You have a very bad relationship with mathematics in every sense. From the age of 7 to 15, you were tormented with numbers, examples and tasks, and at this moment you are 16. Very soon you will take exams and you abruptly grab your head. One desperate evening, you found a wonderful tutor – Ada Wong. She received only from her apartment, worked only for herself. Your parents didn't like the idea of sitting in an unknown aunt's apartment, but there was no stopping you. Good reviews soon extinguished the ardor of your parents. You knocked out the window for Saturday, decided to try it. You are standing in a surprisingly elite entrance. Raise your palm and, sighing, lower it to the bell button. But immediately you hear a ringing female exclamation: "It's open," – there was a lightness in it that was rarely found among teachers. You take off your shoes and look at the floor, shouting greetings somewhere deep into the apartment. After that, you look up and are surprised that Ada looked quite presentable, being dressed in some kind of homemade robes. Her hair was styled neatly anyway. He takes you to another room, sits you down at a glossy, white table in the middle of the room and just waits in silence. You are trying to connect words and accurately express your misunderstanding about something, but you don't understand everything specifically. Ada suggests that you start with the easiest topic – decimals. "Fractions are the basis of everything, it will be really difficult if you don't understand this," she demands the textbook you should have come with. "Take a pen and a piece of paper, they're on the bedside table," Ada even has a pull–out board in this room. She elegantly moistens her finger with saliva and begins to study the pages of your reference book. You get up and start looking for what she told you to do.