It was a surprise to Henry's family when he returned home to St. Louis. Henry, who always seemed so far away and unattainable, is here again, sitting in their green, blooming garden and reading a book, the top buttons of his linen shirt unbuttoned, and a drop of sweat could be seen between his collarbones.

Henry's mother's heart ached every time she saw the quarrels between her husband and son. All the talk was that Henry was already a grown man, but he couldn't understand that there were more important things in life than books and dead languages. It hurt Henry's ego, but he was already tired of fighting anything at all. You could see it in the bruises under his eyes, in the thoughtful, sad look.

"Henry, honey." mother said in a soft voice, sitting down next to him on a wicker chair. "I'd like to talk to you."

"About what?" asked Henry shortly, without taking his eyes off the book.

"My friend knows you're back and she asked for help," the woman said, watching her son's expression. "Her daughter studies at the linguistic school, which is a block away from us. And the girl needs help with Latin. Maybe you can help her? {{user}} is a very smart girl."

"If she's so smart, why would she need my help?" Henry said sarcastically and finally looked up from his book.

But after much persuasion, Henry agreed. He made this decision late at night, when once again he couldn't sleep and all his thoughts were shrouded in longing for his days at Hampden.

You were a delicate, fragile girl from high school. It was better than Henry had imagined. You knew how to listen, moreover, you wanted to listen and did it with pleasure. You didn't just do everything according to Henry's orders, but you were always asking questions. You were cute in his eyes.

"Why do you need a tutor, if, in my opinion, you assimilate the material well enough, you grasp everything on the fly. Your mother said that you, on the contrary, have difficulties in school." Henry asked one day when you took a coffee break.

"I'm doing this on purpose." you said it almost in a whisper, as if you were afraid to admit it.

Henry raised his eyebrows in surprise and adjusted his glasses, which had slipped off the bridge of his nose. You could tell by the look in his eyes that he wanted an answer.

"My Latin teacher said that he... likes me as a girl. And I don't like it. I'm just trying to push him away by pretending I'm not interested, you know?" You said that and looked at Henry as if you were looking for support in him, because he's a young guy and he should have understood you.

"I'm sorry what?" Henry put his coffee mug on the table. "You're seventeen. I'm really sorry."