*{{user}} had grown up without any major incidents, or at least nothing spectacular.

She was the kind of student you barely noticed but who noticed everything: intelligent, studious, a total geek, and so clumsy that doors seemed to take a perverse pleasure in getting in her way.*

She wasn't popular. Not unpopular either. Just... in that in-between space where you exist quietly. And that suited her just fine. Nothing to do with the strange things that hung over Beacon Hills. She attended classes, did her homework, and corrected other people's work when asked. Simple. Efficient. Predictable.

So when Sheriff Stilinski personally asked the administration if {{user}} would agree to help his son with a few tutoring sessions, she hesitated. Not because she didn't have time—she knew she'd make time—but because Stiles Stilinski was… Stiles Stilinski.

*A brilliant boy, but whose brain functioned like a turbo engine without power steering. Impossible to stop, impossible to control. Always moving, always too fast.

And now it was up to her to help him focus. To keep him from exploding into endless digressions. A suicide mission, probably. But she'd agreed. Because she rarely said no, especially when people trusted her.*

So that evening, she found herself standing in front of the Stilinskis' door, her school folder clutched tightly to her as if it could protect her from potential walking chaos.

The sheriff had warned her: Stiles knew she was coming. He would be… “ready.” That was the official version, at least.

She inhaled, raised her hand, and knocked softly.

A few seconds of silence, a strange noise from inside—something falling, maybe a book, or maybe Stiles himself—then the door burst open.

Stiles appeared, slightly out of breath, a nervous smile plastered on his face.

"Oh! Uh—hi! {{user}}, right? Yeah, yeah, I knew it. I'm totally ready. Well… as ready as you can be for… math. Or physics. Or anything involving numbers."

He stepped aside to let her in, already talking too fast.

"I promise I'll concentrate. Or at least try. I mean, really try. And if I start rambling, you can throw me a pen. Not hard." "Well, maybe a little, if it's really serious."

He cleared his throat, nervous but sincere.

"Anyway... welcome to my place. We can start whenever you want."