trouble [Thomas]

[ari j. morphis]

There was nothing friendly in the way he walked. His muscles were still rigid from beneath his jersey that was striped with grass stains. His movements were nothing short of that of a predator, his body poised, neurotic from the adrenaline still siphoning in his veins as he walked, slowly, through the hallways that were devoid of people this late in to the evening. It was ticking a few minutes past eight and Ari had just finished with an important soccer match. Although the Orange Island University team had pulled out with another win, it had come at a hard cost to the blonde. His cleats scraped across the tile, too enervated to take them off, and his body swayed with a limp on his right foot. Although he managed to play the entire game without pain after receiving an anesthetic injection straight in to the injured ankle, the joint was coming back with a vengeance now that the drugs were beginning to wear off. Where he could hide all of his aches and pains with injections and massages and palliatives, he couldn’t dismiss his schoolwork with such an easy fix. Much to his football coach’s dismay, Ari had been doing worse with his schoolwork than in previous semesters. At the university’s suggestion, Ari was assigned a tutor to help rectify his poor grades.

His coach had told him to go have the first meeting with this tutor after the Monday night game. And, alas, it was Monday night—right after the game and the young player was begrudgingly picking the longest route possible to the room he was instructed to meet with this tutor in. He arrived and much to his surprise, he had been the first one to arrive. Dropping his sports bag uninterestingly on the floor, he pulled out a chair and took a seat. The young male was the picture of fatigue. His body slumped in to the seat, his legs stretched out in front of him, still torn up and sooty from the gameplay. His hair, like a flaxen net, stuck to his cheeks and neck, sticking in clumps to his damp, tanned skin. As much as he trained and worked, Ari was beginning to feel the pressure grind in to him and it was beginning to show on the otherwise calm surface. Discomfort had become a permanent facet on his face and he was quickly going from unsociable to downright seething and bitter, so much so that some of his professors had recently been complaining about the young star’s change in attitude.

Ari had always believed that his life would get infinitely better once he was contracted to a professional football team. Every minute of every day was devoted to soccer—he lived it, he breathed it, compassionate about it to the point of obsession—so possessed by it that he had played an entire quarter of a game on a ripped tendon because he was too driven to take a break. Whether he was cheating himself was anyone’s guess. Ari lived to play football, and it would probably the cause of his death, too. For him, it wasn’t just about the gameplay anymore, but it was about the pain he endured. The bleeding feet, the ripped muscles, the gouged skin- he liked the injuries because it challenged him and gave him something to work through. There were times, like today, when he was in so much agony that he got injections just to make his body feel okay. For years, his doctors had been telling him to give it up, that he was destroying his body with the extremity he took his athletics—but he wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

But today was not a matter of athletics. If the university was to continue giving Ari his scholarship, he had to get his grades raised and that’s why he was here right now instead of taking a long, hot bath and scrubbing all of the grass, dirt, sweat, and blood from his skin. He wasn’t thrilled, to say the least. So, as he waited, propping his cleats up on to the table, he leaned back and began to text. After shooting a quick text to his father to tell him about the outcome of the last game, he began to play a game of snake. He knew he was going to be trouble for whichever poor professor was instructed the very repugnant task of tutoring the star athlete. In a way, Ari almost felt bad for the poor sod… almost. After all, the teen had already begun to think of ways to make the tutors life in to a living hell.

Ari had always liked a spot of trouble.

[thomas peter fitzgerald]

Sitting at his desk, scribbling away late into the evening was a bit of a hobby Tom was beginning to think he’d acquired much to the dismay of his exhausted mind. Grading papers, writing exams, doing his own batch of homework assignments: it had all become part of a routine which Thomas had somewhat unfortunately found to be very effective. The evening was a quite solace, much more tranquil than any other waking moment seemed to be, and the school at this hour was most often deserted of any rambunctious noisemakers or distracting elements serving as the picture of perfection when it came to getting any real form of work done. Despite the late hour which such perfection often prompted him to remain diligently working, Tom had found that the lack of any restful sleep was going to catch up with him sooner or later and he knew when that day came, he would resent the peaceful calm that seemed to settle over campus allowing him to remain focused. On this particular occasion the small figurine of the famous Zytglogge in Switzerland that was resting gently on the desktop and served as an actual hour-keep informed Tom that it was a quarter to nine; time to put down his pen and await an unusual visitor.

Ari Morphis was the lad’s name. It was one which Thomas had grown used to calling out in the middle of class to attempt a control of the ceaseless shenanigans that always seemed to occur when he turned his back even if only for the briefest of seconds. Ari was, in fact, one of those very rambunctious noisemakers Tom stayed after hours to avoid. He had an impossibly distracted sort of personality, or so it would seem, and he rarely paid much attention when it was most crucial. He’d recently fallen behind on the reading, as per usual and his last examination had been the final straw. Not two days after the return of those scores, Thomas had received an email from the board requesting that he offer tutoring after hours for the athlete and this date had been decided upon. Tonight was the first trial run to see the chaos and possible disaster of a crazy semester the two were in for and Tom was mentally, hopefully, prepared for the worst.

Now, that wasn’t to say he particularly disliked Ari. In fact, Thomas had actually managed to gather quite the favourable impression of him from their few brief meetings despite the general rowdiness that seemed to follow the boy around. A part of him yearned to reach out to the poor kid and help him as best he could although Thomas didn’t like to think of the reason behind his apparent selfless gesture because the truth was exactly the opposite and very much a selfish one. Ari resembled both in looks and personality one very particular, special individual that had been lost to Tom and his family many years ago. He had the exact same blonde hair; easy, careless character and ambitious drive for soccer that Kylar had harboured all those years ago and it almost hurt again to think about just how similar their lives would have been had it not been for the accident that took from Thomas his best friend. There was certainly nobody that could ever replace Kylar in the young man’s heart, but Ari had proven a constant reminder of the life the young soccer star might have had and for that reason Thomas wanted to help him. Now, he could but not without some obvious bumps along the way.

As the Zytglogge ticked away, Thomas finally put down his pen and ran a hand over his face, staring at the wall as a soft sigh escaped him. He was thinking about all those papers yet remaining untouched as the clutter on his desk seemed to mock the young professor. Mental exhaustion was beginning to fog his mind and Thomas decided he really ought to do something to clear it before the arrival of his little visitor. If this evening was going to go even the least bit smoothly, he’d have to be more than awake and remotely cheerful. Perhaps a cup of tea might help him wake up; it was with this thought in mind that the professor stood and stretched, pushing his chair out before heading towards the door. Upon his return walk from the faculty lounge a moment later, mug in hand, Tom idly wondered what the score of the match which just took place had been and whether this might be a good starting point to size up Ari when he finally arrived. He re-entered the classroom then only to realize it was not empty and with a raise of the brow and a slightly musing expression, he nodded in the direction of the athlete lounging around in his seat texting.

“There you are Mr. Morphis,” he greeted none too friendly but not quite coldly either. “Nice to see you’re ready and interested,” Taking a seat behind his desk once more, Tom replaced the mug beside his belongings and eyed the boy before him. “Very considerate of you; your book must be exceedingly comfortable as well, huddled in a ditch lost somewhere,” he teased lightly taking a sip of tea. “No matter!” Tom sat back in his chair and grinned, turning his full attention forward and to Ari. “On to business for a second here: I will not be setting petty rules such as ‘no cell phones’ or ‘be here by a certain time’ or any silly things like that seeing as you are not a toddler so long as we have an agreement that my tutoring might be a tad bit unconventional at times. If that’s a problem, you might as well speak up now or forever bear the idiosyncrasies of a lunatic as your tutor,” It would be a lie if Tom were to say he wasn’t stretching the true extent of his quirks a bit far. He was very much just like any other conventional professor who lectured, asked questions and moved on. He cared about the success of his students but he did not have any particular habits which might scare off any other potential inquiries. In addition, there was little about him at all that was rather strange or different aside from his age in comparison to some of the other professors. Thomas was younger but also old fashioned which made him stand out a bit more and he often repeated himself, not out of nerves but rather for emphasis which often translated to the students as an innocent, somewhat nervous tendency. An assumption which truly irritated him to no end. He had since ceased such repetition but sometimes he just could not help it. This time though, he was one-on-one and he was determined to repeat things eight times if need be for Ari to understand and get back on track. Before repetition and understand though came reading.

“You will need to find a book, none the less, and as soon as physically possible in order for us to go about this as swiftly and painlessly as we’d like,” he continued. Overtime, the stiff teacher to pupil air would fade and Thomas would relax eventually able to treat Ari as more of an equal. In order for that to happen though he needed to trust the other and that might take a bit of time in itself.

[ari j. morphis]

It wasn’t such a matter of Ari not wanting to do his work; it was a matter of seeming to be unable. He was just as eager to please his peers and superiors as any other nineteen-year-old would want, still, he seemed intellectual incapable, or so he felt, and as a result he just ended by giving up. Football was the young man’s gift, it had always come so naturally to him and he felt frustrated when something else didn’t. For him, he didn’t keep up with his reading out of embarrassment, not out of misbehaviour. Still, he was protective of his image and self-esteem and promoted his ruffian nature to cache his own unassertiveness in the classroom. Ari knew he wasn’t vacuous, he just couldn’t get the answer as fast as everyone else and that was distressing, especially to an inexperienced teenager who was nothing less but under the constant scrutiny of the university. Don’t misunderstand, trouble was his middle name, but there were other, less obvious reasons for his abysmal grades.

Ari sighed—slowly, painfully—pulling his feet down off the desk and going to unlace them. He loosened to tight, pattoned leather sides, a sensation that made his feet scream. Pulling his cleats off and replacing them with his All-Star sneakers, he tried desperately to get the pain in his ankle to relent. Idly, he massaged his fingers over the slightly distended joint. His entire body felt out of whack and now he was forced in to these tutoring sessions: the young male didn’t seem to be the picture of pleased over the fact. He stretched out his legs again, returning his cleats to their home in his sports bag. Although he didn’t have respect for many physical objects, he took care of his sports’ equipment. Since most of the gear he received was free from recruiting services, he showed his respect to the game by treating it well. If he trashed his equipment like some of the players did, it would discourtesy all of the players who still had to pay for their sporting gear.

His endless train of empty thought was disrupted and idly, like a not quite hungry cat to a mouse, Ari looked over. His eyes, a transparent blue, followed the professor as he walked from the door to the desk in front of him. For that one moment, Thomas had all of Ari’s attention. Perhaps he would only manage to capture it for that few seconds that evening, but all of the blonde’s scrutiny and awareness was on the professor. Absentmindedly, the athletes shoulders broadened and his back opened as he took on the defensive semblance he would if he was on the football field. His body was steeping in nervousness; something about being in a classroom put the young athlete on edge. Here, he was out of his element, out of his gameplay. The fierce fighting tiger he was on the field became, very quickly, a zoo-like animal, frightened, caged, and unable to even bat a claw. If only one thing was for certain, the young man didn’t know how to handle being outside of his comfort zone.

As Thomas began to speak, the intense focus Ari had just began to fade. He was paying attention, yes, but not in same, perceptive way. He could hear what was being said, understanding it, but he was replaying the match over and over in his head. Too busy criticizing his gameplay to really give Professor Fitzgerald his full-bodied attention. It showed—in his posture, in his absent gaze. The more he talked, the less attention Ari began to pay until he finally glanced in the professor’s direction when he had assumed he was finished. ”Swiftly and painlessly?” Ari echoed in a deadpan voice, clearly enervated, ”You’ll give up. Unconventional or not, you will. Maybe in a week, maybe in two weeks, maybe in a month. You’re not the first tutor I’ve had this semester and you won’t be the last. They always give up, so, save me the trouble.” Ari was rather notoriously for ripping through tutors faster than he did cleats: he would grind them down with his inattentive, rude behaviour until they gave up and said something along the lines like ‘he can’t be helped.’ Of course, where a non-athlete student might have been expelled or dismissed some months ago, Ari was in the good graces of the university for his athleticism; he brought a lot of positive attention to the university through soccer.

The wispy blonde hair fell over his face, as he looked at, as opposed to through, the dark window. Perhaps he was just bitter. Angry that the only people to have ever spent time trying to help him was his father and his soccer coach, and the only reason they dealt with him was because he was a born player and didn’t need much attention to keep him conditioned and motivated. He was angry at the world for not bothering to care, but too invested in football to do anything about it. Deep down, Ari was fully aware that people didn’t care because he acted the way he did, but sometimes he just wanted someone to take the extra time, take the time to understand that he didn’t do well in school because he didn’t know how and he was too chagrined by failure to make an attempt. Still, the young athlete wasn’t exactly willing to put in the time either.