The Goalie's Tutor

Aria's POV

Of all places. Why is this happening now and here? Why didn't it happen at home, in my bathroom, where I could easily fix it in like a second?

I slowly pull my hand back in front of me. I can feel the burn in my face, climbing from my neck to the tips of my ears.

Aiden gives a low whistle and turns away like he's trying to give me space, which... I guess, thanks?

Jason doesn't even utter a word. But I know he is watching me intently.

For one, I'm glad he doesn't make a comment or act like anything has happened.

"You can use my bathroom," He says.

I bit my lip, nod quickly and bolt toward the door he tilted his head toward.

If it were any other day, I might've gawked at how luxurious the bathroom looked. Black marble countertops, warm golden lights, a huge walk-in shower. But I could care less right now.

My periods have never snuck up on me. I know the exact date down to the damn hour and I don't even need to check my Flo app to be sure.

But here I am, in a stranger's house, bleeding through my jeans.

I probably look like a clueless middle schooler who got her period for the first time.

I stare at myself in the mirror, sweaty despite the snow outside. My bangs stick to my forehead and my eyes are glassy.

Let's face this. I have no pads or tissues with me. I bit into my fingernail, a habit I haven't kicked since forever.

Ten minutes later, I'm still standing in the same spot, trying not to cry when I hear a knock behind me.

"Aria?" It's Jason's voice.

What does he want? I don't answer fast enough before he asks again. "You okay in there?"

Like he cares. Why wait until it's past ten minutes before coming to check up on me? Anyway, it's not like he's obligated to help me anyway.

Time to bury my shame and just ask for some help. "I could use some help." I squeak.

There's a pause and I'm starting to regret asking. Then I hear him laugh. "There's a bag outside the door... if you need it."

A bag? I wait until I hear his footsteps retreat before I open the door and snatch the bag. Inside is Pads, a fresh pack of panties and a huge jersey with 'JASON #17' on the back.

Oh. My. God. I don't want to think about how or why he has these things.

I just change, wash my jeans in the sink and hang them over the rail.

After wiping myself down and putting on the shirt, it falls to my knees like a dress.

"Aria Bennett," I whisper to my reflection. "You can survive this." With a deep breath, I walk out. Aiden is gone, thank God.

But Jason sits on the edge of a couch in front of a desk, his elbows on his knees. His eyes lift and land on me. Then slowly drops, taking in the jersey and my legs and my exposed knees. I tug at the hem, suddenly wishing the shirt went to my ankles.

Jason stands. Why does he have to stand? "I... are you..." He scratches the back of his neck. "Okay?"

"Yeah," I say in a small voice. "I'm fine."

I think about asking him about the bag, pads and panties. But I decide against it. It's a good thing he isn't bringing it up, I don't have to just remind him.

So, I just let it down quietly, pretending I didn't just live through the most humiliating fifteen minutes of my life.

"So, did you do the tests?" I say, looking everywhere but at Jason. It doesn't help that he's staring at me and even though he isn't laughing or smirking, I can feel the amusement behind his stare.

I feel mocked.

"Your period usually decides to embarrass you every time, sunshine?" I hear him ask.

What?

I thought we'd gone past the period saga?

"Can we focus on this..." I point at the book on the desk. "Instead of my period?"

Jason raises a brow. "But I want to talk about your period?"

I fight the urge to glare at him.

"Do you get heavy flows? Or light ones. I once read somewhere that know-it-all girls get heavy flows as punishment for the damn stick in their ass."

I'm trying not to run mad at this point. I squint my eyes at Jason, unsure of a reply befitting his research.

Why is he so rude? No... Why is he one person this second and an utterly different person the next second?

The guy who helped me out minutes ago couldn't be this... annoying freak, could he?

I look inside my bag and bring out my watch and I set the time for three hours.

Yeah. That's how much time I'll spend with him. If he decides to waste the time by stalling me and trying to work me up, it's his own damn problem.

"So, how about the tests? Did you... finish them?"

"I tried." He says lazily before dumping the file on the desk.

Good thing he tried. At least today will be half productive. I'll get to know how bad he is at his school work and then I'll...

You've got to be kidding me.

The first page is blank. I flip through the next page, and the next, and the next and a permanent scowl creeps up to my cheeks. I look up at Jason.

"You... you tried?" The words leave my mouth, making it bitter.

Jason's shrug only infuriates me more. I slam the tests on the desk. "You didn't even try. Everything's empty..." I wave the papers in front of his face. "What is wrong with you?"

Jesus Christ, help me with this. Who is this boy? The one his mum claimed was reserved and didn't eat or talk. Could've fooled me.

"Look, I'm gonna get paid to do this." I start, " And if I can't fix you then..."

"You can't fix me. I am not a malfunctioned robot."

I lift my chin upwards, matching his glare. "I'm not doing this with you," I say, and I take my bag and start packing my things. To my surprise, Jason doesn't stop me. He just folds his arms and watches.

"See? Being the principal's daughter doesn't make you special after all."

I raise my brow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that... you are just like the others. The other girls who want me but can never have a piece. And you're intolerant, impatient and..."

That's it. I am so done with him. I slung my bag over my shoulder and walk to the door. By the time I'm down the stairs, and halfway out the door, I stop.

Crap.

My jeans.

I stand and stare down at Jason's jersey swaying down my knees, and silently curse myself. I can't walk out like this. Not in the freezing snow. Not through this town. Not back to my home where my mom will 100% ask too many questions.

I have to go and get my jeans.

I groan and spin on my heel. I'll just go back, head straight for the bathroom and not even look at him.

"Forgot something?" He asks when he sees me enter.

"Just my jeans," I reply.

"Oh right. The bloody jeans." He smirks.

I stop walking. "Jason..." I warn even though my voice is shaky.

He tilts his head. "Relax, sunshine. It's just... You looked so cute running off in my jersey. You know... You were totally killing the walk of shame vibe, although without the fun part of it."

I exhale. "Haha, very funny," I say dryly.

"And could you please come with your bad influence next time? The girl with the pink hair? She's a whole lot more fun than you could ever try to be." He grins.

It shouldn't hurt. Because I've heard that comment every fifteen years that Lily and I have been best friends. Hell, I don't expect the tightness in my chest that comes with Jason's stupid remark. But it's there. As I grab my damp jeans, I picture it.

I picture Lily in my situation. She'd have it under control. And here I am, acting like a coward. A damn coward. Tears prick my eyes as I bolt out of Jason's room.

And his stupid perfect house.