Six

Reya

The study room in the campus library was so quiet it felt oppressive like it was daring me to step out of line. I pushed open the door, my calculus book tucked under my arm and immediately spotted Zora sitting at the far end of the table. Her shoulders were stiff with purpose, her head bent as she scribbled furiously in a notebook. Her precision was borderline military—pencils aligned, highlighters color-coded, and even her coffee cup was set just so.

"Glad you could finally make it," she said without looking up.

I checked the clock on the wall. "It's literally five minutes past. Calm down."

"Actually, it's twelve minutes past. Not surprising, though," she replied, setting her pen down and fixing me with a pointed stare. "You don't strike me as the punctual type."

I rolled my eyes and dropped into the chair across from her. "Wow, we're not even ten seconds in, and you're already judging me. This is going to be fun."

"I'm not judging you," she said, crossing her arms. "I'm just acknowledging facts. Like the fact that if you don't pass this class, you're off the ice. And based on your test grade, you're not exactly skating by."

Her words landed a little too close to home, but I wasn't about to let her see that. "Thanks for the motivational speech, Coach." I leaned back, balancing on the back two legs of the chair. "Now, are we going to do this, or do you just want to keep lecturing me?"

Zora narrowed her eyes, clearly unimpressed by my casual act. "We're starting with derivatives. Based on the test, you barely grasp the basics." She opened her notebook and flipped to a page filled with formulas and neatly written explanations. "Here's a refresher."

I glanced at the page and immediately felt my brain lock up. "This looks like hieroglyphics."

"It's calculus," she said dryly. "And if you actually paid attention in class, it wouldn't look so foreign."

"Oh, so this is my fault?"

She arched an eyebrow. "Who else's fault would it be? The professors?"

I smirked. "Maybe. He's not exactly engaging."

Zora leaned forward, her gaze like a laser. "You don't get to blame other people for your own laziness. You're not struggling because the professor's boring, you're struggling because you're too busy acting like this doesn't matter."

Her words hit a nerve, and I felt the usual instinct to push back flare up. "Maybe I don't care about calculus because it's not what I'm here for," I shot back. "I'm here to play hockey, not solve equations."

"Well, guess what, Reya?" she said, her tone sharp as a blade. "You can't play hockey if you're failing. So, unless you want to watch the second game from the bench while I take your spot again, I suggest you start caring."

That one stung, but I wasn't about to let her see that, either. Instead, I leaned forward, matching her intensity. "You'd love that, wouldn't you? Taking my spot on the ice."

"I'd love for you to stop wasting my time," she fired back.

For a moment, the room felt charged, our words hanging in the air like static before a storm. Then, Zora straightened and pointed to the paper in front of me. "Let's try this. What's the derivative of 4x³?"

"Uh..." I stared at the problem, the numbers and letters blurring together. "Twelve?"

"Twelve what?"

"Twelve... something."

Zora let out a sigh that practically shook the walls. "Twelve x squared. You drop the exponent by one and multiply it by the coefficient. It's basic power rule."

"Okay, Miss Smarty Pants," I said, tapping my pencil against the table. "Why don't you show me another one?"

"Gladly," she said, scribbling another problem onto the paper. "Try this: derivative of 7x² + 3x - 5."

I picked up my pencil and started to work through it, but my mind wandered almost immediately. The hum of the fluorescent light, the faint shuffle of footsteps outside the room, and Zora's stupidly perfect posture—it was all so distracting.

"You're staring off into space again," she said, her voice cutting through my thoughts. "Focus, Reya."

"I am focused," I lied, my gaze snapping back to the page.

"No, you're not. You're doodling," she said, gesturing to the corner of the page where I'd absentmindedly started sketching a hockey stick.

"Artistic expression is important," I said with a smirk.

"Not when you're failing calculus, it's not," she shot back. "Seriously, how have you gotten this far without learning how to prioritize?"

"Natural talent," I replied, giving her a wink.

She rolled her eyes so hard I was surprised they didn't pop out of her head. "Natural talent doesn't help you in math."

I leaned forward, resting my chin in my hand. "Maybe you could make it more interesting for me."

Her cheeks flushed faintly, but she recovered quickly. "This isn't supposed to be interesting. It's supposed to be productive. Now stop trying to distract me and actually solve the problem."

I sighed dramatically but picked up my pencil again. This time, I tried—really tried—and after a few minutes, I managed to piece together something resembling the correct answer.

"There," I said, sliding the paper toward her. "Happy?"

She studied my work for a moment before nodding. "Better. You're getting it."

"Of course I am," I said, leaning back with a grin. "I'm a quick learner."

Zora snorted. "Could've fooled me."

I laughed, the sound surprising even me. For a moment, the tension between us seemed to ease, and I realized that, despite her bossy attitude, Zora wasn't so bad. Annoying, sure, but in a way that made me want to keep pushing her buttons just to see how she'd react.

"All right," she said, packing up her notebook. "Same time Friday. Don't be late."

"You just love bossing me around, don't you?"

"Someone has to," she said, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

I watched her leave, a smirk tugging at my lips. Maybe this tutoring thing wouldn't be so bad after all.

I packed up my stuff after Zora left, I couldn't help but replay the tutoring session in my head. She was bossy, sure, but there was something about her fiery personality that made the whole thing more... interesting. Maybe it was the way she refused to let me slack off, or maybe it was just the satisfaction of knowing I could get under her skin so easily. And if she wasn't so annoying, I might've actually been impressed by how well she explained things.

But impressed wasn't the right word.

 Intrigued?

 No. 

Curious?

 No. 

She was just my tutor, and that was that.

By the time I made it to the rink for practice, Genevieve was already there, sitting on the bench lacing up her skates. She looked up as I approached, her eyebrows lifting.

"You're early," she said, tilting her head. "What, did Coach promise you extra ice time if you stopped being late?"

"Funny," I shot back, sitting beside her. "I just finished tutoring with Zora."

Genevieve's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Oh, now this I have to hear. How was it?"

"Fine," I said with a shrug, pulling my skates out of my bag.

Genevieve smirked. "That's not an answer. Spill."

"She's bossy," I said, lacing up one skate. "And she takes this whole calculus thing way too seriously. Kept barking at me to 'focus' and 'try harder,' like I'm some delinquent who's never picked up a pencil before."

Genevieve snorted. "To be fair, you are failing calculus."

"Yeah, yeah," I muttered, tying the other skate. "But seriously, she's exhausting. I don't get how someone can be so uptight about math."

Genevieve leaned back, a teasing grin spreading across her face. "Sounds like she's gotten under your skin."

"She hasn't," I said quickly, standing up to avoid her gaze. "She's just annoying."

"Uh-huh," Genevieve said, her grin widening. "Annoying enough that you're talking about her, huh? You sure you don't like her?"

I shot her a sharp look. "Are you kidding? No. She's bossy, arrogant, and impossible to deal with."

"Sounds like someone I know," Genevieve quipped, laughing when I glared at her.

"Not funny," I said flatly.

"Oh, it's a little funny," she replied, crossing her arms. "You're spending all this time with her now. Don't come crying to me when you end up falling for the girl who's making you do math homework."

I rolled my eyes so hard it almost hurt. "Genevieve, I don't like Zora. I just need to pass calculus so I can keep playing."

"Sure, sure," she said with a wink. "But I'll be keeping an eye on this situation. Just in case."

"You're insufferable," I muttered, grabbing my stick and heading toward the ice.

Genevieve followed, still laughing. "Oh, you love me. Just admit it."

"Not happening," I called over my shoulder.

As I stepped onto the ice, I shoved the entire conversation out of my head. Whatever Genevieve thought, I wasn't about to start crushing on Zora. She was just my tutor—a stubborn, infuriating tutor who I had to tolerate to get through the semester.

Nothing more. Absolutely nothing more.