Free Close Encounters by Jen Michalski Page B

meticulously planned senior year. Being tutored by Gavin, sitting in his presence, feeling, by osmosis, she supposed, his unfortunate hardships, was something she could not risk.
    â€œIf you don’t carry an ‘B’ for this quarter, Ava, I’m afraid you’re going to fail.” Mr. Trebelhorn flipped through her scores on the last few quizzes.
    â€œIs there anyone else who could do it?” Ava suggested. She could compromise and sit with Courtney Simmons during study hall. “Even Courtney?”
    â€œYou could ask her, but I think you’ll find her tied up with the quiz bowl.” He shut his grade book. “Gavin’s a nice boy, Ava. It’ll be as good for him as it would be for you.”
    When Ava approached Gavin at his usual lunchtime spot, alone on the bleachers, he did not look up as she approached.
    â€œMr. Trebelhorn already told me,” he explained, taking a sip from his thermos. “About the tutoring.”
    â€œOh, OK…so, how do we do this? Do you want, like, payment or something?” Ava asked cautiously, looking back at the cafeteria, where Lenny had come out with his friends.
    â€œI don’t need your money.” He looked at her coolly. It surprised her to think that he might hate her, especially considering all the internal wrangling she did sometimes, albeit grudgingly, on his behalf. “Mr. Trebelhorn asked, and I said I’d do it.”
    â€œIs your truck OK?” she asked, wanting to press upon him her concern, however self-serving, for his welfare.
    â€œIt’s running.” He picked at something on his moccasin. “I need to go down to the parts store and buy some new spark plugs. So when do I fit into your social schedule?”
    â€œFor tutoring?” she responded dumbly. Her face burned. “Um, Tuesdays are good. Did you want to come to my house at seven?”
    He nodded, still picking at his shoe. Ava felt stunned and small, on the verge of tears, almost. It was not as if she expected him to be grateful for her offer, the chance to flirt with brighter futures, but his complete indifference surprised her. She turned to hurry back to the cafeteria before being spotted.
    â€œAva,” he said her name, and she felt the stark, short syllables like ice water in her spine. “Don’t worry—you’re going to get an ‘A’ this quarter. I’ll personally see to it.”
    â€œThanks,” she answered, but could not speak his name in return.
    Forced to engage with Gavin on some level, Ava caught herself wondering sporadically about him, his motivations. In the time before their first session Ava gathered everything she knew about him, hoping to weave some blanket of clarity, some familiarity with him. She knew he lived with his mother, that they were from California. She sometimes saw them in town together, shopping at the Safeway—his mother tall and elegant but dry and washed out in some way, like an empty bottle. Mostly, however, she saw Gavin alone.
    â€œThe family orders a lot of medical supplies,” Ava’s mother offered at dinner. “I always see a van parked out front when I’m on my way to visit Sandy.”
    â€œDo you think his mother’s sick?” Ava asked, balancing some penne precariously on her fork.
    â€œI don’t think I’ve ever seen her, Ava—it’s possible. Is she one of your patients, Harv?”
    â€œDon’t recall her.” Ava’s father chewed vigorously as he thought. “Probably Sandabar’s. He gets all the new patients.”
    When Tuesday evening came, Ava walked through her house, looking for blatant signs of extravagance, of frivolity. She did not think Gavin was poor, necessarily, but the gravity of his solemn demeanor made her feel ashamed of her relative life of ease. She picked the plainest area, the breakfast room, as their study location, moving her mother’s mound of decorating magazines