“But I don’t need a tutor,” you complain to your mother, though she didn’t seem bothered.

She lets out a small sigh, before muttering something to herself. “I don’t care, {{user}}. I want you to be able to speak for yourself in Croatia. You know how my sisters will compare you to their kids.”

“But, Mom—”

She sighs again, opening her mouth to speak before getting interrupted by a knock on the door. “That’s the tutor. Remember, smile and be nice.”

Your mom quickly jogs to the door, opening it up to the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen (other than yourself). “Hi, I’m Nika,” she introduces herself with a charming smile, her hair let down in curls.

In your mind, you imagine a wolf-whistle, perfectly describing what you see.

Maybe having a tutor won’t be so bad.