here comes my reality check // blaise x morgan Jun 8, 2020 23:51:50 GMT -5
Post by gay ass bitch lancey lot on Jun 8, 2020 23:51:50 GMT -5
This was stupid. But then again, so were many so-called executive decisions that your parents pushed down onto your shoulders, so quite honestly, you're not sure why you're even surprised.
So what if you didn't get straight As for one term? So what if you'd already decided that this summer would be one of rest and relaxation, a luxury given that you were nearing the dreaded eighteenth birthday that both solidified you as a working member of the family. The rite of passage to becoming a respected member of society lay through the family business and blah blah blah blah blah.
Honestly, you wouldn't be surprised if this was some grand old scheme to teach you manners and build character and all of that bullshit. Sure, you know that half of the punishments you received were well deserved, earned through laziness and insolence and grand old teenage fucking rebellion, but this? You'd rarely gotten punished for doing something you didn't do, and so what if you wouldn't finish at the top of your class for one goddamned term? A B was still every bit the passing grade as an A, and it wasn't like you had decided to flunk out of school and become a miner!
But nope, according to your parents, you couldn't step a single toe out of line. So at first they'd said you'd have to do summer school, but in a rare moment of asserting yourself, you'd put your foot down. Then they tried to force you into attending the fancy old intra-district dinners that rich people did or whatever, and you'd dyed your hair a bright minty color to dissuade them of that.
So then they did something unthinkable. They broke the news over breakfast - you were to be tutored by a kind, earnest young man that had been recommended to them by a family friend. that was shocking enough - they'd never threatened something that drastic before - and then they dropped the real shocker; he wasn't even another merchant's brat, but a low-class kid.
Not that you were unfamiliar with the sort, but the fact that not only had they opted to not grab some uptight asshat from your high-class private school, but were inviting a commoner into their own house? That had stunned you into silence. That had shown that they meant business.
You'd failed to come up with an easily executable plan to make that go south right out of the gates, so you'd settled for the good old bait-and-switch tactic instead. You'd go through the tutoring process as normal, and then, well, you'd figure it out from there.
You could suffer through a first meeting. But no one ever said you couldn't wiggle your way out of a second one.
Dressed in a leather jacket, drawing the finishing touches of a butterfly on your right hand, feet up on your desk as you lean back on the back two legs of your chair - what kind of tutor would your parents curse you with this time?
And what kind of impression would you need to make to scare them off?