Patreon Story: The Tutor, Parts 1-20

Part One

First day on the job.

I was still a little hesitant about committing myself to this; the only reason I said ‘yes’ in the first place was because the money was just too good to pass up.

Back in high school, I would have answered the call to tutor without any hesitation. A chance to make a little bit of extra cash, by only giving up a small fraction of my free time? Sign me up. It would have been a far better alternative than the soul-sucking retail job I ended up dealing with for the sake of saving some money away for university.

Now that I was in undergrad, however, my time was at an all time premium. I don’t like to brag about it, but I’m basically the star pupil in my major. Numbers have always come naturally to me, and my sophomore self was already on track for all kinds of things at the beginning of the next school year. A few specialized programs, a TA position for one of the classes I excelled in when I was a first-year; I even had two separate professors mention that they would be happy to write letters of recommendation for grad school once I completed university.

So, when the Alodia family reached out, I had to politely decline. Apparently they had connections with my school, and were seeking a tutor for their daughter. Not because she was struggling, but because they were interested in grooming her for undergrad classes while she was still finishing her last year of high school. One of my professors must have given them my name.

While I was flattered by the reference that they wanted ‘the best’ for their daughter Annabelle, I couldn’t say yes. Keeping up with my studies was time consuming enough, not to mention the few extracurriculars and social commitments I managed to squeeze in on top of my academic pursuits. Adding in a tutoring session, complete with a commute, would stretch me too thin.

However, they were persistent. Annabelle’s mother insisted that they could work around my schedule, and that money was no object. I had to assume the family was wealthy; not only because of that comment, but also due to how they knew what they wanted and didn’t simply go a different direction when met with resistance the first time. When I tried a second time to politely say ‘no,’ going so far as to refer them to one of my classmates who might be a good fit, I was simply told to offer a time and that I would be paid $600 for a 90 minute session.

Naturally, I found my initial resolve quickly crumbling. Go figure, a middle class girl like myself can be bought more easily than expected. Staring at the number on the screen, it took my math major brain all of half a second to frame the figure as $400/hour. Back in my retail days, it would take me nearly a full week of working twelve hour shifts to make the number I was being offered for a simple hour and a half. Well, two or more hours counting the commute, but still.

It was enough of a temptation to warrant a phone call, where I was given more details. When I asked why they just didn’t hire a professional, as they clearly had enough resources to do so, I was told that I would be better for their daughter. I was a girl majoring in mathematics, which would be more inspiring to her than some older man experienced in the field. There were other women who could do the job too, of course, but my age was also a factor. Annabelle already had adults teaching her all day at school, so a younger tutor would be a shift in dynamic that would make our sessions feel less like an extension of her other classes.

They had clearly thought it through, though I was a little worried about the fact that I was barely two years older than the girl. That being said, it’s not like I was there to babysit her. Tutoring doesn’t necessarily require authority, plus she was legally an adult. With rich parents, I was sure she’d be a proper and mature young lady. There was still the matter of how taking the job was going to add to my already exhausting weekly workload, but I had already been hooked enough by their offer to be roped in. Rather than fully committing right away, I could simply come over for a single session. If Annabelle and I clicked, and if it felt like a job that I would be willing to continue on a weekly basis, then we could make it official. If not, then that would be it.

Finally convinced, I accepted their invitation. Worst case scenario, I tried something new and got $600 for my troubles. Best case, I’d have a steady stream of income that required very little time on my end compared to an actual job.

Since the Alodia parents were keen to work around my schedule, I got to choose our potential tutoring day and time. Weekdays would be stressful for me on top of classes, and rush hour would make the commute across the city awful. Ultimately, I settled on Saturday morning. I felt a little bad about making a high school girl start her weekend like that, but taking the job itself was already a huge sacrifice for me. She would just have to deal with it.

When Saturday came around, I was ready. Her parents had sent me a list of classes Annabelle should prepare for, and I filled my backpack with books and notes from the previous year. If I was going to be a TA for those classes, perhaps this was a blessing in disguise. It would give me time to brush up on everything.

Coffee in hand, I made my way to the student parking lot. Just a twenty minute drive, and I’d be meeting Annabelle for the first time.

Part Two

Did this girl live in a mansion??

I grew up in a small house in the suburbs, so I wasn’t sure where the line was between ‘big house’ and ‘mansion.’ But for all intents and purposes, that’s what it felt like when approaching the Alodia’s property. Aside from the huge white house being impressive, the front yard and surrounding greenery were expansive and well maintained, and I found myself driving up one of those long, semi-circle driveways that I had only ever seen in movies.

If Annabelle’s parents hadn’t explained how they wanted another girl, and one closer to her age, I would have been more surprised when approaching the house. Why not just hire an army of tutors for the girl? They could probably afford one professional from every field if they wanted to. Instead, they chose me. And, while it was flattering, it was also incredibly intimidating.

I had barely stepped out of my car when I heard someone call out to me. “Ms. Moore?”

“Yes, that’s me,” I said. Turning towards the voice, I saw a girl who looked to be around my age standing just outside the front door. “Are you Annabelle?” The moment the question escaped my lips, I realized how wrong I was. The girl was dressed in black and white, appearing more like a maid than what any normal teenage girl would dress like. Even a wealthy one.

“No, ma’am,” she said, “I’m Trixie. I apologize for the inconvenience, but can you please pull around to the back? Employees are supposed to use the side door.”

Oh.

So, one of those households. It wasn’t quite a ‘servant door,’ but it had a similar vibe. Whatever flattery I felt just a few moments ago waned as I realized that my first visit here didn’t warrant ‘guest’ status. I was getting paid to be here; therefore I was an employee. It wasn’t necessarily insulting, as this was a completely different world than I had ever experienced, but I was definitely taken aback.

“Umm, sure,” I replied, “Should I just let myself in?” None of these details were included in the latest message from Annabelle’s mother. If I was relegated to the side door, was I allowed to roam the unfamiliar house until I found the girl? Or was I to be escorted? So many questions.

Thankfully, Trixie was familiar with the routine. “I’ll meet you down there,” she said, “And I’ll inform Ms. Annabelle that you’re here.”

After getting the simple directions from the girl, and thanking her, I got back in my car. It was simple enough to find the side road that led to the back of the property. I parked next to the rest of the cars that were hidden behind a clever facade that obscured my vision of the house until I walked around the thick bushes and towards the side door. While I had never experienced such a lavish lifestyle, nor had any friends that were this wealthy, it was pretty easy to connect the dots. Less impressive cars were hidden away so guests socializing on the back deck didn’t have to deal with the eyesore.

But who was I to judge? Trixie and I were probably here for very similar reasons–Money that was impressive to us, but pennies to the Alodia’s. If I was being paid this much to tutor, I imagine she was here because it was more lucrative than some hotel or waitress position.

I didn’t have to knock. As I neared the small side door, Trixie propped it open for me. “Shoes off, please,” she said, “Then you can follow me.”

It didn’t escape my attention that the young maid, assuming that was her role, was wearing shoes herself. Maybe they were indoor-only shoes, as her black flats were spotless. I was wearing flats too, as I had somewhat dressed up for my first tutoring session. If I was being paid this much, the least I could do is look professional. My current footwear was a lot more clean than my sneakers, for example, but I guess I had still just worn the flats outside.

I did what Trixie said, awkwardly balancing with my backpack over just one shoulder, and carefully stepped one at a time out of my flats.

The cool tile on my feet made me feel a little bit self conscious, as my ensemble was now missing something. It’s not like I hadn’t done study sessions barefoot around friends before, but this was different in so many ways. It was a new job, a first impression, and a girl who had probably grown up with the ability to snap her fingers and have anything she wanted. Part of me wished I had worn a gala-worthy dress instead of a simple skirt and blouse. That ship had long sailed, however, and I couldn’t help but be curious what rich girls wore on Saturday. Would Annabelle be dressed down, or look absolutely perfect?

I wouldn’t have to wonder for too long. Trixie led me down the side hallway, where I spotted a laundry room and a mini kitchen along the way. For staff to work invisibly while the Alodia family and guests were going about their business? The door at the end of the hall opened into a more impressive kitchen, and it was only when I stepped onto the marble floor in yet another long hallway that another thought crossed my mind.

Was I supposed to address my student as ‘Ms. Annabelle?’

That would be beyond weird. Especially since I’d be sitting and teaching her for a full ninety minutes, while Trixie probably came and went with much shorter interactions. I guess some private school teachers did that in their classes, but it’s like nothing I had personally experienced in high school or university life so far.

I was about to ask the girl guiding me, but it was too late.

“Ms. Annabelle?” Trixie said, a few paces ahead of me as she turned a corner, “Your personal tutor is here.”

Part Three

Red hair.

That’s the first thing that drew my eye, especially amidst all the neutral colors that made up the spacious living room. She was wearing a black skirt and an emerald satin top; the classy outfit immediately answered my recent question. Rich teenagers don’t dress down, not even on a Saturday. 

With just one look, I could see that Annabelle Alodia was the kind of girl that made pretty much every other girl jealous. Myself included. She was tall, but not too tall. Slender, with curves that gave her a perfect hourglass figure. Perfect skin, perfect hair; perfect everything, and an outfit to accentuate those features. It was difficult to believe that she was only eighteen years old, as her posture alone would have been enough to make me believe otherwise if I hadn’t known who I was there to see. 

For the most part, I had only been with guys, save for one or two drunken girl kisses over my first few years of university. Annabelle was the first girl, however, to make me consider a more open-minded sexuality on the spot. She was drop dead gorgeous, which made me feel guilty, confused, and a ton of other emotions as I remembered that she was still in high school. Eighteen, sure. But still a teenager, a daughter of my employers; the last girl I should ever be interested in. And yet, she caught my attention in seconds.

“You must be Meredith.” 

No uptick in her voice, no questioning tone that so many younger girls tended to use when they spoke. Hell, how people in college still tended to talk sometimes. I was nervous enough just from the pressure of a first tutoring session, and off balance from the servant-like way Trixie had me enter the impressive house. The last thing I expected was for Annabelle herself to fluster me even more. And she hadn’t even done anything.

“Umm, yes,” I said. Feeling a blush coming on, I tried my very best to will it away before totally screwing up this first impression, “Meredith Moore. It’s nice to meet you, Annabelle. Or is it ‘Ms. Annabelle?’” I asked, glancing towards Trixie for a moment. Does being an employee mean all of the blonde maid’s rules apply to me as well?

To my relief, the red haired girl spoke up first and let me off the hook. “‘Annabelle’ is fine,” she said, “Come on in; get settled. Trixie, bring us some refreshments. Have you asked our guest what she would like?”

“No, Ms. Annabelle. I’m sorry,” Trixie said, then turned to me, “May I offer you a drink, Ms. Moore?”

“Anything at all,” Annabelle added.

I didn’t even know what to say. I’m sure Annabelle meant it, but I already had a thermos of coffee with me. This wasn’t like being a guest at some friend’s apartment, however, so I still felt compelled to ask for something. “Ice water?” I asked. Normally I wasn’t the type to specify something like that, but I felt self conscious enough to act like my tastes were more picky than usual.

“Yes, Ms. Moore.”

With a nod, Trixie walked back down the hallway from which we just came. For a moment, I wondered why she didn’t ask Annabelle what she wanted as well. Then it dawned on me that a Saturday morning routine was probably already established for the girl. 

I had fantasized about being rich before, but I don’t know if I would be interested in this level of wealth. Taking care of myself was perfectly manageable without someone to get my drinks, for example. It was also strange seeing a girl like Trixie in a subservient role like this. Perhaps I was biased from seeing older women as maids in shows and movies. It was probably what I thought earlier; that Trixie was doing it for the paycheck, rather than actually being interested in a career like that.

A moment of silence lingered as Annabelle and I were left alone. Trying my best to slip back into tutor mode after all the curveballs of the morning, I spoke up. “Well, shall we get started?” I asked. Noting the lack of notebooks or pretty much anything but furniture in the room, I added, “Where do you like to study?” 

“We can go to my room,” Annabelle said, “Come, Meredith.” 

She strode right past me, and I was definitely shorter than her once she closed the distance and I could see for sure. Not by much, but it made the difference when I already felt somewhat small in the huge house. I had no idea how to handle her straightforward and mildly patronizing order. It sounded like the way you’d address a dog, but everything Annabelle said so far had a proper and entitled edge to it. Maybe that was just how she spoke.

Thankfully, she calmed my swirling thoughts right then and there. “Relax, Mere,” she giggled. Turning to me with a friendly smile, “I’m not actually like that. But it was worth it. Your face was priceless!”

Oh. She was . . . kidding? About which part? “Oh, umm,” I began, internally cursing about the filler word I normally never used. But here, it had already happened a few times.

“I’m just a normal girl; just like you,” she said, “And don’t mind Trixie. She’s just following the rules.”

“Good to know,” I replied, still feeling fairly awkward about pretty much everything I said. Annabelle had just been joking, apparently, but this new dynamic was just as confusing. Maybe I wasn’t cut out for tutoring after all. 

“I know, I know,” Annabelle said. She gestured to the room behind me. “It’s a fucking mansion or whatever. If it helps, we can just go to a coffee shop or something.”

Hmm, maybe she was a normal girl after all. “No, it’s fine,” I said. Faking a small smile of my own, I decided as the tutor that staying here was better. Maybe a coffee shop would make me feel more comfortable, but the commute would waste time that I was being severely overpaid for. “We can just study in your room. I don’t mind.”

“Suit yourself,” she said. With one last glance towards me before turning to lead the way, Annabelle repeated her earlier phrase. “Come, Meredith.”

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.”

Part Six

Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t have even considered such a ‘request.’

I hadn’t even fully committed to tutoring Annabelle yet, as this session was only supposed to be a trial. Despite the amazing paycheck, I was still on the fence about making this an addition to my already hectic weekly schedule. That was still my mindset when I got in the car, though I was admittedly already leaning towards the job simply because the extra spending money would alleviate a different kind of stress than an extra commitment would add. My first day there, as a guest, and I was being told to go help in the kitchen?

If this were a guy, I would have slapped him in the face. However, Annabelle’s casually presumptuous attitude made it sound natural after hearing the way she spoke in general prior to Trixie’s arrival in the suite. That, and I had been off balance since the moment I arrived. Being told to park around back, taking the servant’s entrance, coming face to face with an unfairly gorgeous red haired girl, and being stunned by how lavish every single room in the room was.

I tried one more time to suggest that my time here would be better served tutoring, but I’m not the best at confrontation. Annabelle brushed off my words with the same response as before; that it would be a more productive use of my time than simply sitting there waiting for her to finish the problem set. Besides, poor Trixie was working alone today, when she’d normally have someone else to assist with everything downstairs. 

Ultimately, I caved. There wasn’t really any harm in stepping away for a few minutes, and Annabelle was the only client here due to her parents’ absence. If this is what she wanted to pay me for, rather than my mathematics knowledge, then so be it. 

Following Trixie out of Annabelle’s suite and back down the long upstairs hallway, I got my bearings a little better after a second pass through the house. Expansive upstairs layout, stairwell to the front door, and a couple gathering rooms before the kitchen that I had previously not seen. I shouldn’t have been surprised by the size, considering everything else in the house, but I was still taken aback when I stepped into the cooking space. 

Two islands, rather than one, complete with marble countertops. A fridge twice the size of your average suburban variety. Overall, an insane amount of both counter space and walking space. Those were just the first few things I noticed, and I could already imagine them owning the most expensive cooking tools, ingredients, etc. Trixie was already used to the impressive kitchen, and wasted no time walking over to the island sink, washing her hands, and finally looking towards me. 

“What are you waiting for, Ms. Moore? Wash your hands. We have a lot to do before lunch.”

“Oh, right. Of course,” I nodded, breaking out of my momentary awe. Following suit, I washed my hands and then looked towards Trixie for guidance. I wasn’t lying when I told Annabelle I was a terrible cook. Most of my meals were from the cafeteria at university, or whatever simple thing I could throw together at the apartment during a small studying break. 

Like a lost lamb, I pretty much stood there and waited for Trixie to set everything up after washing my hands. 

“We’ll cook in two stages, Ms. Moore,” she explained, “The primary focus is Ms. Annabelle’s lunch, but we’ll also do some prep work for dinner whenever there is extra time between steps. Cleaning afterwards, of course, and then we’re done. Sound good?”

“Umm, sure,” I replied. Since I could barely cook for myself, I definitely wouldn’t know how to do so for the rich. Following Trixie’s lead was the way to go, “Just tell me how I can help? Oh, and ‘Meredith’ is fine.”

“That’s not your call, Ms. Moore,” she said, “Do you know how to mince?” 

Trixie placed a knife and cutting board next to the island sink, followed by a small stack of vegetables. When I mentioned I had only ever done so a few times in my life, she gave me a brief lesson as a reminder. Rinse the vegetables first, hold the knife like this, cut like so, etc. Best to not go too quickly at first, to avoid a potential cut. With that, she left me to my own devices.

I began working my way through the pile, and it was certainly a slow process for an amateur like me. Every vegetable was a different shape and size, meaning adjustments and a few awkward angles of the knife as I tried to figure out how to line everything up. In the meantime, Trixie started on pretty much everything else. Pots and pans from a number of places, ingredients from the fridge and cabinet, cooking utensils and spices, and more. I tried to focus on the task at hand, but I couldn’t help but notice how the girl moved so efficiently without seeming rushed at the same time. It came with experience, I suppose, but how much experience could someone possibly have at her age?

For Annabelle’s insistence about Trixie needing an extra set of hands, I definitely didn’t feel that helpful. After mincing everything, I was mostly tasked with stirring a thing or two and keeping an eye on those things while she did everything else. A helpful task, I suppose, so she wouldn’t have to stress about it while handling other steps, but I still felt like I was more in the way than actually contributing.

By the time Annabelle’s lunch was prepared, a well-seasoned meal that made my mouth water a little bit after being surrounded by the amazing smells for the entire process, I had completely lost track of time. Glancing towards the clock on the stove, my eyes widened when I saw that we had been cooking for just over an HOUR. 

“Trixie-” I began, knowing that Annabelle must have finished her problem set well over thirty minutes ago.

“Time to clean, Ms. Moore,” she said.

Part Seven

How had I lost track of time?

There was literally a clock on the oven. The kitchen may have been huge, but it was also an open design with plenty of visibility. All I had to do was look up from the various tasks Trixie gave me, and I could have seen how long we were taking to prepare lunch and prep for dinner. But I didn’t. And now Trixie was telling me there was more to do.

“Sorry, Trixie,” I said, deciding immediately to call it quits. An extra set of hands may be helpful, but she would have managed just fine if I had decided to turn down the tutoring opportunity and wasn’t here today, “I need to continue my session with Annabelle.”

“Ms. Moore, stay. Please.” After the low key subservient way the young brunette girl spoke to Annabelle, she was surprisingly firm when speaking to me. “You said you would help me with the kitchen. That means cooking and cleaning. The job isn’t done until the room is spotless.” 

If you’re a stickler, sure. Personally, I tend to do the dishes a little while after making my meals. This didn’t exactly line up with my lifestyle, however, so who was I to argue? “I know, but-”

“But nothing. How about this? Get started on the dishes while I take Ms. Annabelle her meal. I’ll ask her if you may return upstairs instead of assisting me. Okay?”

“Trixie-”

“Dishes, Meredith. I’ll be right back.” 

With a pointed drop of the prepared plate onto a silver tray, Trixie added a small salad bowl and a glass of sparkling ice water she had recently poured to the mix. Then she walked out of the kitchen without another word, tray in hand, leaving me speechless behind her. 

What was happening? 

Rather than treating me as a guest, the girl literally dressed as a maid was bossing me around. I’m pretty sure she and I were the same age, too. And yet, I felt powerless to do anything but reluctantly obey. I wasn’t the biggest fan of confrontation, especially with people I barely knew, and something told me that following Trixie upstairs would result in something like that. Surely Annabelle didn’t want her new tutor wasting this much time downstairs, but she also hadn’t come to check on me. Was she too spoiled to bother? Or maybe she lost track of time as well. Or, more likely, she wanted a bit of her Saturday morning to herself if given the opportunity.

Regardless, there wasn’t much I could do in the meantime. At least Trixie said she would ask Annabelle, and I’m pretty sure the teenage girl would suggest that I should return. There were plenty of people who could wash dishes, but only so many that could teach undergraduate-level mathematics. 

Sighing, I trudged over to the sink and started running the water to warm it up. Even if I was heading upstairs in a minute, I could at least help Trixie a little. Better than just twiddling my thumbs. While I didn’t appreciate the way she spoke to me, I could understand how stressful it could be to handle all the chores that came with a house this size. 

Where to start? Trixie had only made lunch for Annabelle; a meal for one girl, and yet there were so many dirty dishes. I suppose we did some dinner prep as well, but still. Rather than coming up with a game plan like I might do at home with my more familiar kitchen, I simply grabbed the closest pan and began scrubbing. I actually don’t mind dishes; it’s one of those chores that can be cathartic if you allow it to be. But not when there’s something more important to be doing with my time; Annabelle’s time, too.

It took Trixie a little longer than I expected for her to simply deliver a meal and have a short conversation with Annabelle. From what I had seen so far, conversations between the two of them didn’t last very long. But finally, a few minutes later, she returned. “Miss Annabelle said to stay down here until the kitchen is done,” she said, right away, “Then you may resume your tutoring.”

“Wait, what?” I asked. The moment I saw the girl arrive out of the corner of my eye, the plan was to finish washing the cutting board I was working on and then dry my hands. But, with Trixie coming to stand between me and the hand towels, that wasn’t as simple any more.

“We’re not done with the kitchen yet,” she replied. 

So what? Trixie is the maid; not me. “I’m only here for 45 more minutes,” I said, a bit exasperated as I set the board aside, “This is a total waste of my time!”

“Meredith, it will go much more quickly if you stop complaining about it,” Trixie said, “Now, will you please keep working on the dishes while I put everything else away?”

“No, I just said-”

“Now, Meredith.”

My aversion to confrontation wasn’t helping, nor was the girl’s curt tone. I hadn’t even noticed that she had switched from ‘Ms. Moore’ to my actual name, but it definitely snapped me to attention mid-conversation. But wasn’t she listening? At this rate, Annabelle and I would barely have any time for actual teaching. “But-”

“Dishes, Meredith. You’re wasting your own time at this point.”

“Umm . . .” I trailed off, at a complete loss. You’d think a girl dressed like that wouldn’t be intimidating, but I had no idea how to handle the abruptly bossy attitude. Relenting, with a small sigh, I turned back to the sink. “Okay.” 

Continuing to work on the barely halfway completed task, I picked up the salad bowl next. Once she saw that I was committed to the dishes, Trixie began working on everything else. Putting everything on the counters away, wiping down the counters, and eventually drying some of the dishes I had already washed.

All in all, it took a solid ten minutes together to make the kitchen spotless. It could have been twenty for Trixie, and I could have been with Annabelle, but no. Finally turning off the faucet and drying my hands off, I looked at the young maid with as stern a look as I could muster after subjecting myself to all that cleaning. “Are we done, now?” I asked.

Part Eight

Trixie didn’t bat an eye at my annoyed glance, but also didn’t try to press any more cleaning on me. From what I could tell, the kitchen was spotless, but I was half expecting her to notice some nit-picky thing we hadn’t dealt with yet. 

“That’s everything, Ms. Moore. Thank you for the help.”

“Great,” I muttered. Without another word, I left the kitchen.

I actually wasn’t sure if Trixie was the right target to vent my frustrations towards. She had been bossy, sure, but Annabelle also apparently said that I should keep cleaning instead of doing the job I was here for. And, of course, I was partly to blame for not standing up for myself and just walking away. Instead, I was my usual pushover self every step of the way.

The house was still intimidating in its size, but the layout was still straightforward. Now that I had been to Annabelle’s wing once, it was easy to retrace my steps. Down the long corridor on the first floor, back up the wide stairs by the front door, and all the way to the last door that opened into the spoiled teenager’s suite. I opened the door to her private living room without giving it a second thought, and immediately regretted doing so.

Annabelle was on a yoga mat, doing ‘upward facing dog.’ That would normally be fine, if not a little bit unexpected; except, in this case, the redhead was only half dressed.

Her clothes were neatly folded in half over the back of the sofa, and Annabelle was only wearing a simple black bra and a matching thong. Since she was facing me, my eyes were immediately drawn to her cleavage, exaggerated from the yoga position. Since I was standing, I could also see over her shoulders to catch her mostly bare ass as well. Her body was as flawless undressed as it seemed when she was dressed, but it was also a body I should very much not be seeing without clothes.

I immediately averted my gaze, the rest of my body still frozen from the surprise. Thankfully, Annabelle’s eyes were closed in the stretched out position, but opening the door and stepping into the room must have alerted her to my presence. Maybe she thought I was Trixie, coming upstairs to deliver a fresh drink or something; I could see how she wouldn’t bat an eye when her young maid walked in on her like this. 

Clearing my throat, still solidly staring out the window rather than at the half naked girl girl on the floor, I started with yet another unintentional, “Umm . . .”

“Oh. Meredith. You know, it’s polite to knock.”

Since I was making the effort to look away, I didn’t even know if she had opened her eyes yet. However, she didn’t seem particularly freaked out that it was me. Not in tone, at least; and there was no scrambling for clothes that I could see in my peripherals either. I guess there’s no shame when you’re confident and have a great body. “Sorry,” I mumbled. She was right. Even if we were studying here before, it was still Annabelle’s private space. I just hadn’t thought of it that way, since it wasn’t a bedroom. “I can wait outside, or something.”

“Don’t be silly,” Annabelle said, “I’m almost done. In the meantime, do you want to look over my answers?”

Like, while she was still doing half dressed yoga? 

In a matter of seconds, I had already lost all my steam. Between the kitchen and her suite, I was considering a mini lecture for the girl. About how I was here to tutor her, not to do Trixie’s job. About how I didn’t appreciate how presumptuous she was in terms of waving me off to help without even asking me about it first. The mental dots hadn’t all been connected yet, but I still wanted to say something. If this was going to be more than one session, it was important to set boundaries. 

But now, I was too thrown to even remember half the phrases that had formed on the way upstairs. “But, you’re-” I began, not sure where to even start. Speaking of boundaries, this was a whole different issue than what I had been preparing myself for. She was eighteen, and we were both girls, but the fact that she still attended high school made me feel a bit unsettled. “Can you please get dressed?” I ask. Immediately realizing I sounded a bit more like a babysitter than the peer she treated me like earlier, I made sure to hastily add, “Or, I guess I can check your work downstairs?”

“Nonsense, Meredith. Everything’s already set up in here,” she said, “And I’ll only be a few more minutes; promise. Does it really bother you that much?” 

“Well,” I said, then hesitated. Yes, it bothered me. I was already confused enough in terms of how attractive she was despite my straightness, and that was before everything else. The frustration of cooking and cleaning with Trixie. The surprise of walking in on Annabelle like this. Most recently, the addition of ‘that much’ to the question. I was stuck between looking super reserved, or having to stumble through an explanation of how it bothered me when talking to a girl who clearly felt totally fine with all this. 

Ultimately, I decided not to fight it. Mostly because Annabelle was using the same logic she used when telling me to go off with Trixie, but reversed. It would take me a few minutes to go through the problem set she completed, so she was just keeping herself busy in the meantime. Using the most of her time, I guess. 

Perhaps my body language would be enough for her to realize that this was all a bit awkward for me, or maybe I’d be more prepared to discuss it next time. “It’s fine,” I said. Still not looking at her; it felt a bit strange to talk to someone without making any eye contact, but I didn’t want to risk another unintentional glance at her body while she was mid-stretch.

Which was going to be difficult. As I sat back down on the sofa, I realized that the table in front of me didn’t hide Annabelle in the slightest. And she was directly in my line of sight.

Part Nine

I’m a straight girl.

Always have been. And not in a closed-minded way. I grew up in a progressive area, with open and accepting parents. Several of my old high school friends and current college friends are gay or bi, and it’s never bothered me in the slightest. Like who you like, and let people like who they like; it’s not that difficult of a concept. Sure, I’ve kissed a few girls for the stupid sleepover reasons, but that doesn’t mean I’m actually into them. A cliché dare is still just a dare at the end of the day.

Until Annabelle. 

I don’t know what it was about her. I’ve seen attractive girls before, but anyone can recognize good looks within their own sex. Perfect face, perfect hair, perfect body. Youthful in her late teenage years, but mature in her expressions and body language. Confidence practically exuded from her, no matter what attitude or tone she was taking. I had already seen several facets of her personality within a single morning. But I had also seen all those features on all other girls throughout the years, often combined in similar ways. None of them had made me subconsciously question a thing or two about myself.  

And here she was, in just a bra and thong. The simple black style of her undergarments didn’t seem to match the expensive outfit that went over them, but what did I know? She could have paid plenty for the right fabric, the perfect fit, etc. Lord knows bras are a pain to get just right. Or maybe Annabelle just wasn’t picky about her underwear when she was at home on a Saturday. Either way, the simplicity didn’t detract from her beauty. The black paired well with her long red hair, and both red and black offered a contrast to her flawless fair skin. 

Not that I was staring.

I was looking over Annabelle’s work. The extensive problem set I had prepared for her, to see what the best tutoring approach would be. When choosing the problems, as well as creating some myself, I had started with calculus. Even though I was hired to prepare her for undergrad, it wouldn’t hurt to help her shore up any weak spots in her current AP class. Plus a strong grasp on calculus would help her in future classes as well, considering that she would be taking a more advanced version of the subject next year. That’s what I did when I started university. 

Looking over Annabelle’s work. Not constantly glancing over to the portrait view of the scantily clad girl. It’s not even that I was actively checking her out. She was too young for me, and a private student of mine, and a girl. But she was also literally doing yoga in my peripherals, even when I managed to keep my gaze down on the sheet in front of me. Ultimately, I just had to keep telling myself that both nudity and movement would draw anyone’s eyes. If someone walked into Annabelle’s suite right now, man or woman, I’m pretty sure I’d have trouble keeping my eyes up if they were unexpectedly wearing next to nothing.

Back to mathematics. 

Going into this session, I had no idea what to expect. Annabelle’s mother told me that the girl was bright, but that could have just been a mother being a mother. Despite being told that I was hired to prepare her for undergrad classes, there was still a chance that she was a spoiled rich girl who didn’t have a solid grasp on the basics. I already knew I was wrong about that particular assumption, based on the problems Annabelle completed before I went to help Trixie with the dishes. Annabelle had breezed through everything, leaving her to work on the last two thirds of the problems in my absence. 

As for the rest of the problems, I was once again surprised to see just how well she did. Correct answers, again and again, until she made it to the last ten problems. It’s not that I had prepared the girl to fail, but I also purposely complicated things as the problems progressed. Unless she had a tutor before me, or had worked her way through numerous mathematics textbooks on her own, there was no way she would be able to solve the higher level problems I had given her. And she didn’t. But her efforts were still impressive. She had inferred quite a bit on her lonesome, despite not knowing the proper formulas, and had taken a stab at every problem rather than leaving anything blank. The last few were blatantly wrong, but at least she didn’t leave them blank.

One thing was certain: I’d have to adjust my tutoring plan. Annabelle knew a lot more than I expected her to know. But since most of my time had been wasted on chores rather than teaching, I wouldn’t have to improvise a lesson for very long. And, now that I was thinking about my work with Trixie again, there was also the question of whether or not I’d be coming back at all. It was good money, but this was also a lot more than I bargained for when hesitantly agreeing to the trial session. Not only the excessive time spent in the kitchen, but also the current situation where the redhead bombshell was carrying on with her stretches regardless of my discomfort.

Part Ten

Annabelle finished up her underwear-clad yoga just as I was marking a few things down on the last problem she had attempted. 

It was almost perfect in how we synced up the ends of our separate activities, like she first suggested when idly continuing her stretches instead of joining me to look over her work. From her position on the floor, there was no way she could have known I was wrapping up as well, which meant she’d have even more grounds to feel validated in her earlier assumption that the timing would work out. 

I had hoped that the girl would have a little more modesty afterwards, but she was clearly too confident in her body and her private suite to be bothered by such things. Instead of retrieving her clothes and getting dressed, Annabelle just walked over and plopped down next to me on the sofa. “Well? How’d I do?”

When she was doing yoga, I wasn’t staring; she was just right in my line of vision. Now I was dealing with a similar problem. Her D cups bounced the slightest bit when she landed on the sofa, immediately drawing attention to her obvious cleavage between the bra cups. And, just below that, the matching thong left her thighs fully on display. It was a LOT of bare skin, and I had no idea how to carry on a normal conversation next to someone so scantily clad. 

If this were a guy, I would have fled back to my car the moment I stepped back into the private living room. Maybe even called the cops on him for the uncalled for visual, especially when paired with such confidence. But this was different. Annabelle was a girl. Not only is the fairer sex a little more comfortable around each other in terms of locker rooms and such, but we also all have the same parts at the end of the day. This was very much not a locker room, of course, yet the redhead next to me was acting totally normal. 

Maybe it was fine for her, but it was all still pretty awkward to me. “Umm, maybe you should get dressed first?” I suggested, albeit not in the most assertive way, “It will take a little while to go through all of these.” 

“That’s fine; I don’t mind,” Annabelle said, “It’s a little warm up here anyway.”

Well, yeah. It was already pretty apparent that she didn’t mind. “It’s just,” I began, wanting to choose my words carefully. Sure, the girl was crazy confident, but I still didn’t want to risk somehow making her feel self conscious. But I already started talking, so I had to say something, “I mean, I’d be more comfortable. You know, tutoring you like normal?” As in, fully clothed.

“Oh.” She glanced down at her mostly bare form, then back to me, “Are you, like, a lesbian or something?”

What?! “NO.” I quickly blurted out. I could feel the heat rushing to my face, both from the unexpected question and from my knee-jerk reaction to it. There’s nothing wrong with liking girls, but the word ‘lesbian’ is just so sexualized compared to ‘gay.’ Especially when suggested out of the blue like that. “No, I’m not,” I added, more calmly than before.

Annabelle didn’t seem particularly bothered or taken aback by my reaction. “Really? Then what’s the problem?” she asked, “I’ve been like this ever since you got back, and it’s been fine. Hasn’t it?”

Shit.

What was I supposed to do with that? Telling her that it wasn’t really fine would mean that I had basically been sitting there the whole time without speaking up while I was grading and she was stretching. But agreeing that everything was fine would mean that I’d lose more ground. It was a lose/lose, especially against a girl who didn’t seem to see a single reason wrong with any of this.

Before I could find the words, if there were even any words to find, Annabelle went on. “Clothes are a construct, anyway. It’s fine for me to be outside in a bikini, but I can’t learn a little math in my bra?”

I mean, she wasn’t wrong. God knows my girlfriends and I have similar conversations about the parallels between those two things. The difference was, you expected to see people in swimwear at the pool. For this? Not so much. Although I guess that was Annabelle’s point about clothes being a construct. Damn.

Except, we weren’t just two girls. If a classmate took off her shirt in her dorm room . . . well, I’d probably still be uncomfortable, but potentially more amenable to the idea. But Annabelle was in high school. And wearing a bra as a top was one thing, but just a thong below the waist was a lot more to handle.

And, just like that, I found myself blurting out one of those thoughts. “But, you’re a high schooler.”

“I’m eighteen, Mere. And why does that even matter? If you’re not into girls, then it shouldn’t make a difference. Or, are you bi?”

“No. I’m not- anything! Look, I’m straight. But that doesn’t mean I’m okay tutoring some half naked girl. And it’s Meredith.”

She just sighed. “Whatever. So, problem one?”

After all that? Nothing. 

Annabelle remained seated on the sofa, making no move to get dressed. Her posture was perfect, just like before, except there was nothing proper about her revealing appearance. And yet, all that bare skin was almost more intimidating than the expensive outfit she was wearing when we first met. But what could I do about it? I was getting paid a lot to be here, and too much of my time had already been wasted in the kitchen.

At this point, there was a good chance I wasn’t going to be back here a second time. It was just too much to put up with. For now, however, I’d suck it up and run out the clock.

“Problem one,” I relented.

Part Eleven

As I reviewed the first few problems with Annabelle, I had to make a conscious effort not to accidentally check her out. Whenever she leaned over to get a closer look at something on the page, it resulted in her cleavage being painfully obvious in my peripherals. Her bare thighs were also on display the entire time, and it was impossible to ignore the fact that she was half dressed when I was stuck looking at the completed packet in front of us.

Just a few more minutes. 

This was supposed to be a 90 minute session, and I had already been here for nearly two hours. Because I was being paid so much, I decided earlier that it wasn’t fair to count the time it took to pull around to the back of the house, or the introductions with Trixie and the redhead that was way too comfortable in her own space. Instead, I noted the time when Annabelle and I actually started talking mathematics and used that as the official start to our session. 

Now that I had spent a little over an hour cooking and cleaning in the kitchen downstairs, we had less than ten minutes left for what I was actually hired for. While I felt a little weird about taking so much money for such a mundane task, none of this was my fault. Annabelle was the one that sent me away, and she and Trixie were annoyingly persistent about keeping me down there. At this rate, I figured I should be paid in full simply to make up for all the trouble and the awkwardness. 

Annabelle and I only made it to the end of the fourth problem. While her answers were correct, there were still a few things that I went over in terms of how she could have been more thorough with her work. And, in one instance, how a different method would have been better. She had the same attitude as before: when she knows that she’s right, the potential padding of partial credit doesn’t interest her. And I understood. I was also a bit of a human calculator in high school, but university taught me to slow down. Ultimately, there’s a lot more to learn during the journey of a problem than the destination.

Maybe I would have extended our session if it had just been the time issue caused by the dishes, but Annabelle’s state of undress was too much on top of that. Eighteen or not, her high school status complicated things. “Well, that’s all the time I have,” I said. Setting the packet down to add a visual cue to the end of our session, I realized a moment too late that no longer focusing on the problem set meant that I’d have to look more directly at her. 

Annabelle let out a small sigh. “Already? I wanted to learn about those last few! I had, like, no idea what I was doing.”

‘Maybe we could keep going if you got dressed.’ I thought about saying it, but there were too many unknowns with something like that. Either she’d once again make it sound like I’m the one being weird about it, or she’d take me up on the offer. This was also MY weekend, and I had a lot to get done for my own classes. “Sorry, Annabelle. Maybe-” My voice caught in my throat. Maybe next time? This was only supposed to be a trial session, and I had already mostly decided that it wasn’t worth the trouble. I was a busy girl, and not even a few hundred dollars could tempt me to tutor a topless girl week after week.

“Maybe what?” Annabelle asked.

Well, at least I had cut myself off. Thinking quickly, I turned towards her and focused on her eyes and only her eyes. She definitely wasn’t shy about eye contact, and had noticeably deep green eyes. “Maybe I can send you some materials?” I said, “Most of those problems revolve around the same formula.”

“That would be great, Meredith. You have to take that with you to review, right?” she asked, nodding towards the packet, “Could you send me a copy with those materials? I want to try to figure it out on my own before next Saturday.”

Damn. So much for slipping out without mentioning my hesitation about continuing these tutoring sessions. “Umm, like I told your parents,” I began, not entirely sure how much they shared with their daughter about the communication leading up to this, “I’m not sure if I can make this a regular commitment.”

“But, why not? I gave up my Saturday for you, Meredith. You’re going to quit on me after one day?”

“No, it’s not like that. It’s just- umm, I mean-” 

“Here.” Annabelle reached over and grabbed her phone from the coffee table. Unlocking it in half a second with her face, she handed it to me. “Give me your number. If you’re not going to come back, at least let me message you to make sure I’m doing the last few problems right after you send me everything. Just while I look for a new tutor. Okay?”

“Oh. Well . . .” I trailed off. It wasn’t exactly the most unreasonable request. Although it was definitely her fault that most of my time was wasted, maybe she deserved a little closure on the kinds of problems I introduced to her in the first place. And, again, her parents were paying me enough that a little follow-up work on my end was tolerable. “Okay. But I’m really busy, Annabelle. I might not be able to get back to you right away,” I said. As I typed in my contact information, I figured it was important to mention something like that to a teenager who may be used to more instant replies. 

Taking the phone back when I was done, Annabelle just shrugged and brushed her hair back. “That’s fine. If it means learning new things, then it’s worth the wait.”

More mature than I expected, but should that be a surprise? Despite the surprises of the day and the low key presumptuous attitude of the girl, nothing about her was particularly immature save for the occasional teenage use of the word ‘like.’

While her enthusiasm for my chosen field made it more difficult to commit to my decision to make this our first and last session, I had still more or less made up my mind. She could be as passionate and mature as she wanted, but there were just too many difficult variables that I couldn’t deal with. So, after taking a minute to collect my things, I wished Annabelle luck moving forward, and bid her farewell. Letting out a quiet sigh of relief once I was able to turn my back and no longer face the scantily clad girl, I made my way down the hall and back downstairs. Now I just had to retrace my step to my shoes. 

Trixie intercepted me fairly easily, as she was dusting nearby when I reached the base of the stairs. “Ms. Moore.” Pausing her cleaning, she picked up a nearby envelope and brought it over to me. “Thank you again for your help in the kitchen. Here’s everything for teaching and cleaning, plus a small tip. I hope cash is alright.”

“It’s fine,” I lied. Hundreds of dollars would be a lot easier to deposit with a check and an app. Sliding the envelope into my bag’s side pocket, I let Trixie escort me through the house and back to the side door. 

Just like that, I was back in my car. Almost thirty minutes behind schedule, but I wouldn’t complain when I had earned a big stack of cash for my troubles. Even with my prep work, the commute, and whatever future Annabelle texts I had to deal with, I still ended up making more than $100/hour. I couldn’t help myself. In the solitude of my car, I opened the envelope to check out what I had made. 

My eyes widened as I sifted through the bills. Rather than the $600 I expected to find, there were NINE hundred dollar bills waiting for me. An extra $300, for what? Dishes and a tip? It was absolutely crazy. Especially since working with Trixie wasn’t in addition to the time I spent tutoring; it was in place of it. 

The moral part of me wanted to knock on the door and give the extra money back. And yet, the broke university girl part of me was a little more tempted to come back next Saturday . . .

Part Twelve

My phone was sitting on my desk, awaiting my decision.

It had been four full days since I left Annabelle’s house. Four and half, if I counted the rest of Saturday after I returned to my little apartment to get started on all my schoolwork for the weekend. All that time, and I still hadn’t fully made up my mind about whether or not I’d return.

When I had left, the decision felt so easy. I was insulted and annoyed that neither Trixie or Annabelle thought twice about subjecting me to chores, and I was flustered from having to deal with Annabelle’s lack of clothes for the last thirty minutes that I was there. However, getting 150% more cash than I expected was a strong temptation to suck it up, and actually having the stack of hundreds in my hand made the money feel a lot more real than if I was given a check instead. And, as each day passed afterwards, it became easier to explain away all the difficulties that I suffered through. 

It’s not like I tried very hard to get out of helping Trixie in the kitchen. The girl was dressed as a maid, for crying out loud. And yet, I didn’t have the backbone to put my foot down. At least, not firmly. Looking back, I remembered trying to get back to tutoring, but Trixie had been so short with me. Maybe if I pushed back and stood up for myself, she would have stepped aside and not made such a fuss about it. 

And then there was Annabelle. While her half nudity was a shock to say the least, she was also still technically a teenager. That meant she would be opinionated about a number of things, including the whole ‘clothes are a construct’ concept. Maybe instead of fighting her on the issue, I could get away with teaching her downstairs, or outside, or at a coffee shop. Somewhere that would pressure her to maintain a proper and appropriate appearance, rather than being too comfortable in her own room. 

Actually, a coffee shop would eliminate the potential for chores. Normally I was too frugal to pay several dollars for a single cup of coffee when I could simply make some at home for a fraction of the cost, but it would hardly make a dent when it was coming out of my tutoring pay. Although, speaking of temptations, if I went into a chore knowing that I was getting $300/hour to do so, I’d be a little more amenable. Would it be manipulative to keep teaching at the Alodia house in hopes that I’d be sent off with Trixie again? A family that wealthy probably wouldn’t miss the money, but I could really use the padding for my savings account. Decisions . . .

Aside from the financial reasons, I was also more interested in tutoring Annabelle after exchanging a few texts with her. 

Our first session had already made it apparent that she was intelligent for her age. However, she continued to surprise me with her interest and her initiative on top of that. As requested, I had sent her a copy of the problem set she attempted to complete, as well as a few PDFs and scans from my textbooks. Within 24 hours, she had worked her way through the material and sent me back her new attempts at the problems she hadn’t known how to do before. Not only were all of her answers correct the second time around, but she also went out of her way to show every single step of her work. The formulas and concepts may have been new to her, but that wasn’t enough of a reason for her to be so thorough when I had seen that she was capable of solving plenty of smaller parts of problems in her head. 

Maybe I was overthinking it, but it almost felt like Annabelle was saying ‘I’m trying it your way’ to me. But only through her work, as she didn’t mention anything like that over text. It was surprisingly mature of her. 

Finally, there was a notable amount of passion for the subject in her texts. Not only did she ask me if she did everything right, and if there was anything she could improve on, but there were also requests for more complicated problems that related to the new material she had essentially taught herself. Once again, Annabelle was subverting any expectations I had about her being a rich girl coasting through life. She wanted to learn, and knew how to apply herself. Honestly, it made her a lot more desirable than when I was messaging her parents. A student that wants to learn is a dream student, as most teachers and tutors end up teaching those that either don’t want to learn or those that are just going through the motions for a decent grade.

Good money for a good student? It was ideal. 

Which only left one problem–Annabelle had also been mature about not pestering me to come back. We had a good texting rapport, although she definitely texted like a teenage girl. Even so, it was hard to avoid smiling when she got excited about nailing a mathematics concept and/or getting multiple problems correct with zero mistakes. But through all the back and forth, she never once mentioned another session. Either she was already looking for another tutor, or she was letting me change my mind without interference on her end. Whether it was intentional manipulation or not, it was definitely working. I was leaning towards continuing our sessions, and also trying to figure out how to broach the subject without looking too desperate about it.

A text would be easier, but a call would be more personal. Especially after she seemed a little disappointed when I told her I couldn’t commit to regular sessions.

Taking a deep breath, I picked up my phone and found Annabelle’s name near the top of my Contacts. Calling a younger girl shouldn’t be so daunting, but there was just something about her that intimidated me a little bit despite her texting energy over the last few days. 

Before I could overthink it, I made the call. 

Two rings later, just when I was considering hanging up and taking the less stressful route of sending a text instead, Annabelle answered.

“Meredith? What’s up?” she asked.

Part Thirteen

–Last Saturday–

The moment Annabelle heard Meredith descending the stairs down the hall, she reached behind her back with a single hand and deftly undid the clasp of her bra. 

‘Finally,’ she thought to herself. 

It was hands down her least favorite bra. The band was too tight, her breasts didn’t sit that comfortably in the cups, and the material was so bland compared to most of the lingerie she owned. Pain is beauty, however, and the unloved black number that normally sat at the back of her drawer still served a purpose every now and then. The plain bra did an excellent job of showing off a good amount of cleavage while still appearing to be a normal undergarment; her lace sets would have had the same visual result, but would potentially make Meredith question why a girl would wear such a thing at home on a Saturday morning. 

Meredith.

The moment Annabelle had laid eyes on the girl, the gears started turning in her mind. Meredith wasn’t notably small, but she also wasn’t as tall or as curvy as Annabelle. That was good. In Annabelle’s experience, less endowed girls often ended up bitter and jealous when faced with a body like hers. And, when fueled correctly, bitterness could turn into anger. Jealousy could be turned into desire. Anger could be shifted to passion. Desire could be shifted to all kinds of things. 

Now that Annabelle was eighteen, there were no limits when it came to partners. She had already been with one undergrad student, and now she had her sights set on another. It didn’t matter if Meredith was into girls or not. At the end of the day, Annabelle was irresistible. And her cute tutor was no exception to the gravitational pull that came with being a sexy, confident, and clever redhead. 

Of course, sapphic promiscuity would only be a fringe benefit to what Annabelle had planned for the girl. After all, Annabelle could seduce just about anything that breathed if given enough time to figure them out. No, the much more interesting venture was awakening the submissive side of other girls. A bright, young Mathematics student who was so academically driven that she almost turned down this job? It would be delicious to see Meredith’s studious self be put towards other endeavors. An hour in the kitchen was just the beginning. 

This wasn’t Annabelle’s first effort, either. Trixie was already a shining example of what could happen to a girl who submitted to a life as a subservient maid. 

A few weeks into Annabelle’s senior year, Beatrix arrived as a student teacher. It was common enough to have Education majors around for some real world experience alongside their undergrad classes, but this particular blonde caught Annabelle’s eye. Not only was Beatrix attractive, but she was also very clearly into the fairer sex. To her credit, the student teacher was more subtle than teenage guys when it came to checking girls out, but Annabelle still caught it. Beatrix’s eyes occasionally lingered for a moment on a classmate’s chest when she was hunched over taking a test, or stole a quick glance when a girl bent over. 

Granted, this was a class of seniors, so the aspiring teacher was at least eyeing legal girls for the most part. But still, they were high school students; definitely a blurry line. In a more boring world, Annabelle would have somehow leveraged that against the young woman. But blackmail was no fun. There were more interesting ways to get what you wanted, and the effect would last a lot longer if the other girl wanted it as well. Even if she didn’t know it yet.

Back then, Annabelle could have tracked every tiny step on Beatrix’s journey from ‘student teacher’ to ‘dirty little secret’ to ‘university dropout.’ 

Now, the petite blonde was Trixie. She was nothing more than a maid for the Alodia household, and occasionally a partner in the bedroom. Trixie hadn’t realized it at the time, but she was always meant to serve better girls. Hot redheads like Annabelle. And, while Annabelle had certainly gone out of her way to push Trixie to her current submissive lifestyle, it’s not like the young woman was being forced to stay. She could leave any time. Return to what was left of her life, continue her higher education, and aspire to be more than a humble maid. But she wouldn’t. Annabelle’s pull was still very much there, and Trixie had fallen too far to know any other life than the one she was now living.

Annabelle hadn’t counted on a repeat performance. Since she would be heading to university soon, there wasn’t much sense in acquiring another pet. There was a good chance she would end up out of state. Her parents had already discussed investing in a condo or townhouse for her. In the long run, it made more financial sense than renting her an apartment or paying for a dorm. Four years of equity was the better play. 

Long story short, she didn’t need more than one maid. Annabelle hadn’t decided if she was going to bring Trixie along or not. The blonde was a fun project at the time, but the devious game was more or less over at this point. Looking ahead, Annabelle figured she’d find a cute classmate to seduce and collar. Because, of course, most of the excitement lay in the chase. 

Except Annabelle couldn’t help herself. She was clever, but she was also impulsive. And Meredith was the perfect target. Petite, and easily flustered; reluctantly obedient, but self assured enough that she wasn’t a doormat. Just Annabelle’s type, because it was boring when a girl was too easy. Little Mere was the perfect middle ground–a girl with a submissive streak that had yet to be tapped. 

Worst case scenario, Annabelle would use her for practice before graduation.

Best case scenario, she’d have a shiny new pet to bring along to university. 

Part Fourteen

I’ve always hated phone calls.

While they’re definitely the way to go in order to avoid excessive back and forth texting, there are just too many drawbacks compared to other forms of communication. Talking with someone face to face has the advantage of facial expressions and body language. Typing out a text or email lets you organize your thoughts in written form before pressing ‘Send.’ But both those perks are lost over the phone.

Long story short, calling Annabelle might have been a bad idea. 

I had been a lot more focused on IF I would be reaching out and suggesting another session. The pros and cons. Annabelle’s passion and initiative for mathematics was a huge draw, as was the outlandish amount of money I’d be making from each session, but how was I supposed to put that into words? It was too late to back out, however. It’s not like I could just hang up on her. “Oh, hey,” I said, “Sorry to bother you so late.” 

She quietly scoffed. “Please. It’s barely even nine. Besides, you never bother me.”

The casual compliment landed more effectively than she probably realized. Lightly blushing, and suddenly grateful to be on the phone instead of a video call, I muttered an awkward, “Thanks.” I don’t know what it was about the girl. It’s not like I had anything to prove to her. I was the tutor, and she was the high schooler. And yet, her low key validation made an unexpected impact. “Anyway, I was just taking another look at my schedule.” A white lie. Saturday was always a free day for me, at least in terms of obligations. I still tended to use the time for schoolwork and studying. 

“Oh?” The tone behind the one word response was enough to tell that she knew where I was headed. She didn’t fill in the blanks for me, however. 

“Yeah. It looks like my next few weekends will be more flexible than I thought. At least, until midterms hit.” That last part wasn’t a lie. Our sessions would have to be more hit or miss while I focused on wrapping up a few projects and studying for those tests. 

I still wasn’t sure how to ask Annabelle if she wanted me to continue as her tutor without sounding too desperate or awkward about it. Thankfully, she seemed to get my point. There was only one problem. “Damn. That’s bad timing. I wish you called me yesterday!”

Wait, what? 

My heart sank a little bit at the implication. I knew there was a chance that she already would have been looking for another tutor; a girl with her resources would be able to replace me right away if she wanted to. Hell, it was possible that my name wasn’t the only one on her list the first time around. Even if I was the best for my age, not to sound braggy, there were plenty of girls that could handle teaching upper level mathematics to a bright eighteen year old.

Would it be selfish to try and take the job back for myself? I mean, I was there first. And Annabelle and I seemed to have pretty good chemistry. She definitely wasn’t the spoiled brat I expected when walking in. And, admittedly, the money was really, really good.

“Oh, did you find a new tutor?” I asked. For once, I was actually grateful to be on the phone. Playing it cool was easier when she couldn’t see my face. “Someone else from my school? If I know her, I can give her what we’ve worked on so far.” 

Normally I wasn’t this kind of girl. Lying wasn’t my thing, although I technically wasn’t lying. If Annabelle had firmly committed to a classmate of mine, then it wouldn’t hurt to pass on my materials. It wasn’t just about the money, after all, and the gesture would help my temporary tutee succeed. Except that was IF Annabelle’s decision was final. But maybe if she gave me a name, and it was someone in my classes, I could find a way to suggest that I was the better girl for the job. She was probably going for another university-aged tutor, since her parents had already explained that she had wanted someone a little closer in age. 

“No, she’s from your sister school,” Annabelle said, “And probably for the best, right? This was more of a drive for you than it is for her.” 

Oh my God. Bridget.

I could feel my heart rate increase at just the chance that Annabelle went that way. And as much as I hated to think it, the probability was there. My childhood rival attended the private university across the river, and her mathematics abilities were on par with my own. If Annabelle had selected me because I was currently the best in my year, then it stood to reason that she’d use the same criteria for the sister school. And, although I didn’t keep tabs on Bridget, I would also be surprised if she wasn’t the best and brightest over there. Not only because of her natural talents, like mine, but she’s also so competitive that being at the top is the only acceptable option for her. 

Taking a breath to calm myself would have been nice. Too much silence on my end of the call, however, would ruin the casual attitude I was attempting to maintain. “Oh, really?” I replied, “Who did you end up finding? I know a few of the math majors over there from collaborative projects.” Another half truth. More like I knew one girl, and said projects were actually from before university.

“Really? Cool,” Annabelle said, “It’s this girl named Bridget. She’s the same year as you.”

I had mentally and emotionally braced myself as well as I could with only a few seconds to do so, but it still didn’t soften the blow. Annabelle was replacing me with Bridget. Any other girl, and I might have let it go.

Bridget, however, was NOT going to take this job from me. 

Part Fifteen

Playing it cool was a given.

The real question was, should I mention that Bridget and I knew each other? That would be the understatement of a lifetime. 

It would be easier to sway Annabelle back to my side if I could tastefully cast my former rival in a more negative light, but it also ran the risk of my name being mentioned to Bridget when Annabelle let her know her services actually weren’t needed. If I omitted any relationship with Bridget, however, then how would I make myself sound better in comparison? Except, of course, for the fact that I was Annabelle’s top choice the first time around.

I was still in the midst of our phone call, so I had to make a snap decision. The former made for easier conversation, as long as I kept reminding myself that less is more. Keep it light, keep it friendly; there was no need to get into the old rivalry. “Hmm, Bridget?” I said, “I didn’t know she had any tutoring experience.” Like I was one to talk. But this was about making Annabelle doubt Bridget, so my nonexistent teaching history mattered less than her nonexistent teaching history.

“Oh, you know her?” Annabelle asked, “And yeah, she taught a few younger students before university. I’m obviously her first prodigy, but I don’t think she minds.”

“Humble,” I teased. The girl was intelligent, I’ll give her that, but she was no prodigy. Otherwise she would have been running circles around me last Saturday. 

The bit about Bridget, however, caught me off guard. She tutored back in high school? That was news to me. Either it was a lie, meant to impress Annabelle and/or Annabelle’s parents; or it was the truth, which would explain why I never had any luck finding students a few years ago. If Bridget had our county locked down through word of mouth or other means, no wonder my attempts at advertising never yielded any results. 

Once again, I was overthinking things. It didn’t matter whether or not Bridget ran a tutoring business back then and kept it to herself. The more important focus was keeping her from making bank from a job that should still be mine. I mean, I did still want to teach Annabelle anyway. That’s why I made the call in the first place before learning this critical detail. But stealing it back from Bridget would be a pretty delicious cherry on top.

Going on, I aimed for the high road for the time being. I wasn’t above badmouthing Bridget, but I also wasn’t naturally the catty type. If I could convince Annabelle through other means, that would be fine. The end result is all that really mattered: Me, tutoring Annabelle. Bridget, losing what was supposed to be a sweet gig. “Oh, I didn’t know that,” I said, sticking with whatever truths I could, “But it would be a shame if you had to start from scratch with someone else.”

“What do you mean?” Annabelle asked, “You can send her our stuff, right?”

Oh. Right. I did say that, didn’t I? “Umm, maybe. I don’t know if I have contact info.” 

“That’s okay! I can give you her Email.”

“Well, umm. I guess that could work?”

This was quickly turning into my worst nightmare. It was one thing to hear that Bridget was getting a lucrative job that I foolishly (and temporarily) gave up. But if she learned that I had it first? I could already imagine how smug she would be about it, even in Email form. Not to mention how much leg work I already did, only to hand over everything for her own use. 

“Awesome. Thanks, Mere!” 

Just a few minutes ago, the nickname would have reminded me of the list of cons I made before giving Annabelle a call. But I barely flinched at it when faced with the important fight or flight decision before me. Quietly relent, because there was no easy way to get the job back? Or push for what I wanted? Normally I would have gone with the former, as I’m terrible at confrontation and/or directness, but there was just too much riding on this. 

Annabelle was passionate about mathematics; passionate enough to spend her precious time working on problems and texting me about them instead of doing whatever her other rich friends were doing. The money was really, really good. And, though it was difficult to figure out why, and impossible to explain to even myself, I felt drawn to the girl. 

And, of course, fuck Bridget. 

“Wait!” I blurted out. Lowering my voice from the somewhat shrill exclamation, I was once again grateful she couldn’t see my flushed cheeks. “Sorry. Umm, please wait.”

Totally calm on her end, Annabelle replied, “Yes, Mere?”

Taking a deep breath, I just said it. While the redhead on the other line seemed pretty socially adept, dropping hints and subtly sowing doubt over the phone wasn’t as easy as it would have been in person. “Honestly, Annabelle, I really don’t like Bridget. I think I should be your tutor; not her.” I moved the phone away from my lips to let out a nervous exhale following the honesty that was normally too intimidating for me to say out loud, and nervously waited for her reply. 

A few agonizing seconds of silence passed. 

Biting my lip, I listened for anything. A quiet breath, a creak of furniture, something in the background. Was she still there? It would be just my luck if I found the courage to say what I needed to say, only for the connection to drop at the perfect wrong time. I didn’t mind if Annabelle needed a minute to think about her response, but it would at least be nice to know that she heard.

“Annabelle?” I hesitantly asked. 

After a moment, she finally said, “I’ll call you in a few hours, okay?”

And, just like that, she hung up.

Part Sixteen

When Annabelle abruptly ended the call, I had no idea how to react. 

Was she upset? Annoyed? Did she just need to process what I said, or was it something else entirely? I didn’t know the girl nearly well enough after one day to read her, especially not over the phone. 

Even worse, what was I supposed to do with myself while I waited? It would have been one thing if she had simply picked Bridget over me; after I pushed back a little more, of course. Knowing my old rival was reaping the benefits of an opportunity that should have been mine would have stung, and I can’t imagine how long I’d need to get over it. But now the band-aid was still in place, instead of being ripped off. I had no idea which way Annabelle might lean, and the suspense was already killing me.

Also, what did she mean by a few hours? That could mean anything to a teenager. Or to a university student, I guess. 

It was already 9 PM. I typically went to bed between ten and eleven on weekdays, depending on how early my first class was the following morning. Hopefully Annabelle would call before then. I really didn’t want to stay up later than necessary, but I also didn’t want to get to bed with my phone’s volume on and answer with a groggy voice when I woke up to the eventual ringtone by my ear. Although sleep wasn’t going to come easily; I’d probably just toss and turn, stewing at the thought of Bridget tutoring Annabelle.

For the moment, I needed to distract myself. Studying wasn’t going to happen for the rest of the night; there was no way I could focus enough to make anything important stick. While I considered myself fairly patient, I also wasn’t the type of girl to just laze around and twiddle my thumbs. Sighing to myself, I got up and settled on doing chores to kill time. Might as well. Save for one problem–my apartment stayed pretty clean. Not because I’m a neat freak, but because I spent most of the day at school. I didn’t do much but eat, sleep, and study at my place. Laundry and vacuuming were out, as I didn’t want to disturb my neighbors at a later hour. After pacing around for a few minutes, looking around in an effort to think about what needed to be done, I decided to dump out my backpack on my desk and reorganize both the bag and my study space. 

Halfway through the process, my phone buzzed. ‘That was fast!’ I thought. The vibrations on the desk off to my left actually startled me, as barely fifteen minutes had passed since Annabelle hung up. Assuming it was her, I almost picked up without even checking first. Thankfully, I caught a glimpse of the screen just before I slid my finger over the ‘Answer’ section at the base of my phone.

Bridget was calling me?

Should I answer? I hadn’t spoken to the girl since high school. There was no way this was a coincidence. But Annabelle wasn’t supposed to tell her about me! That’s the last thing I wanted. Bridget always played dirty. I almost missed a competition once because she had gone out of her way to design letters and emails that were almost identical to the originals, but with false information. And that’s just one example. 

If she heard that I was standing in the way of a lucrative opportunity, then I could only imagine what she might have said to Annabelle about me. But why was she calling? To gloat that the job was hers, or to threaten me? I was never scared of the girl; that couldn’t be it. There was only one way to find out . . .

On what might have been the last ring, I picked up the phone. “What do you want, Bridget?”

“Hey, Meredith!” Her voice was chipper, like we were best friends reunited or something, but I could hear the subtle bite behind it. “I just had a very interesting conversation with a mutual acquaintance of ours. Did you really bail on such a perfect job? Just like that?”

Ugh, I didn’t BAIL. My schedule was busy, as I had explained to Annabelle’s parents. Add on the insulting chores and having to deal with an eighteen year old’s partial nudity, and I just wasn’t ready to commit to anything. Maybe I would have felt differently if I was handed all that cash sooner, but it was too late to dwell on stuff like that.

Except, I couldn’t tell all that to Bridget. Partially because I didn’t want to give her any ammo to potentially use against me, and partially because it would be a nice consolation prize to know that she was potentially doing chores instead of tutoring. For someone who has the attitude of a girl who never lifts a finger to help out around the house, I doubt Bridget would enjoy spending an hour cleaning the kitchen. 

“What do you want?” I repeated. While I was insanely curious about what she and Annabelle talked about, there was no way I’d be baited into asking about it. Either she could cut to the chase, or I could hang up. 

“Well, funny story,” she said, “Cute little Anna was asking if I’d be interested in co-tutoring with someone else. Hell no; obvi. I’m not going to give up half my pay to some other girl. But then she said it would be with you. Come on, Mere. Wouldn’t it be fun to work together again? Just like old times!”

My amusement towards ‘cute little Anna,’ as that didn’t describe the confident redhead at all, quickly faded when Bridget used Annabelle’s occasional nickname for me. “No, thanks,” I flatly said.

“I agree,” Bridget replied, “I thought about it for a sec, but decided that Anna deserves the best. You would only be getting in the way.” 

Then, to my shock, she concluded with, “So I told her I’d do the job for free.”

Part Seventeen

The next day, I was back at the Alodias’ mansion. 

Had I made a huge mistake? 

Instead of dealing with Bridget’s smugness the other night, I hung up on her immediately and called Annabelle instead. I wasn’t able to wait however many hours it was going to take for her to call me. Getting right to it, I offered my tutoring services for free as well. I was so heated from Bridget doing the same thing for the sake of taking away my job, that I didn’t stop to think about what I was giving up. I mean, Annabelle may be bright and fun to text with about mathematics, but the main draw for coming back had still been the high payout for each session. Until Bridget was added to the equation.

Two years after high school graduation, she still had a way of getting under my skin. Objectively, I should have just given her the job. Whether I was Annabelle’s tutor, or Bridget was, I still wouldn’t be getting paid after mirroring Bridget’s tactic. Honestly, I don’t even remember what I said when Annabelle asked why. That she was a promising young mathematician and I wanted the best for her, that the experience from our sessions and my prep work was all the payment I needed, that I could potentially count my tutoring as a credit? I had been tilted and frazzled from Bridget’s call, and could have babbled out any number of explanations. I just wanted to ‘win,’ and have the tutoring job all to myself.

Annabelle must have suspected something, as I had called to drop my price to nothing just minutes after she spoke with Bridget about the same. Thankfully, she didn’t press. Instead, she expressed her appreciation for the discount, then went on to tell me about her co-tutoring idea. Since I was so busy during the week, Annabelle scheduled things with Bridget for Monday and Wednesday evenings, and I could still have the Saturday slot I preferred. But since Annabelle would be learning at a more accelerated rate with a session every few days, Bridget and I would probably need to coordinate so our lessons didn’t overlap.

With Bridget’s lilting voice and obnoxious overconfidence still echoing in my head, I ended up blurting out, “I can do Monday and Wednesday!”

Just like that, I signed myself up for three tutoring sessions with no pay. Annabelle had even asked if I was sure, to which I insisted that I was. I didn’t want to deal with Bridget, and I was clearly the better young mathematician. Plus, Annabelle would learn the most efficiently if just one tutor was planning out and connecting all the lessons without trying to alternate with someone else.

So, the following evening, I was pulling around to the side of Annabelle’s house. 

I had to cancel last minute on my Wednesday night study group, which was going to be another whole thing to worry about later. Hopefully there would be another day that worked for everyone else to get together. I was also indefinitely giving up my Monday movie nights with friends, but I was more concerned about losing the study group that I had literally started if they weren’t able to permanently reschedule around my new conflict. There was also the matter of adjusting my personal study/homework time that used to be perfectly spread out over the course of a week, but that would be more manageable than everything else. The tutoring sessions themselves weren’t that long, but the prep time and the commute was really going to eat into my formerly balanced schedule.

This time around, I was going to have to be more committed to the job. During the call with Annabelle, she expressed how she really enjoyed our first session and the subsequent texting about all the things she had learned and was continuing to figure out with my help. Or, in other words, she didn’t want to get her hopes up only to have me quit again. I understood where she was coming from. Consistency is often important when it comes to academics, and it wouldn’t be fair for me to change my mind after setting up a schedule with her. 

As for the money, I’d just have to mentally stretch out the first $900 over the coming weeks. Because, though the insanely high rate would have been nice, I could see $100/session being what a reasonable household would offer. So I had already been paid for three weeks, technically. Then I could potentially mention things like gas money and prep work later on, and see if Annabelle would be open to paying me again once Bridget was out of the picture. Or, worst case scenario, maybe I could turn the excuses I made over the phone into a reality. Preparing creative problems was good mental exercise, and who knows? Maybe the Alodia family could be a good source for networking opportunities down the road, as wealth tends to pair with connections and influence.

The one thing I hadn’t tackled yet was changing our tutoring location. I hadn’t planned on seeing Annabelle again until Saturday, which would have given me a few more days to see if there were any coffee shops near her house before casually floating the idea over text. Or, I could have skipped the research entirely and let her suggest somewhere we could go. Today, however, would be at Annabelle’s house again. Hopefully I could at least keep us downstairs for a more professional (as in, clothed) session. 

Familiar with the outdoor layout from my first visit, I pulled my car around to the back. Parking in the small lot mostly concealed by greenery, I grabbed my things and made my way to the side door. Unlike last time, Trixie wasn’t there to greet me immediately. There was no doorbell button in sight, so I just gave a tentative knock and hoped that she’d be nearby to let me in.

And then I waited.

Part Eighteen

”Good evening, Ms. Moore.”

Just as I was about to circle around to the front of the house, Trixie greeted me at the side door. There was no doorbell, so I had resigned myself to knocking and hoping that she was within earshot. Apparently not, as the only reason she had come to check on the secluded servants’ section of the house was because I was late. Which wasn’t fair, because I’m the girl who’s always early; until I have to awkwardly stand around outside as the minutes tick by, that is.

After a reminder to do so, I took off my shoes by the door, then followed the young blonde maid through the back hallway as she explained how my arrivals would work. There was a hint of impatience in her voice, which also wasn’t fair. This was only my second time at the Alodias’ house, and no one had informed me about protocol or etiquette in any of the messages prior to this explanation. 

The side door locked and unlocked on a schedule. My tutoring schedule had already been added to their system, which meant that I would always be able to let myself in. As long as I was punctual, of course, which Trixie made a point of emphasizing. I resisted the urge to scoff. Short of a gridlocked accident or an unexpected snowstorm, nothing ever messed with my ‘early is on time’ mantra.

Upon arrival, I was to wait in the sitting room and communicate my presence to Annabelle. More specifically, I was not to text from the car or right outside the house. The Alodia family abhors wasting time, and a message like that wouldn’t give a precise time frame. It would be best to know that I was there when I was officially there. 

I just found myself quietly nodding. More in acknowledgement than agreement. The whole process seemed so stiff and formal, especially when I knew that Annabelle was more laid back. But this wasn’t my world. I’d just have to go along with all the rules, though it would be nice to have a little handbook or something. 

Texting Annabelle like I was instructed to do so, I perched myself on the edge of the cream armchair nearest the door. For all I knew, Annabelle could be one room over, or all the way across the house. Either way, this was only my second time here. I didn’t feel comfortable enough to relax and make myself at home, especially after everything Trixie went through as we made our way down the back hallway and out to the main area. 

After all the messages Annabelle and I exchanged over the last week, I expected her to text me back. Instead, I found myself waiting alone for a few minutes, fidgeting a little bit as the time dragged on. This was exactly why you texted someone after parking the car. 

Eventually, she arrived with an energetic, “Mere!”

I was startled, to say the least. Despite the general silence of the house, save for Trixie working in the kitchen a few rooms over, I hadn’t heard Annabelle’s approach at all. She was wearing a conservative white skirt with a lace pattern and a dark red blouse, once again making me feel self conscious about my own rather plain outfit. Hopefully she didn’t catch my surprised expression. The reason she snuck up on me was probably due to the fact that she was barefoot; the one casual touch to her otherwise put together appearance. 

“Umm, hey,” I said. Brushing my hair back, internally chastising myself about the two nervous ticks–saying ‘umm’ and adjusting my hair when it didn’t really need any adjusting–I was too thrown off by sudden appearance to correct the nickname that I honestly hadn’t been particularly diligent about doing the last time we spoke, either.

“Umm, it’s ‘Hey, Annabelle,’” she replied. 

Her tone was teasing, as was the way she echoed my filler word, but I still found myself lightly blushing and going along with it. “Hey, Annabelle.”

“Good girl.” She winked, then extended her hand, “Well, what are you waiting for? Come on, I’m excited to learn more of this shit!” 

After all the pep talks I had given myself in the car, all the reminders to keep things appropriate and distant in order to deter Annabelle from being too casual and comfortable around me like she was during our first session, my resolve was already bending. 

I was supposed to be her tutor. That didn’t mean that we couldn’t be friends, but that kind of relationship would have to come second. Of course, that was difficult when her texts were bubbly and full of excitement when it came to mathematics. Or ‘this shit,’ at the moment. And, just like her texts, there was no defending against her current attitude. Not without acting cold and aloof in comparison in order to shut her down. I may not be a pushover, but I’m definitely a people pleaser. 

“Learn more of these advanced equations?” I asked, placing my hand in hers and allowing her to pull me to my feet. Annabelle was eighteen. I wasn’t about to be the straight-laced university girl that got on her case about swearing. But she was using the vulgar word as a substitute for mathematics; my major and future field. 

Annabelle gave a half eye roll, squeezing my hand as well. “Curse words aren’t scary, Mere,” she said. Walking back the way she came and gently tugging on my arm in the process, she added, “Come.” 

Those extra few days would have been nice to prepare myself for the redhead now leading me through her house like a lost puppy. I had been counting on that time to figure out what the best approach was to keep my dynamic with Annabelle appropriate. Thanks to Bridget, as well as my full schedule before driving over to tutor, any fleeting moments of free time were dedicated towards scrambling to make a lesson plan for Annabelle, rather than thinking through all the things that had been going through my mind before calling her the other day. 

It was too late to suggest a coffee shop, because our time had already technically started. Maybe we could work downstairs, instead of in her suite? After my last experience with her casual exposure, I was nervous she might have similar thoughts about getting comfortable in her own space. 

“Hey. Maybe we could work down here?” I suggested. We had reached the base of the stairs, so it was clear where the girl was leading me. Deciding to take advantage of the fact that we were holding hands, I gave a small tug in the opposite direction to prevent her first step up.

Cocking her head to the side, Annabelle just replied with a simple, “Why?”

“Well . . .” I trailed off. What to say? It’s not like I could blurt out the real reason, because she would just launch into a similar explanation that happened last time I expressed my discomfort. Clothes are a construct. My discomfort didn’t seem to matter when it came to the viewpoint of an opinionated eighteen year old girl. Instead, I lamely went for, “More table space?” 

“Hmm, maybe next time?” she said, “All my stuff is already set up. My time is precious, Mere, and you were already late.”

I was NOT late. “It’s Meredith.” Finally standing up for myself in terms of the full name, if only to stop myself from saying something worse, I reminded myself that I was the tutor here. Just because Annabelle was acting a little entitled didn’t mean that I should be immature or impulsive in my response. 

“Meredith. Right.” She sounded pretty indifferent about it. It felt like she wasn’t taking the correction particularly seriously, but she also wasn’t rolling her eyes and dismissing it. 

At some level, was that my fault? How many times had I let the nickname slip by without saying anything about it? The more she got it wrong, the more difficult it would be to undo the habit. 

“You prefer ‘Annabelle,’ don’t you?” I asked. It was a question I already knew the answer to, as I had made a point to ask on our first day. 

“Of course. Because it suits me. But honestly, Mere?” She stepped forward. The girl only had a few inches on me, but it felt like a lot more when it was this kind of face to face proximity. “I don’t think ‘Meredith’ works for you. So we’re going to stick with ‘Mere,’ okay?”

Wait, what? My lips briefly parted in surprise as I tried to find the words. She couldn’t just-

“Annabelle,” I began, but that’s as far as I got.

“No,” she said, “Your name is ‘Mere.’”

Then, out of nowhere, she leaned forward and kissed me.

Part Nineteen

“Mmm!” 

My whine of surprise and mild protest hummed through Annabelle’s lips as they locked with my own. Mine had already been slightly parted to say something in response to the girl’s insistence about my nickname, so it was more than easy for her to take my bottom lip between hers. 

This was the third time I had ever kissed a girl. The first was when I was a first-year at university, as a dare. The second was a few months later, to humor a lesbian friend of mine who kept teasing me about it–’Are you sure you aren’t into girls, Meredith?’ Both times involved alcohol, and neither of those girls managed to flip a switch or anything. It was certainly different than kissing guys, and perhaps exciting in the moment to try something outside my comfort zone, but that’s it. Fleeting curiosity, as well as playing along to pretend like I wasn’t the boring, studious girl that I sometimes felt like others viewed me as. 

But this was Annabelle! She was eighteen, and still in high school. I was her tutor. 

Before those thoughts could fully register, however, I briefly kissed her back. Purely out of instinct, as that’s how my entire life had gone up until now. A significant person kisses me, and I reciprocate. Applying pressure with my own lips to match what I was being given, feeling the unique softness of another girl, I settled into the kiss for all of one second. Then, snapping back to reality with wide eyes, I shoved Annabelle away while taking a huge step back.

“Annabelle!” I exclaimed. “What the fuck?!” The marble floor and spacious entryway by the stairs caused my raised voice to resonate and echo. It was rare for me to lose control of my emotions, or swear out loud for that matter, but this was warranted. Still, I couldn’t help but faintly flush from how my exclamation could probably be heard all the way down the hall; the unexpected kiss was no doubt a factor as well. Trying to ignore the heat rushing to my cheeks, I frowned and narrowed my eyes at the audacious redhead. 

As I came to my senses, I could tell that I might have pushed her a little too hard. Annabelle had nearly tripped on the bottom step and fallen backwards, but she managed to catch herself on the banister. “Language, Mere,” she said. Scowling and taking a second to brush back her hair and straighten out her outfit after finding her balance again, she met my gaze. “And what was that? I could have hurt myself.”

She wasn’t wrong. Falling back into the stairs could have hurt her head, or wrists if she caught herself poorly against the steps. Except it wasn’t fair to blame that solely on me. “You just- you can’t-” Fumbling over my words amidst the accusation, as well as the lingering feeling on my lips from the recent kiss, I finally blurted out, “Annabelle, you kissed me!!”

“And you fucking shoved me,” she snapped. Immediately swearing after getting on my case about ‘language,’ but I barely noticed since I was already dealing with everything else. “Apologize, Mere.”

“I-” My voice caught in my throat. She was the one who started this, but my instinctive physical response was putting me at a disadvantage. Instead of arguing, I took a deep breath and said, “I’m sorry.” It was better to be the bigger person and get the apology out of the way. Then we could focus on what Annabelle did, and how it was wrong. “Now apologize for kissing me. Just because-”

Just because . . . what? Now that my shock had somewhat faded, and we were past the adverse reaction I had to the sudden advance, my flustered mind was finally making its way towards the ‘why.’ Why did Annabelle kiss me? Did she like me? All of our texts had been friendly, but maybe I had misread that positive energy. It was always more difficult to infer tone when it was typed. She had taken my hand to guide me through the house, too. 

While Annabelle was technically an adult, she was still a teenager. In my haste to deny Bridget the job, I had pushed to be Annabelle’s only tutor. God, that could easily be interpreted as me liking her. I hadn’t known she was into girls, of course, but still. Could I really blame her for putting herself out there and making a move? Suddenly, my frustration faded as I trailed off in uncertainty. 

“I’m sorry for shoving you.” Annabelle said. 

“What?” I asked, as her voice broke me out of my thoughts. 

“That’s how apologies work. You have to say the whole thing.”

“Oh. Umm, right. I’m sorry for shoving you, Annabelle.”

She placed a hand on her hip and gave me a stern look. “Miss Annabelle.”

Wait, what? Ever since the first day, she had insisted that I just use her name. That I didn’t have to follow those rules that Trixie was bound to. My head was already spinning from being kissed and the potential realization of what that might mean, and this just added to my confusion. Was she punishing me, or was my physical rejection all it took for her to stop seeing me as a crush? 

“Look, can we just talk-”

“Apologize properly, Mere. NOW.”

“I-” I could feel the faint flush turn into a full on blush as Annabelle took such a demanding tone. Weak as ever when it came to confrontation, especially when I was already so flustered, I found myself mumbling, “I’m sorry for shoving you, Miss Annabelle.”

“Again, Mere,” she said. Taking a step forward, exaggerating the few inches of height she had on me, she glared down at me with her deep green eyes. “And look at me when you speak.”

“I was . . .” I muttered. Wasn’t I? Now that she said otherwise, I found myself questioning it. So, nervously swallowing, I looked up and reluctantly made direct eye contact with her. “I’m sorry for shoving you, Miss Annabelle.”

“Good girl.” With the smallest of nods, she reached over and took a few strands of my hair with her fingers. With an idle twirl or two, she continued the conversation while still fiddling with my long locks. “And your name is ‘Mere.’”

Not a question. “But-” I began, frozen from our newfound proximity and the affectionate yet dominant touch.

“No. Your name is Mere. And I’m ‘Miss Annabelle.’ Got it?”

What was happening?! Just seconds ago, I was trying to chastise her for springing a kiss on me. Now I was on my back foot, too caught off guard by everything that was being thrown at me. Rather than a mutual apology following an awkward moment, I was the one being punished for a perfectly reasonable reaction. Instead of trying to put those thoughts to words, however, I found myself meekly nodding. I didn’t know what else to do, and it’s not like I could push her away. That’s what got me into trouble the first time. Except, no. That was the kiss. “Wait-”

“Say it. What’s your name?”

“Mere-” I got halfway through, only to be cut off by a sharp yank of my hair as I tried to form the second syllable. Gasping, and then blushing at the unintended squeak that escaped my lips following the intake of air, I once again let my emotions get the better of me. “Ow! Annabelle!! Don’t-”

“Your name is Mere. Okay?”

“But-” A lighter tug at my hair was enough of a threat, and I submitted much more easily this time around. “Okay.” But that wasn’t enough, apparently, as a painfully long silence followed my acceptance of her nickname for me. Squirming a little bit under her gaze, and really wanting to get back to the friendly relationship we had just minutes ago, I said, “My name is Mere.”

“And?”

“And I’m sorry for shoving you, Miss Annabelle?”

“Is that a question?”

“No. I’m sorry for shoving you, Miss Annabelle . . .”

I had only stepped inside the house minutes ago, and was already in a situation way more daunting than my first day. Instead of tutoring a half naked Annabelle, I was letting a kiss with her snowball out of control. In the back of my mind, I knew that I could just pull away and flee to my car, but I couldn’t find it in myself to take the first step. I felt powerless against the young redhead looming over me. I was older, but she was taller, and more endowed, and more confident, and better dressed, and had an aura about her that somehow demanded obedience. 

All my plans to lay down the law had vanished, and I found myself waiting for Annabelle to make the next move instead of taking the initiative myself. 

“Mere, why don’t you go help Trixie with the chores?” she finally said, “It’s laundry day. You can tutor me afterwards, okay? The proper response is ‘Yes, Miss Annabelle.’

Swallowing again, and averting my gaze, I quietly replied the way she wanted me to.

“Yes, Miss Annabelle . . .”

Part Twenty

Trixie didn’t seem surprised in the slightest when I returned to the servant’s quarters.

I wasn’t sure if that was the technically correct term for the modern mansion’s back hallway, but it rolled off my mental tongue better than ‘back hallway.’ Since I had walked past the laundry room back there a few times at this point, it was simple enough to find my way there after Annabelle dismissed me with a vague gesture towards the way I came from. Unless there were other laundry machines somewhere else in the house, I figured this would be the spot. A place where maids like Trixie could work invisibly.

Annabelle was no longer in sight, and yet I still felt the need to do as she had firmly suggested. I had signed up to tutor her for free, so it’s not like there would be any harm in simply leaving and never looking back. Aside from Bridget getting the job in my place, of course, but how far was I really willing to go to prevent that? A little hazy about whether I was doing this to cling to my volunteer tutoring job or merely feeling compelled to do it because Annabelle said so, I turned right instead of left and joined Trixie in the laundry room.

“Here to help?” the young blonde asked. Her question was rhetorical, apparently, as she moved on without waiting for me to reply. “Start with that dryer. Mr. Alodia’s dress clothes go on the brown hangers. Fold the rest, and then I will inspect your work.”

“Umm,” I hesitated. Just now taking in the room for the first time, I felt overwhelmed right away. There were two of each machine, similar to my apartment building, but the rest of the room was more spacious and sophisticated. Drying racks lined an entire wall, and the whole perimeter of the room was set up with metal bars and a variety of classy looking hangers. High enough to hang up the clothes without getting in the way of the machines below; a nearby step stool answered my question about how to reach them.

“Now, Ms. Moore. On the double.”

Lightly blushing from how I was distracted by yet another room in Annabelle’s impressive house, I crossed the threshold and followed Trixie’s gesture to the machine in the corner.

The dress shirts were manageable enough, even though I hadn’t spent much time with mens’ clothes before. It was actually a bit refreshing to hang everything up in the exact same way, which wasn’t at all the case when it came to my outfit tops. One by one, I either folded or hung everything in the dryer. The only part of the job that felt awkward to me was handling the silk boxers. Less because of the material, and more because I was holding the underwear of someone I didn’t even know. The fact that the undergarments belonged to the opposite gender didn’t help, either. Still, I worked quietly and without complaint, not wanting Trixie to judge me or berate me like she did when I helped her in the kitchen the other day.

When the task was done, Trixie paused what she was doing and took a minute to make sure my work was up to her standards. I was relieved when her biggest complaint was that a number of the items on the hangers were askew, but that would be pointless to fix before we took them upstairs. With the machine now free, I stepped aside to let her transfer everything from one of the washers over. I offered to help, but she said she knew both the clothes and the machines better than me. Which was valid.

I had falsely presumed that something like laundry would be quick and painless, especially with two people working together. After all, my experience with this chore was mostly ‘start washer, transfer to dryer, fold.’ The first two steps took no time at all; it was only the last step that was tedious and time consuming. Since I had just folded a bunch of clothes, my hope was that I could return to Annabelle and start our evening’s tutoring session. Instead, Trixie took me on a laundry journey that was a lot more involved than I had initially expected.

For starters, this was more than just my personal laundry. We were doing this for three different people, and my next task informed me that it wouldn’t be as simple as using the machines. While Trixie took as much as she could carry of Mr. Alodia’s clothes, I was to get started on hand washing everything in the basket next to the sink. Following her instructions for water temperature and cleaning methods, I got to work in the solitude of the laundry room.

Rather than returning empty handed, Trixie had returned with an armful of used sheets from what I assumed was Mr. and Mrs. Alodia’s room. I hadn’t seen Annabelle’s bed, of course, but it made sense that Trixie would do all the work of one room before moving onto the next. Washing bedding was the least of my concerns, as my newest train of thought made me realize something a lot more daunting–nothing in the laundry room belonged to Annabelle, unless I was grossly mistaken about her fashion sense compared to her mother’s. Would that be part of the job, too?

This wasn’t like our first session, on a Saturday. This was Wednesday evening, which meant I only had so much time before I head to head home and prepare for tomorrow’s classes.

I decided not to bring it up. Though Trixie looked to be around my age, and nothing like the cliché gray haired maids I’d seen in the movies, she had proved to be pretty thorough and diligent. At least, that was the sense I got from the brief time I had known her so far. There was a good chance Annabelle’s clothes and bedding would already be on her mind, but I didn’t want to be like the student reminding a teacher that she hadn’t collected the homework yet.

Trixie and I worked together quietly for the most part, save for when she corrected the way I draped an article of clothing or two over one of the drying racks. Hand washing took forever, so I was left to attend to that while she folded a new round of clothes and made another transfer. With wet, soapy hands and no clock on the wall, I had to rely on my natural sense of time to make a stab at how long it had been since I entered the laundry room. Twenty minutes? Thirty? Although my experience with Trixie in the kitchen proved that time could fly when you were focused on the task at hand.

Maybe I could take a ‘bathroom break’ to check my phone? No, the best way to get this done in the least amount of time possible was to stick with it.

By the time I finished hand washing every single item in the basket, I found a towel and turned towards Trixie and the rest of the room. Letting out an internal sigh of relief when I saw that nothing else was staged to go in one of the washers, I asked, “Do you think you can handle the rest, Trixie? I’m sure Annabelle is ready to get started by now.”

“Hmm. Why don’t you go ask her yourself, Ms. Moore? If she has anything that needs to be washed, you’ll bring it down. Otherwise, yes. I can do the rest myself.”

After thanking her, belatedly realizing that she should have been thanking me for the help instead, I went to find Annabelle. What if I just didn’t ask? Maybe if I could get back into tutor mode, I could find enough authority as the older girl to officially start our session. Even if she had dirty clothes, that was literally Trixie’s job. Not mine. Right? Or was there still a chance I’d get paid for chores, even if I volunteered my mathematics knowledge for free?

There were just too many thoughts swirling around my mind as I made my way up to Annabelle’s room. I couldn’t pin a single one down by the time I arrived at the slightly ajar door to her suite. Lightly knocking twice, I was greeted by “Come, Mere” almost immediately.

How did she know it was me? My footsteps, or my knocking pattern? Would Trixie have texted ahead, to keep her bosses’ daughter informed? Also, not even ‘come in?’ Her version sounded more like how you’d call to a dog, though it was too quiet and casual for me to jump to any kind of actual conclusion about the words.

Again, too many thoughts to process.

I pushed the door open and took a step inside. Relief washed through me when I saw that Annabelle was fully clothed, unlike last time. Before I could greet her in response, she gave me a soft smile and patted the spot next to her on the sofa.

“Over here,” she said, “We need to talk.”

Read more of “The Tutor” (35+ parts) and other stories on my Patreon!