**PART FOUR**
“Come, Meredith.”
I had mixed feelings about being spoken to in such a way; especially since Annabelle had said it twice. It was demeaning on the surface, but I also couldn’t sense any malice in her words. She was being so nonchalant, where I’d normally expect such a phrase to be used in a bitchy or bratty way. The girl was certainly confusing, as she was friendly and entitled at the same time. Maybe that’s just what happens when you grow up with wealth.
Ultimately, I decided not to say anything about it. This was our first tutoring session, and I didn’t want to come across as difficult before we even opened a notebook.
Following Annabelle around a corner and up a wide flight of stairs, I was led to a door at the end of another long hallway. I still had my bearings, mostly, but it was baffling how big the house was. Seeing it from the outside hadn’t been enough to get a good grasp of the size, especially when I stepped into Annabelle’s ‘room.’
For some crazy reason, I had expected a bedroom and only a bedroom. Instead, I was greeted with a full suite. Apparently, the red haired girl had an entire living room to herself, as well as a modest kitchenette off to the side. A small hallway off to the side led to what I assumed was her bedroom and a private bathroom to complete the suite, but I was still busy taking in what was more or less a fancier version of my one bedroom apartment.
Play it cool, Meredith.
This was insane compared to my childhood bedroom, but a comment about my surprise couldn’t be the first thing out of my mouth. Annabelle probably went to an expensive private school with a bunch of rich friends, all of whom wouldn’t bat an eye at this kind of lifestyle. And, while taking a job for extra cash no doubt spoke volumes about me to a girl who didn’t have to lift a finger around the house, I still didn’t want to let on how out of my element I was feeling.
“Nice room,” I said. Pausing a few steps in, I took a second scan of the room from more of a tutor perspective. We could easily set ourselves up at the kitchenette bar, or by the living room table; or perhaps Annabelle’s actual bedroom had more surprises in terms of possible space available. “Where do you like to study?”
“On the sofa is good,” Annabelle replied, “More table space. Go ahead and make yourself comfortable. I’ll go get my things.”
Good. That’s where I would have preferred to study. While soft furniture isn’t as psychologically conducive to productivity, Annabelle had the right idea. It’s nice to have more room for books and notebooks.
While she wandered off to her room, I delicately sat down on the edge of the sofa. Aside from the overwhelming wealth surrounding me, there was the personal awkwardness of just being in a new house for the first time. Similar to the few times that I babysat in high school, it’s a little weird to be an authority figure in a totally unfamiliar place. Thankfully, Annabelle made things easy enough.
I pulled the small stack of materials from my backpack, still not sure where we were going to begin. Instead of helping a girl struggling in one of her classes, I was hired to prepare her for undergrad. However, I couldn’t just jump into university material without gauging her strengths and weaknesses, so this session was going to be a bit of an adventure. Even with some preparation ahead of time, I still felt like I was going in somewhat blind.
“Wow, so many books!” Annabelle exclaimed as she returned to the living room. Coming right over, she plopped down right beside me and dropped a single notebook onto the table. “So what first, Mere?”
“I actually prefer ‘Meredith,’ if you don’t mind,” I said. It was only after this use of the shortened version of my name that I decided to address it, due to how distracted I was downstairs. No one really called me ‘Mere,’ ever, as it wasn’t exactly a natural abbreviation of my name. I wanted to keep things friendly with Annabelle, but there were other ways to do that without quietly accepting a nickname.
“Oh, really? I have a friend who goes by ‘Mere’ all the time.” Annabelle shrugged. “Well, okay. But it’s not my fault if I mess it up.”
Classic teenager. Avoiding personal blame. But her reason at least made sense, and it was fine as long as she didn’t slip up too often. “What about you?” I asked. “Anna? Or Belle?”
“Nope, ‘Annabelle’ is too pretty to give up. Don’t you think?”
“Umm . . .”
Once more, I found myself a little bit flustered by the red haired girl. It’s not like she was flirting or anything, but she didn’t shy away from eye contact in the slightest. There was also the subtle implication that ‘Meredith’ *isn’t* pretty, if she’s okay abbreviating mine but keeping her own, but that could just be me reading too much into things. I was more taken aback by her question. It was one of those innocent ‘traps,’ where there wasn’t really a good answer. Saying ‘yes’ was a little embarrassing, but saying ‘no’ would be a little insulting.
Was she teasing again, like downstairs? I couldn’t tell.
“Almost as pretty as ‘Meredith,’” I said. Making sure to smile and add half an eye roll to let her know I was kidding, I breathed an internal sigh of relief. This was why I tended to get along with boys better; they were just easier to talk to.
Thankfully, she didn’t push the casual question. Instead, she just brushed back her hair and opened her notebook before glancing back at me.
“Well, *Meredith,*” she said, adding an exaggerated sultry tone to my full name, “Should we get started?”
**PART FIVE**
I’ll admit, Annabelle was brighter than I expected her to be.
The stereotype/cliché of rich teenagers coasting by with their parents’ money made it easy to make false assumptions. At the same time, I probably wasn’t wrong; Annabelle would have plenty of job security and cushion thanks to the connections and other advantages that your average young woman wouldn’t have available to her. As for her intelligence, however, I was way off base.
The first portion of our private tutoring session was spent having her work out a few problems I had prepared ahead of time. Starting with Calculus, to see how strong she was in her current class, and then gradually shifting the problems into more advanced material that your average high school senior wouldn’t have touched on.
Annabelle breezed through the top of the page. She mentally calculated a good chunk of it, too. Rather than showing every step of her answer, she only wrote down two or three lines out of the eight or ten that one of the ‘show your work’ teachers would have required someone to include. Personally, I didn’t mind her process. Clearly she wasn’t cheating, as I was watching the entire time, and the end result was ultimately a correct answer.
“Right so far?” she asked. With a glance in my direction, it struck me how ridiculous it was that she could still look so proper while leaning over to work out complex equations. I’m sure I didn’t present as attractive of an image when I was hunched over and buried in an assignment.
I nodded, also realizing it had been awkwardly quiet for a little while until she spoke up. “Mm hmm,” I said, “I’m sure you’ve heard it a million times, but writing every step out can offer partial credit sometimes if your final answer isn’t right.” Sure, I didn’t mind the shortcuts, but it was at least worth mentioning. Several of my professors were that way, and her future university would have similar teachers.
“So I’ve heard,” she shrugged, “But I’m usually right.”
So confident. Before I could mention that some future teachers may not be so flexible, a light knock on the door interrupted us. Annabelle called out with a ‘Come, Trixie’ similar to the way she addressed me earlier. I still wasn’t sure if it was an Annabelle quirk, something she got from her parents, or the kind of language that was casually used in her world in terms of hired staff.
Save for the fact that Trixie looked to be around my age, she was the spitting image of the kinds of maids I saw in movies. Dressed from head to toe in black and white, and currently holding a silver platter in her hands. After jumping straight into a tutoring session with Annabelle, I had completely forgotten about the fact that Trixie had gone to get us refreshments until I saw the glasses balanced on the shiny platter. “Ms. Annabelle,” she said, with a small nod of her head.
Not batting an eye, Annabelle casually beckoned her over. “Sorry for the wait, Mere,” she said, “Trixie normally isn’t this slow.”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Annabelle.” Trixie blushed and glanced away as she set the drinks down on the coffee table in front of us. Ice water for me, and orange juice for Annabelle. “I was-”
Annabelle held up her hand, which was enough to instantly quiet the girl. “Hush, please,” she said, “What are you working on next?”
After a beat of silence, where I could see poor Trixie trying to work out whether she should answer the question or not after being shushed, she said, “Prepping for lunch, and cleaning the kitchen afterwards. Unless there’s something else you’d like me to prioritize, Ms. Annabelle.”
It was more awkward than being over at a friend’s house when they got into a fight with a sibling or an argument with their parents. At the same time, it wasn’t at all the dynamic that I had seen once or twice at restaurants; where an entitled woman unnecessarily berated an underpaid server. Annabelle was calm and not particularly harsh or judgmental aside from the casual criticism from a moment ago. And yet, Trixie seemed so nervous.
Annabelle thought about it for a moment as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, before finally answering. “No, you may prioritize the kitchen. Actually-” she said, turning her gaze towards me, “Do you mind helping her, Meredith? I’ll be working on this for a little while anyway, and I’d hate for you to be bored. Besides, Trixie could probably use another set of hands.”
“Umm . . .” I trailed off. Help Trixie in the kitchen? That’s not exactly what I was there to do. I didn’t want to be rude, and Annabelle’s point was mildly valid about how I was pretty much just sitting there during the first few problems, but still. “It’s helpful for me to see your process,” I said, finding the right thing to say after the filler word that was becoming more common than usual for me since stepping into the Alodia mansion, “I wouldn’t be a very good tutor if I wasn’t here for the first half of our session.”
“It’s fine, Mere,” she said. Waving off my answer with barely a thought, Annabelle decided, “I work better without someone looking over my shoulder anyway. It’s okay, no one’s going to dock your pay or anything. In fact, I could convince my parents to give you a bonus for the extra work.”
“No, no; it’s not that,” I began, but stopped short. It’s not about the money? Except that’s the whole reason I caved and took the job in the first place. Well, humor worked last time. “I’d probably just get in Trixie’s way. And I’m a terrible cook!”
Annabelle once again glanced towards the young brunette still standing there. “Trixie?”
“Whatever you say, Ms. Annabelle,” she said, without missing a beat.
“Then Meredith will help you,” Annabelle said, “Go on, Mere.”
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