Together.

Chapter One

"So..." Your teacher starts, his glasses sitting on the edge of his nose; his hands rifling through papers of a folder that seems to have been taped up at the binding to keep it from splitting right through. "You requested extra credit, is that right?" How could anyone acquire a folder that... size?

You nod your head slowly, but continue to stare at the bulging folder of however many detentions, changed schools or broken rules that could be filled with. Impossible, you think to yourself. Mr Francis takes a sip from his coffee, pulls out a single sheet of paper, and places it on top of the desk in front of him. You look around his office, crammed with books mostly of education, a few photos of his family, drawings from little kids, and few knick-knacks here and there. And the smell of dust and coffee, almost budding onto an old people smell, fills your nostrils. You know he isn't that old but you do spot a few greying hairs on his head.

His eyes avert to another piece of paper lying next to it, "I see you have tutored before..." He starts, pushing the glasses up the bridge of his nose. He has a kind of tiredness to his voice, like an extension – it's there but he could choose to get rid of it if he wanted to. "But you stopped quite abruptly with this student, how come?"

You clear your throat a little before talking, "The student was... he was troubled. And I'm putting that lightly."

Mr Francis nods his head, "You do know that most kids who need tutoring are troubled in some way?"

You laugh, not loudly, just lightly; it sort of floats from your mouth and hangs in the air inappropriately. "Everyone is troubled, Mr Francis. Tutoring that student, however, put me in danger and at risk, I was pulled from it without question. I had no choice."

Mr Francis looks up at you for a moment, neither amusement or understanding reflecting back in his eyes. "Galileo."

You frown, "Excuse me?"

Mr Francis sighs, and removes the glasses from his nose. "Galileo, he is in the grade above you. A senior."

You look from Mr Francis to the overflowing folder, "You mean... Gally, right? On the football team?"

His eyes narrow, and you suddenly find yourself feeling a little bit uncomfortable under his glare. "Yes, Gally. Whatever his name is nowadays." He takes another sip from his coffee, the smell beginning to overwhelm you. Not that you do not like coffee, in fact, you live off of it most days. But you can smell instant coffee at the drop of the hat, and on the worst days it can make you feel so much as nausea. "You will be tutoring Gally, starting after school today."

"Already?" You dare to question, and as your sentence of defiance leaves your lips you already regret speaking. "I mean, I'm just not quite sure if I'm prepared yet. Sometimes I like to bring materials with me to the session that I think might help—

"You will be starting the first session after your classes today, Miss Y/L/N, this is his address," he slides you a smaller piece of paper with an address scribbled onto it, barely readable, and a phone number underneath. "The phone number is a direct number to my office, in case you have any problems." He sits back into his chair, and it creaks with age. "Any questions, Y/N?"

"Well... yeah, actually. Do you really think it's a good idea for me to tutor Gally?"

He only looks back at you, confused and irritated from the assumption that you have some sort of bad attitude to his proposal.

"I don't think a Senior would want a Junior to tutor him... How is that even possible anyway?"

Mr Francis sighs, "Look, all I know is he needs the help and you're willing to do it. Yes, he is in the grade above you but you are smart enough to handle that. And if he doesn't agree with you then that is his own problem, we are providing him the help; he just needs to take it." He takes this moment now to cough a, unfortunately, phlegmy kind of cough which leads into an almost fit. After he finishes, he takes another sip from his coffee, "No more questions?"