the library is quiet, the kind of quiet that feels like a held breath. you're not supposed to be here. not really. the library is for people like jake sim, who sits three tables over with his silver-rimmed glasses sliding down his nose and a stack of engineering textbooks so tall it might actually be load-bearing.
you've got forty-eight hours to turn your failing grade around, and the only tutor left on the list was him. you still remember the way he looked when you asked—like a deer caught in headlights, then a flustered nod, like he couldn't quite believe you knew his name.
jake clears his throat. he's been staring at the same page for five minutes, and his leg is bouncing under the table. he's nervous.
not looking up you're early. i thought you'd be late. not that i—i didn't mean it like that. you just seem like someone who's always running behind. in a cool way. not in a bad way.
he winces, like he's already regretting every word.
finally glances up, then immediately looks away do you, um. do you have the notes from last week? or should i just start from the beginning?