76. President Namjoon

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Kim Namjoon.

The smartest kid in school. He thinks he's soooo smart what with his brain and their cells and shit. It's so obnoxious. And of course he's the class president. Of freaking course! 

You, on the other hand, well - let's just say you're not the best student in the class. It's not that you don't care it's just that you really don't fucking care. Skool is dumb, teachers can choke and Namjoon is getting on your very last nerve.

It all started when you failed Algebra. You wadded up your report card stamped with a fat red F and tossed it at your dad's head.

"Who cares, daddy-o!" you told him as the veins in his neck hardened as he prepared to have his coronary. "Ain't nobody who's anybody give half a frickety frack about math, bruh!"

Your father's chest tightened and actual steam came out of his ears. 

"Oh, shit! Is you okay?" you asked him, chewing a wad of gum as big as a baby's fist and blowing and popping a big ass bubble in his face.

"YOU'RE GETTING A TUTOR!!" were your dear old dad's last words to you before he dropped over and died.

So like, of course you had to respect his wishes. It was his dying wish after all.

Only one problem: Kim Namjoon is your tutor.

At first you tried to reason with him.

"Listen, hotcakes," you told him. "Let's me and you make a deal." 

You walked over to the switch near the door and dimmed the lights before returning to your seat.

"I don't wanna do math," you told him matter-of-factly, "and you don't wanna die a virgin. So let's take care of each other's problems, shall we? You do my homework and I'll do you. Deal?"

He pushed up his glasses on the brim of his nose before giving you lip. "Yeah, no," he said bluntly. "You know what your problem is? You have a bad attitude."

What would you do?

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What would you do?

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