Push and Pull

My good mood starts deteriorating more and more the closer I get to the tutoring session with Nico, the warm, bubbly feeling in my chest from my date with Sol fizzling out as I head home. We haven’t done a single real hour of tutoring yet. Time’s running out. We need to set a schedule. Maybe after Sol goes back to Earth?

The calendar alert blinks across my vision like an omen—a series of billboards from hundreds of years ago prophesying THE END IS NEAR!

No, no, I’m being dramatic. It just says 7 p.m., Tutoring? Still a question, despite my answer.

At least I’ll see Sol again tomorrow. That I can hold onto.

When I pass through the front hallway, the surprising scent of tacos fills the air, and I’m relieved to know my mom has eaten something already. One less thing I have to worry about. But, of course, I also hear the telltale signs of her watching Lunar Lovers.

Josephine is saying, “—can’t work, Hunter. What Gerald and I have is real! This… this isn’t real.”

Hunter’s gravelly voice garbles through the holo, “But Josephine… Gerald is blind. Can’t you see? He lives in a world of flowers and romance and light, but it isn’t reality. That is not real. But us? Do you not feel the fire that burns between us?”

“Oh Hunter…”

I roll my eyes as I make my way up the stairs. Josephine has been torn between Gerald and Hunter for years now. They’ve had to switch actors multiple times over the past few decades before settling on AI versions of the most recent ones, who have since passed. I don’t know why Josephine can’t just choose already. Or, better yet, maybe both guys can give up on her, because, frankly, this is getting ridiculous.

When I make it to my room, I’ve got less than a minute to call Nico, so I go ahead and bite the bullet. He answers almost immediately and, to my surprise, he’s already got the books set up. We’re in a VR classroom, clearly modeled after a default Universal Standard school. The space is set to morning, warm beams of sunlight casting angular shapes across the floor as they filter through the cracks of the mostly closed blinds. Nico’s got one of the books open—the one for history—and is flipping boredly through it. His dark hair seems like it might have been brushed for once (or maybe he just hacked his avatar), and his blue eyes flick up to mine as I take a step toward him.

“Welcome,” he says dryly.

“Hey.”

I sit down in the seat beside him so we’re sharing the table. I don’t want to talk about seeing him at the museum or anything that’s gone down between us already. It would just waste time. And I have a feeling that he wants me to bring it up and waste time, which makes me want to say something even less. “Want to start with history?”

He pauses in his flipping, one page caught between his two fingers. “Why not,” he says finally.

“Exams this year went as early as The Last War, so I guess we can start there.” I take the extra copy of the history text book that he summoned and flip it open to the right page. “667.” I wait until he flips to the page as well, and then we begin.

Going through the content with Nico is suspiciously easy. He’s cooperative. Too cooperative. And it seems he knows all the information, so this is practically pointless. Clearly his absences in class and his skipping tests are the reasons for him being in his current predicament—not a lack of knowledge or intelligence. But we go through it all anyway, everything from The Last War to the first colonists arriving on Mars and starting Public Atmosphere 1. The tension in his body seems to rise the closer we get to the present, the quiet calm of his hand turning the page becoming increasingly stiff, the scrawl of his notes becoming messier and messier.

When we get to the last part that I think he’ll need to worry about for his summer exams, I run us back through his notes, highlighting things that will be important. I don’t want to just give him all the points that were on the exam I took, because who knows how they changed the summer exam. And that would be cheating. So I highlight about double what I remember from the exam to make sure nothing is missed. When his pen cuts through the paper, I figure it’s time to switch gears.

“What if we study music next? We can review this later.”

He puts down his pen and sighs. “Fine.”

I almost want to ask. Because why is he being so compliant? But I’m afraid it’ll break whatever spell he’s under, and I don’t want to deal with that right now. So instead, I say, “Do you remember starting note A?”

Nico glances out the window, as if he can’t face me for this. Is he shy about singing? “Yeah” is all he says.

“Well…?”

He clears his throat, then weakly sings the A above Middle C. I glance around for the music textbook and pop it open. In the front cover is a pitch pipe, as is standard. I grab it and play the note. “You’re a little sharp.”

He frowns at me, then adjusts his “ahh” to the right note.

“Good. Arpeggios. Go.”

His brows knit in annoyance, but he obeys, singing A, C sharp, E, A, E, C sharp, and then A again. He moves up per choral norms. A, B flat… B flat, D, F, B flat, and back down. I make him continue the arpeggios until his voice starts to break at the high notes. He gives me an exasperated look and takes a deep breath. “Do I really have to do that many?”

I shrug. “It depends on your range. Some people can do more.”

“Like who?” he shoots back. “You?”

I frown. “Well, yeah. Because I’m a soprano.”

“Ohh,” he says mockingly, “you’re a soprano.”

My frown deepens. “This is just what you have to do on the exam. It doesn’t matter if you can’t go higher. But you’ll be expected to show your range and ability to stay consistent.”

“I know,” he grumbles. “I know how this works. God, you sound like the teacher.”

I ignore the little jab because he’s right: I was basically quoting the rubric word for word. But if you don’t memorize the rubric, how are you supposed to do the work correctly? “Then let’s move on.” I use my Linx to materialize a recorder in front of me. Once it’s phased in, I pick it up and hold it out to Nico. “You're doing ‘Greensleeves’ for your solo, right?” Everyone who doesn’t care for music does “Greensleeves.” It’s the easiest song on the list.

He groans. “Can we take a real break? I’m not exactly dying to play the recorder right now. And…” He blinks as he reviews the time on his Linx. “It’s been almost three hours.”

It has? I feel a surge of excitement course through me, which must be obvious on my face from the flat frown he gives me in response.

“Try not to look so excited that you’re whittling down the hours you have to spend with me. It’s kind of offensive.”

My smile falters. “Uh, sorry…” I put the recorder back down on the table.

He rolls his eyes in response. “I’m kidding. I don’t care.” He leans back in his chair in a way that makes it seem like he might fall, then props his legs up on the table. I don’t know how he can balance like that.

“So… what should we do?” I ask.

He tilts his head at me. “We could talk.”

“Talk?” I don’t want to talk to Nico. I know he’s going to bring up Sol.

“Yeah,” he says. Then, as if reading my mind, he adds, “How was your little date?”

I sigh. “Let’s keep our personal lives out of this, okay?”

“Why? You scared of what I might say?”

My eyes narrow at him, and he narrows his eyes back at me with a cheeky grin. “Maybe,” I mutter.

“I saw you two kiss,” he says, and I can feel my face getting hot automatically.

“So?” I snap back before I can reel myself in. He’s obviously baiting me, but I fall for it like a fool.

His grin widens. “How was it? It was your first kiss, right? I mean, it sure looked like it.”

My hands curl into fists. “None of your business, Nico.”

“What? I can’t ask an innocent question, Petra?”

“That is not an innocent question!”

“And why not?”

“Because… because it’s none of your business! That’s why!”

“It might become my business if your future heartbreak gets in the way of my tutoring sessions, which I care so much about.” Sarcasm. Of course.

My mouth goes dry, but I’m not out for the count just yet. “Well, lucky for you, there won’t be any heartbreak.”

Nico folds his arms across his chest and puts one foot over the other, leaning impossibly further back in his chair. He just grins at me. That mean, wolfish smile again. “The festival is almost here. Then, after that, he’ll be gone. What’ll you do then? Cry?”

“I’ll call him. We’ll… call each other.” The truth is, I don’t know what will happen then. Is Zach right? Is this just a “vacation romance”? Will Sol fade into the distance, and will our connection just… die once he leaves?

There’s no way for me to know what will happen, and I don’t want to get lost in the what-ifs. Still, I prepare myself for Nico’s response anyway, knowing that if there’s anything he’s good at, it’s finding a way to cut deep through my defenses.

But he just shrugs and says, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Somehow, that feels even worse.