Tackling the Subject Page 2

  Sarah cocked an eyebrow and joined Nate in their showdown. But it didn’t take long for Gordy to give in after Sarah glanced over to the tamales with a significant expression.

  “All right, fine. You don’t have to threaten with the tamales. He’s cute, okay? As tall as I am but with a runner’s build. There’s also an adorable sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of his nose. He’s my type in just about every way.”

  Nate started to ask more questions, but Gordy interrupted him. “Okay, fine. Jeez! He has the sexiest dark-auburn hair. But it doesn’t matter how good-looking he is, he was a jerk and I’m not dealing with him again.”

  By now, Gordy was getting frustrated with his friends, and he thought they were aware of it, too, since the conversation slipped away from his personal life to the safer topics of food and football.

  By the time Gordy gathered up his gear to head home, he was stuffed with tamales and had enough in freezer bags to last him for several meals. He pulled his boots on just as Sarah stepped closer and he gave her his usual hug. “Thanks for inviting me over. As always, everything was delicious.”

  She whispered in his ear before letting him go, “Don’t worry about the cute guy. The right man will come along.”

  Gordy kept his thoughts to himself and gave her a final tight hug.

  “Gorrrdeeee!”

  Gordy’s grin was genuine as he and Nate jumped at each other. Their chest bump rattled the dishes drying in the sink and sent each of them backward for several feet.

  “Boys!” Sarah muttered.

  Chapter Two

  The soft chatter didn’t reach Sam as the other students in his lab section gathered their books and shoved them into bags. His eyes locked on the paper he was holding. The guy sitting next to him—he thought he recalled a name like Mark or something similar—pushed back his metal stool and the rattle that ensued knocked Sam from his stupor.

  Mark grabbed his bag and threw it over his shoulder before glancing at Sam’s paper. “Ouch! That’s harsh. Sorry.”

  Sam looked up, pulling his thoughts together for a few moments. “Yeah. Blew this one.”

  “I’d bail, get out of the class. Try to get Hawthorne. I hear he’s easier.”

  “Hawthorne’s my prof, and I’ve got to pass or I can’t graduate.”

  “Stop by the Help Center. They have tutors for everything. I had one before. She was great.”

  Sam twisted his face into a frown. “Yeah, so I’ve heard.”

  Mark glanced at his watch. “Crap! I gotta go. My next class is all the way across campus.” He flipped Sam a wave and trotted away.

  Sam stuffed his notebooks into his bag and zipped it shut. He threaded his arms through the straps and headed out. The only person left in the room was the teaching assistant who was absorbed in paperwork. Sam waited for a break in the hallway traffic, stepped into the flow of people and made his way down the corridor. Still in shock over failing the quiz, he knew with this grade, his average was so low that he wasn’t sure he could pass the class. There were no choices left. He needed help.

  Directionless, he was more than halfway across campus and realized he had almost covered the distance to the Help Center. Slowing to a stop, Sam stared at the monolithic red brick building that housed it. A steady stream of people moved through the triple doors. The piece of paper crumpled in his fist was his motivation. The paper was so covered with red it appeared as though whoever had graded the assignment had hit a major artery. He knew what was on the page. The image was burned into his brain.

  “Sam? You okay?”

  Shaken from his introspection, he glanced over to see the concerned face of a friend. Rachel and he had been tight since they’d met during freshman orientation. A few weeks later, when they had found each other at the first meeting of the campus Gay-Straight Alliance, the friendship had been sealed. She was also the only soul who knew his history.

  “Hey, Rachel. Yeah, I’m okay. Having problems with a class. I’m trying to decide if there’s a way to still pass.”

  She glanced at the building a few yards away. “The Help Desk can find you a tutor. That’s what I’d do.”

  “I tried that.” He frowned. “They sent a guy who’s on the football team.”

  Rachel took a deep breath that she leaked past her lips. “Sorry, Sam. I know that’s a big trigger for you.”

  “It’s nothing to do with triggers. He was a bad tutor.”

  “Who was it?”

  “I don’t know. Gordy something. He’s on the football team.”

  “Gordy Hager? Big guy with dark hair and a nice tan?”

  “Yeah, something like that. Why?”

  “Sam, you need to get out occasionally. That’s the guy the university uses as a poster child for the perfect student athlete. Everyone says he’s brilliant. He was your tutor?”

  Sam rubbed his hands across his face and tried to calm himself so Rachel wouldn’t know he was questioning his reactions, even if he was unsure of his control over parts of his response. At least, that’s what he told himself.

  “If you say so, I guess that’s who it was. Sounds like the same guy. Just seemed like a big, dumb jock.”

  She drew her mouth into a thin line and shrugged. “I hope you find whatever you need.”

  Sam was trying to think of a reply when another girl ran up to them, grabbed Rachel’s hand and pulled her into a kiss. “Come on, Rach. The women’s rugby is about to start. You promised you’d go with me.”

  She grinned and glanced back at Sam. “I’m going to a rugby game. God help us all.”

  Sam couldn’t help but smile and shake his head. He watched as Rachel disappeared around a building and realized he was no closer to finding a solution to his own crisis. Come on, Sam. You’re avoiding this like you’re a freshman. He shook himself and headed to the door of the Help Center.

  He made his way through the maze of hallways to discover he still had difficulty finding the office. After a few minutes of searching, he relented and asked directions. Now he homed in on the suite of rooms that held what he needed.

  He opened the glass door, walked to the first available staff person and sat down. She typed for a few moments on the keyboard as she studied the paperwork in front of her. She finished with a final click before she turned to Sam with a smile.

  “Hi. What can I help you with?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I need to sign up for a tutor in Biology 101.”

  “Okay…let’s see who’s available.” Her fingers flew across the keyboard in a flurry of starts and stops. She stared at the screen for a moment before refocusing on him. “Looks like we only have one. He became available in the last few days.” She gave him a genuine smile. “You’re in luck. Gordy is our best tutor. He’s wonderful at explaining difficult ideas.”

  “Gordy…Hager?”

  “Yes, Gordy Hager.”

  “Umm, is there anyone else available?”

  She studied him for a moment. “No. Gordy is the only biology tutor we have free.”

  Sam squirmed in the chair, trying to work out the details while the woman’s fingers raced again. The pause and her expression were ominous. She cocked her head and pressed her lips together.

  “Are you Samuel Doherty?”

  Sam’s stomach dropped like he was in the lead car on a rollercoaster and left him queasy. “Yes, ma’am. I’m Sam.”

  “I’m afraid Gordy requested you not be assigned to him. He doesn’t believe he can help you.”

  When he met the woman’s gaze, it hadn’t changed much. A slight tightening around the lips, a little tilt to her brow, but Sam had no doubt of her opinion of him. I’ve got to get help. My biases aside, he seems to know his shit. His mind raced as he tried to find another solution.

  “Is there no one else? I could pay them.”

  She folded her hands on the counter between them and her expression made it obvious she was finished with him. “No, Samuel. We don’t have any biology tutors available. You might talk to the
instructor or see if there are study groups you could join.”

  Stunned, Sam grabbed his bag from the floor where he’d dropped it at some point and made his way out of the door, still reeling. I’ll get help. Wait a minute. Gordy’s email address will be in the campus directory. I’ll get it and email him to ask for a second chance. If I grovel enough, I’m sure he’ll agree to help me.

  * * * *

  Sam tapped a pencil against the desk in his room. The next exam was Monday, and it was Thursday. He’d emailed Gordy several days ago, but hadn’t gotten a reply. He’d held out for a day before sending the second, then third, message. Each subsequent email had become more pitiful as his desperation grew. He didn’t quit trying, but Sam decided his messages were an act of futility. He might as well print them off, smear them with brown mustard and eat them, for all the good they were doing.

  I may go down in flames, but I won’t quit trying.

  He worked through the last chapter the professor had assigned, making notes as he went, trying to understand the highlights. But no matter how hard he tried, it all mushed together. Each piece didn’t make sense with all the others. The most frustrating part was that he sensed the key points were close but he couldn’t make those final, critical connections.

  He shoved away from his desk, fighting to keep from throwing the book out the window. He paced the room, his arms and legs shaking as he tried to relax.

  His email chimed.

  Sam dove for the computer, frantic to see if this was the email he needed. He saw the title.

  Message from ‘Hager, Gordon’.

  Sam’s stomach knotted and the taste of bile filled his mouth. After freezing for a second, he clicked the message.

  Dear Sam,

  I’ve been out of town working on my senior honors project in a remote part of southeastern Oklahoma. We were gathering data for several days and I returned a few hours ago.

  I was surprised to find your emails. I thought you were clear about your feelings regarding me serving as your tutor. I checked with local experts who confirmed that hell, in fact, has not frozen over. The threat of failing has made people do things more desperate than working with someone they despise.

  Regardless, I’m afraid my research has been sped up and I no longer can take on another tutoring assignment.

  Best of luck with your course.

  Sincerely,

  Gordon Hager

  Sam’s chest constricted and his nausea grew with each word. His heart sank into the ground by the time he’d read it over again. He took a deep breath and fought down his rocketing fear.

  “Hey, Sam. You okay in there?” yelled one of his suite mates.

  He swallowed hard before he replied. “I’m good. No problem.”

  A plan burst into his head. Well, a half-baked possible fiasco that might be illegal and was certainly immoral. But, at this point, he didn’t care. He needed help, and everyone seemed to think Gordy was the best.

  Sam walked through the crap covering his floor and made his way to the doorway. He looked around and spotted the person he was trying to find.

  “Hey, Rob. Do you still have a cousin who works in the Help Center office?”

  Rob studied him. “Yeah. Why? What are you up to this time?”

  “Didn’t I introduce you to a friend of mine? And aren’t you dating her now?”

  “Yes, Sam. You introduced me to Laura, and we have been going out for several weeks.”

  Sam gave him an innocent smile.

  Chapter Three

  Sam wrapped his knuckles around the steering wheel of his Volkswagen bug. He’d got Gordy’s phone number and address from Rob’s cousin. Sam considered trying to call and talk to Gordy, but he decided he’d have more of a chance of getting him to help if he showed up unannounced and begged for pity.

  He’d also been lucky. One girl who worked at the center remembered what kind of pickup Gordy drove. He’d hoped that was enough information. But then he raced down the third large hill heading into the less populated parts of the surrounding county and lost his cell phone connection. Sam thought he was close, and he’d spot the red four-by-four dually Gordy drove parked at one of the houses with no problem.

  He’d been wrong.

  Sam covered more miles, several over roads with only a gravel surface, but nothing met his description of Gordy’s vehicle. There were too many houses with pickups in the front yard and a huge dog chained beside the back door. He’d long ago left the roads maintained by the city and soon he’d be down to paths too rough for his little car. It was getting dark, and he was running out of choices. He swallowed any pride he had left.

  He pulled to the side of the road, dug in his pocket and brought out the folded piece of paper with Gordy’s contact information. He sighed as he opened it, keyed the number in and waited. On the third ring, someone answered the phone.

  “Hello.”

  “Hi. Could I speak with Gordy?”

  “This is Gordy. Who’s this?”

  “Hey. I don’t know if you remember me. I’m Sam Doherty and—”

  The line went dead. Sam stared at the phone, amused more than anything. He redialed and waited. It rang several times then rolled to voice mail. Sam considered leaving a message but discarded the idea and hung up. Determination filled him and he dialed again.

  About fifteen minutes, and twenty calls later, Gordy answered the phone again, “You know I could block you?”

  “Hang on! Let me talk for a minute. If you say no, I’ll quit bothering you,” Sam said.

  “You’ve got one minute.”

  Sam talked as fast as he could get the words out. “First, I’m sorry for being such a jerk. It was a bad day, I guess. But you didn’t deserve me unloading on you. So, sorry. But I’m desperate. I have to pass the intro bio this semester and the other one next semester. The people at the Help Center said you were the best tutor. I’ll find a way to pay you if that’s what it takes, or I can take care of keeping your computer working right. But I need help.”

  He took a deep breath. “Please.”

  No sound came out and Sam worried. When he couldn’t take the pressure any longer he spoke into the phone. “Gordy?”

  “There are a bunch of things I need to do around here first. I wasn’t kidding, and I need to work on my research project.”

  Sam jumped at the opening. “I can help you do whatever you need. But I need a tutor for this class.”

  There was a tone in Gordy’s voice that made Sam wonder if he might regret the deal he was hatching. “Well, I wouldn’t mind having some help with my computer that’s messing up. But more important, it’s my weekend to take samples from the research steers. If you help me with the computer and the cattle, I’ll help you.”

  “It’s a deal. How do I get to your house?”

  About twenty minutes later, he was parking his dust-covered Beetle in front of a low-slung ranch. He glanced around but saw nothing unusual. The red-brick house was more contemporary than most with fences and corrals along with a red barn situated beyond the first set of gates. It didn’t seem like where a college student would be living. He walked to the front door and reached toward the doorbell.

  “Looks like you found the place.”

  Startled, he lowered his hand and turned to find Gordy standing at the corner of the house. His heart hammered, but he’d be damned if he would let Gordy find out he had rattled him.

  “Yeah, it was simple with your directions. But it is off the beaten path.” He motioned to the house. “Upscale place for a college student.”

  Gordy shot a fast glance at him, the corner of his mouth quirking upward. “I don’t live in the house. One of my profs and his family live there. I’m camping out in the travel trailer in back. I trade living in it for helping with their place.”

  He studied Sam for a minute until Sam was feeling underdressed in jeans, T-shirt and runners.

  “We’ll get you a pair of rubber boots at the shed. Otherwise, you’ll ruin your tenn
y runners.”

  Sam twisted his lips and questioned his sanity in agreeing to help with Gordy’s research. Not many of the projects Sam was familiar with needed rubber boots. He wasn’t a big fan of the whole outdoors thing, either. But he’d already agreed, and he wasn’t getting a second chance with Gordy. Really it would be more like a third chance. No, I don’t see that happening.

  Sam nodded and made certain to wipe any expression of distaste from his face. He must have failed miserably since Gordy burst out laughing. He frowned at the football player. Before he could say anything, Gordy began.

  “Okay, this will be interesting. Because as bad as you think this is going to be, it’ll be worse.” Without giving Sam time to protest, Gordy tossed an equipment box into the pickup bed and jumped into the front seat. He rolled down the power windows and yelled out to Sam.

  “You coming? Or do you not need a tutor now?”

  Sam clenched his jaws and snorted an angry breath through his nose. But he trotted to the passenger door and crawled into the huge vehicle. A moment later they were roaring down the highway to one of the research centers the ag college kept. He wasn’t sure what to say, so he kept quiet, and Gordy seemed to be focused on the trip.

  They pulled into the center and wound their way through the maze of gravel roads until they came to a stop at a large, green-metal shed. Sam stood peering over row after row of white pipe and cable fences dotted with metal buildings of every size. It reminded Sam a little of an anthill with all the activity going on.

  “Ready?” Gordy asked.

  Sam walked over, checked out what Gordy had in his arms and shot him a questioning glance. Gordy gave him a grin in response. “Rubber boots and AI gloves.”

  Sam hopped around and changed out his trainers for the boots that went to his knees. By the time he’d donned different shoes, Gordy had a small group of cattle in the pen. With a rattle and a bang the heavy metal gate closed, and Gordy walked over to Sam. He pointed to the bucket of feed. “Take that and pour a little of what’s in it into each feed pan. I’ll close the rails behind them as they go into their stalls.”