tutor.
	She heaved a huge sigh and stood up. “Try another one, please?” and how could I say no to that? 
	Wednesday afternoon found me sitting at the library once more, this time opposite a small mousy looking girl. 
	“Hello,” I said with a friendly salute as she walked up. She didn’t respond as she slid into the seat and held out her hand.
	“Give me your wallet.” 
	“I’m sorry?” Maybe I hadn’t heard her right, but I could’ve sworn she told me to give her my-
	“Give me your wallet.” 
	“Yeah, I don’t think so.” I stood up, shoving my hands in my pockets, gripping my wallet in case she came after it. 
	“Then give me your watch instead. It’s payment. I tutor you; you give me your shit.” She explained as if I was stupid; and, well, considering I was being tutored I wasn’t about to argue.
	“You expect me to give you my wallet for one tutor session? Yeah, I don’t think so.” I quickly skirted around her and left the school.

	Needless to say, Mrs. Hamby wasn’t pleased; and I was forced to try another tutor. We met at the public library this time. The guy had long blond hair and a huge sweatshirt engulfed his lanky body. I knew him from a couple classes.
	“Travis, I didn’t know you were a tutor.” I walked over to him and we did the obligatory knuckle tap. Travis laughed low and slowly. He looked up at me with red eyes that drooped.
	“I’m not, man.” 
	“Okay…then why did Mrs. Hamby tell me to meet you here?” 
	“I told her I could tutor because she said I need some extracurricular things to do.” He leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms far above his head, laughing as he swayed a little. Then he just dropped to the table, backpack acting as a pillow.
	“So…you’re just going to sit here the entire time?” The kid was smart. He was making Mrs. Hamby happy and most kids who were tutored didn’t want to be tutored, so they probably weren’t too upset over his attitude. 
	“Yup. Here, little dude, do these assignments or something. I’m going to take a nap.” 
	“You are so high right now, aren’t you?” 
	“You bet I am.” 
	And as much as I really wanted to stay and tell Mrs. Hamby the next day that Travis was a great help, I knew I couldn’t. The first test we had and I’d be caught red-handed in the middle of a lie. So with a sigh and I left Travis to his napping.

“I don’t know what to do. You have gone through four tutors. How in the world have you gone through four tutors?” Mrs. Hamby asked exasperated.
      “I told you; tutors and me don’t work well together.” 
      “Okay. Fine. Just one last time okay? I swear if this doesn’t work I’ll stop pressuring you to get one, yes?” 
“Fine,” I conceded. 
“Good. You know Robert, right?”
	“Oh, Stryker? Yeah I know ‘em. He’s in my English class,” I nodded. 
	“He’s really skilled in Calc-“
	“Bet he is…”
	“Chris.”
	“Sorry.” Not really. “The kid is like ten years old. You want a ten year old to tutor me?” I glanced at Mrs. Hamby incredulously. 
	“Chris he is not ten years old. I don’t know what you have against tutors, but I think he might be able to really help you. He’s someone you know and should feel comfortable around.” Mrs. Hamby ran a hand through her long dark hair, a habit I noticed she did whenever she got frustrated. I reluctantly agreed, and then the next day I was facing my latest and, hopefully final, tutor.

	Mrs. Hamby was right; I definitely did feel more comfortable around Robert. I mean, it’s always weird to hang out with kids much younger than you, but he was still a pretty cool dude. 
	“So, kid. What are we gonna do first?” I stared at Robert expectantly. He took a bundle of papers out from his backpack and placed them in front of me.
	“These are different packets outlining what it is you’re supposed to be learning. My notes are extremely thorough, so they should help. I think the best way is if you try a problem first, then I help you understand what you did wrong,” Robert explained in one breath.  
	“Uh…sure, kid.” I took one of the packets and began trying to understand the numbers staring at me. Only a minute had passed before I felt the table start vibrating. I glanced down and noticed Robert’s leg shaking uncontrollably. “Hey, you alright, kid?” 
	“Huh?” I gestured to his shaking leg, and he instantly clamped a hand over it. “Oh, right. Uh, nervous habit.” 
	“Why are you so nervous?” I glanced at him curiously. 
	“I-it’s just. You’re you.” 
	“Why yes, yes I am, thank you informing me,” I remarked dryly. Robert flinched, apparently not use to sarcasm. 
	“I mean…you have so many friends. Everyone loves you. You’re always so calm and collected and funny and I just wish I was like that.” 
	“Oh my, God. Are you jealous of me?” I asked with wide eyes.
	“Uh, yes?” he replied with a small voice. 
	“Dude, you’re a freaking genius and you’re jealous of me? The guy who is failing Calculus?” 
	“Well yeah…” he said like it was the most obvious thing.
	“Wow.” I didn’t know how to respond. I always thought of myself as someone who just drifted his way through life; never taking things too seriously, just barely getting by. Yet, here was someone who was actually jealous of me. “Really, I’m not that great.” 
	“If you say so,” he muttered quietly. Then he looked at my blank paper than back at me. “Do you want me to just go ahead and explain it to you?”
	“Yeah, that’d be nice, thanks. How did you get so smart anyways?” 
	“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Sometimes it just really sucks, being in classes with all seniors when you’re only a freshman. Everyone has friends and I’m left being partners with myself.” 
	I sighed shuffled my feet under me. “Look, kid. You can be partners with me in classes, you know that right?”
	Robert looked at me with such a heartbreakingly open expression I had to look away “Really?” 
	“Yeah, really. Now, can we finish this up? I’m tired of not understanding.” 
	“Of course, yeah.” He pulled out his calculator, some high-tech looking thing, and pushed his chair closer to start teaching me.
	“Now I just have to figure out how I’m going to tell Mrs. Hamby she was right.” 

	
 
The Science of Tutoring, 11-12, p. 1