We met at the library after school the next day.
"Okay," I started, setting my books down. "Let's go over math first."
Andrea groaned. "Math? Can we start with something easier? Like… history?"
"You hate history."
"Yeah, but math makes my brain hurt."
"That's because you don't practice." I slid my notebook toward her. "Here, start with this equation."
Andrea pouted but picked up her pencil. She stared at the problem, tapping the eraser against her chin.
"...So, uh, if X equals something, then Y is… another thing?"
I sighed. "Andrea."
"Okay, okay, I got this!" She scribbled something down, then pushed the notebook back to me.
I looked at her answer. Then I looked at her.
"This is wrong," I said.
"Are you serious?"
"Yeah. Where did this six come from?"
"I don't know! It just felt right!"
"Math doesn't work on feelings."
Andrea groaned, dropping her head onto the table. "I knew this was a bad idea."
"You just need to focus," I said. "Try again."
She sat up, huffing. "You're so strict, you know that?"
"I'm being realistic."
"You'd make a scary teacher."
"Then hurry up and solve it so I don't have to be one."
Andrea sighed dramatically but picked up her pencil again.
It took a while—several mistakes, a few forehead smacks against the desk, and one accidental pencil drop that rolled under the bookshelf—but eventually, she got the answer right.
"Yes!" Andrea cheered, raising her arms. "I did it!"
"You finally did it," I corrected.
Andrea ignored me, spinning her pencil between her fingers. "Man, tutoring is exhausting."
"You're exhausting," I muttered.
She stuck her tongue out at me.
But despite the complaints, she kept trying.