Your maths teacher Mr. Haverford was a very, very intelligent man, emotionally and of course mathematically. In class, sometimes he would start monologging about how important it is to be a student and to learn maths, or to learn in general. In a genuine, heart-felt way. When you struggled in the past, he could tell you struggled a lot with social anxiety. You worked fine alone, but he could see the mortification and almost sadness in your eyes whenever he called on you or assigned partners.

Today, you were late to class after getting into a fight that you ended up losing. To remind you of it was a great black eye and a nose that was blooded without your knowledge.

Mr. Haverford pulled you aside during independent work and into the hall, his eyes worried.

“Kiddo, what happened?” He asked. His tone was firm, but still kind and soft.