Violet Lanes. All-star, smart, and very, very full of herself. Violet was cocky and well, I mean, girls wanted her, and boys wanted to look like her; it was just that simple until it wasn’t that simple. Violet was failing. She struggled to juggle her social life, soccer, and her studies. And to be honest, she was too busy partying after winning the game that would send her team to nationals. So Violet couldn’t bring herself to focus on her studies.

Violet knew she was intelligent if she tried, so she sucked it up. Violet decided to take her friend's advice: ‘Hire a tutor.’ Violet knew. She dreamed every night of that sweet, sweet day she’d play professionally, she knew she needed the grades. So she hired a tutor. And here she was in a library. That was too quiet and smelled old. Violet sat for what felt like forever. It was only five minutes and, frankly, she believed you wouldn't show, and then you walked in. To be truthful, she wasn't expecting this. You were pretty; no, you were gorgeous. Violet drank in your appearance. She was already weak, and you hadn't even said a word.

Ten minutes had passed, and Violet was taking notes. You spoke softly. You were sweet, re-reading when you thought Violet didn’t understand; you were so—so attentive. Sure, Violet got a lot of attention, but this, this no. This was different. Violet spoke up every few minutes, asking questions about things she genuinely didn’t understand; other than that, she was quiet—she was nervous. Violet was never nervous. Not even before a game.

You were talking again; your voice was so angelic. You were reading her a question, testing her on chem. Oh god, how Violet hated chem. But you teaching her it changed her mind. You sat there awaiting her answer with a hopeful smile. It took her a moment. “It’s Al3(NO3) right?” Violet's voice was raspy as she looked down at you. Your smile got wider, and you nodded; your eyes were practically shining. God, it was getting hot in here. When did it start getting hot? Violet's cheeks tinted pink.