Free The Tutor by Peter Abrahams

bad,” or “Good job,” or something like that.
    Julian said nothing. He opened his green folder, turned pages, stopped. Brandon read:
questionnaire
upside-down. “What colleges are you interested in?”
    “I don’t know.”
    Julian made a check mark in a box.
    “GPA?”
    “About three two.”
    “Favorite subject?”
    Brandon shrugged.
    “Least despised, then.”
    Brandon thought. School was all so fucking boring. He was half asleep just behind his eyes most of the time. “Maybe history.”
    Julian wrote it down.
    “Best book read in the past year?”
    “Helter Skelter.”
The only book he’d read in the past year—he’d come across it in Dewey’s garage.
    “Helter Skelter?”
    “It’s about the Manson family killings.”
    Julian looked like he was about to smile but didn’t. “What did you like about it?”
    “Kind of interesting,” Brandon said.
    Julian watched him, as though maybe waiting for more. Brandon couldn’t think of anything else.
    “And finally,” Julian said, returning to the questionnaire, “any career plans?”
    Brandon shook his head.
    “I’ll just write ‘interested in serial killing.’ ”
    So deadpan, Brandon didn’t get it right away. Then he did, and started laughing. Now Julian smiled.
    “A little surprise for Sally when she comes for your lesson next week.”
    Brandon laughed again. He switched off his MP3. Julian wrote something on the sheet.
    “You’re really writing that?” Brandon said.
    “Should I?” Julian said.
    Brandon shrugged. Julian slid the folder across the table. In the box beside career plans Brandon read:
Indefinite.
    “No need to frighten Sally,” Julian said. “But I will leave her a note to spend extra time on analogies.”
    Brandon hated them.
    “Not your favorite?” said Julian.
    “They—” He shook his head.
    “Suck?”
    “Yeah.” The exact word he had in mind, although it sounded weird coming out of Julian’s mouth, almost like Brandon was hearing it for the first time.
    Julian opened the test booklet. “ ‘Revenge is to bloodshed,’ ” he said. “You circled C—’as sadness is to death.’ ”
    “Wrong?”
    Julian came around the table, sat down, placed the booklet in front of him.

    A) knife : wound
    B) rain : corn
    C) sadness : death
    D) electricity : light
    E) mercy : healing

    Brandon gazed at the question, his brain now too tired to think, to even absorb the individual meanings of everyday words. Maybe he really was stupid. And who was the asshole who dreamed up that little system of colons? He felt Julian’s gaze.
    “Any thoughts?” said Julian.
    Brandon shook his head.
    “Why don’t you try cause and effect?”
    “Cause and effect?”
    “As a method. For example, revenge leads to bloodshed. Similarly, does knife lead to wound?”
    “Yeah.”
    “What about a bread knife?”
    While Brandon was thinking about that, Julian said: “Rain to corn?”
    “Kind of,” Brandon said.
    “Tip number one,” Julian said. “Eliminate all kind ofs. Electricity to light?”
    “Sure,” Brandon said, but he wasn’t feeling sure.
    Julian reached into his pocket, pulled out a wooden match. Not a box of them, just one. He ignited it with his thumbnail, real easy, not even looking at it, his eyes on Brandon. What was he getting at? That you could have light without electricity? Ah.
    “Mercy to healing?” Julian said.
    “I guess that’s the one,” said Brandon. “I had it the other way around.”
    “The other way around?” Julian was looking at him closely. There was something about his eyes, like the chip driving them was the very latest.
    Brandon nodded.
    “Death causing sadness?” Julian said. “And bloodshed revenge?”
    “Totally screwed up, right?”
    “Not at all,” Julian said. He blew out the match, looked around for somewhere to put it. But there was nowhere. No one smoked but Brandon, weed when he could get it. Julian stuck the burnt match back in his pocket. The high-speed processor behind his eyes