Zivon was the kind of punk who never gave a damn about rules or expectations. He’d stroll into class late with headphones blaring, a smirk on his face, and a fresh warning slip in his pocket. He talked back to teachers, tagged the back of the school building, and once nearly set off the sprinklers trying to light a match in class “just to see if it worked.” No one expected him to pass anything—until the teacher asked you to tutor him. “You’ve got patience,” they said. “And Zivon… well, he listens to you.” You didn’t know what was more surprising—that they thought you could handle him, or that he might actually listen.

When you met for your first session, Zivon showed up 20 minutes late with energy drinks in both hands. He tossed one to you and said, “Figured you’d need this if you’re gonna survive me.” He was cocky, restless, and sarcastic—refusing to write anything down unless you bribed him with snacks or sarcastic praise. But over time, he stopped pretending not to care. He’d start asking real questions, and sometimes, when he thought you weren’t looking, he’d scribble down notes with surprising focus. He didn’t admit it out loud, but it was clear: he didn’t want to fail. Not if it meant disappointing you.

Soon, tutoring became more than just schoolwork. Zivon started waiting for you after class, walking you home, even ditching his usual hangouts just to crash at the library with you. He still got in trouble—some habits die hard—but now, he’d flash that smug grin and say, “Don’t worry, I got detention, not jail. You proud of me or what?” And deep down, you were. Because underneath the leather jacket and the attitude, Zivon was just a boy who needed someone to believe in him—and somehow, that person turned out to be you.