The Failing Hours
Page 8I smirk. “What’s wrong with it?”
She reads from the paper. “‘Th-The biological and genetic, rather than moral, consequences of having a child with y-your first cousin?’” Pause. “Um…” She sits up straight in her chair.
“Clever, isn’t it?” I’m quite pleased with it myself.
Violet flushes. “W-What were your questions about it?”
“I guess I’m having a hard time finding facts to support my topic.”
She hesitates, wrinkles her nose. “Facts like…uh…multifactorial disorders?”
My brows rise, impressed. Apparently, the little stuttering wallflower really does know her shit about biology.
“Multifactorial disorders,” I repeat. “Is that what it’s called when a kid is jacked-up physically from all their parents’ fucking?”
A wince. A blush. “M-more like chromosomal defects, but yeah, I’m assuming that’s what you mean.”
“So how do I put that in writing?”
“Have you googled the topic at all?”
Duh. Does she think I’m a fucking idiot? “Obviously.”
She’s all business now. “What keywords did you use when you searched?”
“Inbreeding, banging cousins, fetal alcohol syndrome.” The words rattle off the tip of my tongue, and judging by the look on her face, she’s not impressed. “What’s that appalled look for? Why is your face all red? Are those not accurate descriptions?”
“Look, I seriously couldn’t give a shit if someone is banging their cousin—first, second, or third. I just pulled the topic out of my ass for the sake of getting the essay done, and didn’t want to be bored to tears writing it. So can we lose the whole scandalized virgin routine and move things along?”
I tap on the table with the end of my pen.
“Y-You’re absolutely…” Pause. “You’re certain you want to continue researching this subject?” Violet’s hesitation creeps into her voice. Her pale brows are bent, bottom lip jutted out in thought.
“Why? Does the topic make you uncomfortable?”
“No.”
“Great, ’cause I doubt you have a better suggestion.”
She bites down on her lower lip. “N-not off the top of my head, no, but I’m sure with a little effort, together we could come up with one.”
She looks so hopeful and laughably naïve.
“Together?” For fuck’s sake. “Aren’t you the sweetest?” I scowl because quite honestly, I detest everything about this conversation. Being here with her. Needing a tutor. The thought of collaborating with her?
Petite, mousy, stuttering Violet and me?
No.
Hilarious in its absurdity.
I wouldn’t have chosen her for help in a million fucking years.
But there is something I’ve been wondering. “So what’s the deal with you and that kid?”
Her light brows rise. “S-Summer?”
“Do you nanny any other annoying kids that rudely knock shit over in the grocery store?”
Violet stops taking notes long enough to give her dainty, feminine shoulders a shrug. “She wasn’t knocking anything over. She was curious and excited.”
I stare, unconvinced.
She swallows. “I’m not her nanny; I’m her Thursday.”
“Her Thursday. What does that mean?”
“Her mom i-is a student here, so as part of her tuition, Student Services provides a babysitter up to ten hours a week, free of charge, and I-I…”
“Babysit her on Thursdays.”
She nods. “Summer’s parents are part of the assistance program for enrolled students with children. Her dad just finished an internship, and her mom has history and a lab Thursdays, so while she’s in class, I-I hang with Summer.”
“What the hell do you do for three hours with a four-year-old?”
“She’s actually s-seven. Such a sweetie, the little doll face. We do arts and crafts. Do her homework. Go to the park.”
Little sweetie. Doll face.
“The park?”
“Yeah, you know—the place with swings, sunshine, and slides? Jungle gyms. Fun stuff? You do know what fun is, don’t you?”
I narrow my eyes—is she mocking me?
I wouldn’t have pegged the waif as sarcastic or snarky, but looks are often deceiving. Suddenly latching onto a topic she’s passionate about, she prattles on and on about the goddamn park like I give a shit.
“There’s a really nice park down on State, right near the admin building, almost between campus and the downtown—”
I cut her off, impatient. “I’m not paying to hear about the location of the local park. I’m paying you to help me with biology.”
She flushes, just like I expect her to. “Right. S—”
Sorry.
She catches herself just in time.
Zeke
How I found myself at the park the next day—Thursday to be exact—I have no damn idea. I guess it had something to do with not having a single place to bring this freaking kid, the one I’ve been saddled with for the next few weeks.
Meeting at the Big Brothers Center, his ass is parked in a chair when I first walk in, chatting with some lady behind the desk like they’ve done it a hundred times.