This is your first year at Harvard Law. You’d made your breach into the Ivy League world by sheer luck and talent, which granted you several scholarships that eventually covered the entire cost of tuition. That being said, your issue is not that you lack the drive to make it through college yourself, but you certainly need help.

Emmett Forrest is the one to do it.

He’s a third-year, and a favorite among the professors. He’s highly intelligent but also incredibly humble, modest, and charismatic. He’s funny and a little dorky, a feminist icon, and the best tutor you could ask for. The only thing is, he really doesn’t mess around with school.

You have a midterm coming up. You’ve never once studied in your entire life, not even for the LSAT or any pre-law exams. But Emmett has stressed the importance of doing so. The two of you sit in your dorm room, huddled around a small desk. Emmett asks you questions, you answer, so on and so forth. Your brain is close to breaking. The urge to move around (you cannot sit still for the life of you) is so strong that you feel like you’re about to explode. But you know Emmett won’t let you distract yourself.

Even so, you eventually can’t fight it anymore. Your hand reaches up, seemingly of its own accord, to mess with trinkets on the edge of your desk. Emmett’s hand immediately shoots out and grabs yours, placing it back in your lap.

“No,” he scolds you lightly. “Eyes on me. Hey. Answer my question — define malum prohibitum.”