Page 4 of The Design of Goodbye
“Madison, thanks for coming,” greeted Mrs. Webb. Her black hair was in a futuristic-looking braid, making her sharp features more pronounced. Mrs. Webb looked strict but wasn’t. “Please sit. We’re waiting for one more and then we can get started.”
I wasn’t sure what this meeting was for. I was about to ask when I sat on something. I jumped up, letting out a tiny—and, yes, embarrassing—squeal. A ball of gray fur was in my seat. I cautiously picked it up.
“What is this?”
“Sorry.” She laughed. “One of my Tribbles. They’re adorable, aren’t they?”
She took the Tribble from me like it was a baby and placed it on a shelf behind her, where she had at least ten more.
“Why do you have so many weird, fuzzy, hamster-looking things in your office?”
Eyes wide with excitement, she said, “While a good description of what a Tribble looks like in our world, they’re technically aliens. You see, Tribbles are—”
Someone knocked, and she was thankfully cut off from further explanation. I definitely didn’t want to learn about Tribbles, even if I was missing history class.
But then Liam walked in, and I almost had a heart attack. Had Liam told Mrs. Webb I’d hit him? Was I going to get arrested? Were police officers about to walk through the door?
As soon as he sat down in his Tribble-free chair, I leaned close to him and whispered, “Are you stalking me?”
“I think that would be a little dangerous,” he whispered back, “don’t you?”
“Why did you tell?” I demanded. A terrible thought occurred to me. Had I hurt him? I quickly glanced at his face and arms. Not one scratch. “You’re fine.”
“I didn’t tell anyone.” He pulled away from our side conversation and raised his voice to a normal level. “I’m here about the tutoring.”
“Tutoring?” I faced Mrs. Webb. “What tutoring?”
Mrs. Webb eagerly explained, “Your dad contacted me last week about getting you a math tutor. Liam is the perfect choice.”
Last week, I’d come home with a note from my math teacher, Mrs. Scott. She was concerned because I was already failing math, and we’d only been in school a month. My dad had threatened a tutor. I was hoping he’d forget, but, obviously, he hadn’t.
“He’s going to tutor me?”
I pointed at Liam and got the first good look at him since he’d moved here a year ago. He had messy, medium-length dark-brown hair and glasses. His long-sleeve shirt was frayed on the collar and sleeves, his jeans worn in the knees, and one of his shoes had duct tape on the sole. His clothes were old. They’d probably been purchased at a consignment store. I shuddered.
“Yes,” answered Mrs. Webb. “Do you have a problem with this, Madison?”
I had a million problems with this. I couldn’t have this boy tutor me. He’d purposefully fail me as revenge for almost killing him.
“Is he even good at math?” I asked.
“Well,” said Liam, “I’m not failing the class, so...”
How rude. What gave him the—
“Liam’s excellent at math,” said Mrs. Webb. She paused to type something on her computer, and I noticed her earrings were a smaller version of the fluffy Tribble alien I’d squished. “He was a member of the AMC at his old school.”
“AMC?” I said. “That’s a movie theater.”
“Seriously?” huffed Liam. “It’s the American Mathematics Competition.”
“Oh.” Thatdefinitelysounded like a nerdy club. “Oops.”
Mrs. Webb ignored our exchange and asked, “How about you introduce yourselves and—”
“We don’t need to do that,” I interrupted. Introducing myself to Liam, especially in front of her, would be super awkward. “We’ve already met.”
Mrs. Webb tilted her head. “Really?”
