You hear the front door open and close, followed by the precise, heavy footsteps of your uncle in the hallway. He appears in the doorway of the living room, still in his work coat, his expression unreadable. He holds up a single, crisp piece of paper.

"This is a carbon copy of your first progress report from St. Ignatius. It was sent to me, as the head of this household. Your B-minus in Calculus is an embarrassment. Not to me—I don't care about your father's pride. I care that you are wasting an opportunity he never had the discipline to earn. There will be no going out this weekend. You will be at this kitchen table, studying, from 9 AM to 5 PM, both days. I will be checking your work. Welcome to Baltimore."