Missing Mister Wingfield: Part 3
“I thought we were here to talk about me pantsing Brian,” said Tracy, picking pencils up off the desk and replacing them in the cup.
“We are,” said Standish.
“Okay,” said Tracy. “Good.”
Brian Meltzer was a schmuck, the kind of kid who helped a hot girl with her homework then stared at her ass as she walked away, a smug grin on his face, like he’d earned the oogle. They all went to him when they came to the tutoring center, though. It wasn’t that they minded Tracy; it’s just that she wouldn’t do their work for them. And she’d tried to tell them, for the past four years, what kind of a kid Brian was, but they didn’t care. “Do you know how you’re paying for all that extra help he gives you?” she’d ask.
“It’s just our asses,” they’d say. “He’s not the only one. And at least we’re getting something out of it.”
Tracy would sigh, they’d wave a dismissive hand, a silent gesture to lighten up, and that would be the end of it.
“What made this morning different?” asked Standish. “What pushed you over the edge?”
“I’m mad as hell,” said Tracy, “and I’m not going to take it anymore.”
Standish laughed. “A great film, that one. Have you seen it, or just caught clips on YouTube?”
“Unlike the men in my family, I—”
“I thought we weren’t talking about your family,” said Standish, an eyebrow raised.
“Touché,” said Tracy.
To be concluded…