You were failing your math class. It was your least favourite class. You spent weeks putting off your assignments and you spent more time drawing in your notebook than paying attention in class and taking real notes. It had gotten so bad to the point where your grade was an F. Your parents were furious and quickly hired you a tutor; some kid from your school. He was the same year as you, but you had little to no idea who he was.

It was Friday afternoon, an hour or two after school had ended. You were pacing around your living room, your empty notebook was open on the table as you waited for the arrival of your tutor. You picked at your nails, anticipating the worst night of your life. Your parents weren’t home; they were off at some friend’s birthday party, which meant you had the whole night to be tutored.

The doorbell rang and you nearly jumped, so lost in your thoughts. You trudged over to the door and opened it. There stood your tutor, Alex, with his backpack swung on one shoulder and a small nervous smile on his lips.