Math - easily the worst subject under the sun. I sucked at it, just like about half of the general populace.
I decided to do something about it after I flunked yet another test in college. The only reason I took it was because it was a passport to the studies I needed to take. But that's neither here nor there.
I had this gentle crush on a boy in my math class called Thomas. He was, like me, Indian, although he, again like me, spent much of his life here in the States. He was also, like me, a sophomore.
After class, I hurried to catch up with him. Here was an opportunity to see how things would turn out.
"Hi, Tom," I said, my breath slightly hitching as it always annoyingly did when I was near him. Gentle crush, my ass.
"Oh, Amiya! Hi!" he was clearly flustered too. Apparently not many girls approached him - he was the typical nerd.
"Listen, Tom, I'm having a real hard time with Math," I said, tugging at my hair. "Can you, um, give me some, you know, help, after class?"
Neither of us were in dorms, luckily. I stayed at a guest house nearby, and he lived with relations.
"Um, sure, I guess I could," he said, running a hand awkwardly through his hair and adjusting his glasses. "Should I, uh, drop by?"
"Yes," I said, a little too quickly. I gave him my address. "Four pm, tomorrow."
The next day was a Saturday. I spent the whole morning in a fluster. I tried to tidy up the place, shoving discarded clothes into drawers, tossing books helter-skelter into cupboards, cleaning up dishes, and Hoovering up months of dust bunnies.
I hurried over to the mirror.
I'm not the typical hottie. I'm fair (for an Indian, which looked more like milk mixed with coffee than the ivory skin the girls around me generally have). I wasn't very tall - no, screw that, I am SHORT. Five feet tall short.
My breasts aren't anything to write home about. My bra size is 28B, not the huge D cups my friends tote around. My butt is, as I've been told multiple times, cute; the tight sweatpants I wore accented them. I adjusted the strap of my bra through the thin material of the purple t-shirt which ended just over my belly button, exposing a thin strip of flesh. My hair hung over my back in a ponytail.
I tried a quick smile. Yes, I liked it.
Just then, the doorbell rang. I ran over, quickly patting my hair down, making sure my t-shirt was straight...
