Terry, The Eagle High Biology Tutor Tiny Terry chapter 3 by KoroKoroAi

Terry’s mind clicked into place with a familiar, sinking feeling. Right. It was Tuesday. He didn’t have to leave yet; he worked after school, as a tutor at Eagle High, the same school Kayla and Hazel attended. It was part of the school’s “Big Sister/Big Brother” outreach program, a fancy name for getting the few tiny college students in the district to help struggling normal-sized high schoolers, for pennies. His job didn’t start until 3:30 PM, when the final bell rang. (Of course, all his students were 18.)

He looked up from the syrupy mess on his tiny plate. Hazel was watching him, her chin resting on her hands, a dreamy look in her eyes. Kayla was shoveling the last of her pancakes into her mouth with brutal efficiency. Mom was scrolling through her phone, checking her socials.

“I, uh, I don’t have to leave yet,” Terry announced, his voice a tiny peep against the clatter of dishes.

Jenna looked up, her expression instantly morphing into one of maternal concern. “Oh, sweetie! You must have been so confused. Don’t you worry, Mommy will keep you company until then.” She reached over and booped his nose with a syrup-sticky fingertip, leaving a fragrant, sugary smear. Terry grimaced, wiping at it futilely. He should have slept in.

“We have to go,” Kayla announced, standing up. Her chair scraped back with a sound like thunder. “Bus’ll be here in five.”

Hazel pouted, her lower lip jutting out. “Aww, but I wanna play with Terry before school! We could have a tea party! I got a new mini-cup set!”

“No time,” Kayla said flatly, already heading for the door to grab her backpack.

Hazel sighed, the sound a dramatic gust of wind to Terry. She leaned down, bringing her face terrifyingly close. Her breath smelled of mint toothpaste and syrup. “Bye-bye, Terry-Berry. Be a good boy for Momma.” She puckered her lips and made a loud, airy mwah sound. Then, with a speed that made him flinch, she gently (by her standards) patted his head. The impact drove his knees into the sticky tabletop. “Love you!”

“Bye, Hazel,” he squeaked.

Kayla paused by the door. She didn’t lean down. She just glanced over, her dark-rimmed eyes unreadable. “Try not to get stepped on,” she said, her voice devoid of any identifiable emotion, and then she was gone. Hazel skipped after her, waving over her shoulder.

The door slammed shut. The house fell into a sudden quiet, punctuated by the hum of the refrigerator and the soft tap-tap-tap of Jenna’s nails on her phone screen.

“Well!” Jenna said, putting her phone down with a clatter that shook him. “It’s just you and me, little man, until this afternoon.” She smiled, a wide, affectionate smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, which were already drifting back to her screen. “What should we do, hmm? Ooh, my new lip gloss collab just dropped. Wanna see the swatches?”

He had no choice at all. For the next several hours, Terry existed in a state of suspended, perfumed animation. Jenna carried him to the living room couch, setting him down on a cushion that sank beneath him like a memory foam marshmallow, and sat next to it. She turned on the giant flat-screen TV, the colors and sounds a blinding, booming onslaught. She flicked through channels: talk shows, makeup tutorials, a true crime documentary about a woman who’d “accidentally” vacuumed up her tiny husband. Jenna tsked at that one. “So careless! I always check the floor for you before I start.”

Terry just sat there, a speck on the vast landscape of the floral-print cushion. Sometimes Jenna remembered he was there. She’d pick him up and hold him against the colossal, soft curve of her breast as she typed comments on her phone, the steady, deep thump of her heartbeat shaking through his entire body. to squirm, to find a position that wasn’t so… intimate, but her fingers, curled gently around him, were an inescapable cage.

“You’re so fidgety today,” she murmured absently, not looking away from her phone. She shifted him, pressing him more firmly into the soft, yielding swell. The thin, silky fabric of her top did nothing to hide the heat and weight of her. Terry squeezed his eyes shut, a familiar, humiliating warmth pooling in his gut. To her, he was just a cute, living stress ball.

Later on, she set him on her thigh while she painted her toenails a shimmering coral. For Terry, her thigh was a canyon of smooth, tanned skin. He clung to the fabric of her yoga pants as her other foot, a massive, elegant structure, rested mere inches from him, each toenail gleaming.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of scented captivity, Jenna stretched, her arms rising to the ceiling. The movement made the couch groan and Terry falter. “Okay, my love! 3 PM! Time to get the girls!” She scooped him up again. “And drop you off for your little job. My hard-working little man.”

She didn’t put him in her purse, which he was grateful for. Instead, she simply curled her fingers around him, a living locket, and carried him out to the car, where she dropped him into the front passenger seat. She knew to be careful about where she put him. The journey was, as usual, a lesson in patience. The radio blared pop music, Jenna singing along off-key, as he tried not to let the vibrations and shakes of the car tumble him into the crevices in the seat.

Finally, Eagle High School. “Here we are, sweetie,” she said, laying her open palm next to him. Terry stood unsteadily on it, as she joined the line of other parents waiting for pickup.

He saw Hazel first, a burst of pink and bouncing brown hair, waving frantically. Kayla trailed behind her, a slouching shadow. They reached the car.

“Hi, Mommy! Hi, Terry!” Hazel chirped, leaning into the passenger window. Her face filled the entire opening. “Ready for your first student?”

“I guess,” Terry said.

“He’s so brave,” Jenna cooed. She turned to Hazel. “You two wait here for a few minutes, as usual, okay? I’m just gonna run Terry to his classroom, then we can go home.” She left the car as Kayla and Hazel sat in the backseat, leaving the engine running.

Still holding you in her palm, Jenna walked around to a side entrance, used her “Volunteer Parent” badge to get in, and strode through the emptying, echoing halls. Her heels clicked a decisive rhythm on the linoleum. Terry, held loosely in her hand, watched lockers and doorways the size of towers slide past.

Finally, she stopped at Room 214. The door was slightly ajar. She pushed it open.

The classroom was empty, clean, and smelled like whiteboard markers. Afternoon sunlight slanted through the blinds, painting bars of gold across the rows of desks. Jenna walked to the front of the room, to the teacher’s large, heavy wooden desk.

“Here we are,” she said, her voice softening into that maternally nostalgic tone Terry dreaded. “My little scholar.” She bent down, bringing her face close. Her eyes were dewy. “It feels like just yesterday you were playing with blocks on the living room floor. And now you’re tutoring! I’m so proud.”

She placed him gently on the center of the teacher’s desk. The surface was vast, empty except for a wire inbox, a cup of pens, and a framed picture of a cat in a graduation gown and cap. To Terry, it was like being set down on an aircraft carrier’s flight deck.

“Now, you be good,” Jenna instructed, straightening up. She loomed over him, a goddess in a brand-name tracksuit. “Show them how smart my little boy is.” She leaned down one more time, her lips pursing.

Terry braced himself, but she didn’t kiss him. Instead, she brought her index finger to her own lips, kissed the tip, and then gently, softly, pressed that moist, peach-glossed fingertip against his entire front, from head to toe. It was like being stamped with a warm, sticky seal of ownership. He was left glistening.

“Bye, bye, baby. Mommy will pick you up at five!” And with a swish of her hair and a click of heels, she was gone. The classroom door sighed shut behind her.

Silence.

Terry stood alone on the endless plain of the desk. The clock on the wall ticked, the only sound except for the occasional students passing the door, on their way out of school.

3:38... 3:45… 3:50.

The door handle rattled.

Terry’s tiny heart stuttered in his chest. He turned, wiping futilely at the sweat on his brow.

The door swung open.

Who stepped in?