Midterms were approaching, which meant that the classroom had transformed into a battlefield of stress, last-minute reviews, and whispered prayers to the gods of academics.
For most students, at least.
I wasn't too worried. Math, science, history—I had a decent grasp of everything. But Andrea?
Andrea was a different story.
"Rest," she whined, slumping onto her desk, her ponytail spilling over her shoulder. "I'm gonna die."
"You're not gonna die," I said, flipping through my notes.
"No, really. My grades are barely hanging on. If I fail midterms, my mom's gonna ground me forever. I'll disappear from this world."
"Then study."
"I am studying!" She pointed at the open textbook in front of her. "Look! Studying!"
I glanced at her notes. Instead of formulas and key terms, I saw doodles of cats, random song lyrics, and a very unflattering sketch of what I assumed was our history teacher.
"You're not studying," I said flatly.
Andrea groaned. "That's why I need you! You're a genius. Teach me."
I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Andrea—"
"Please? Pretty please? I'll do anything!" She clapped her hands together, giving me the most exaggerated pleading look I'd ever seen. "I'll owe you for life!"
I knew she wasn't going to stop.
"Fine," I muttered. "But no distractions."
Andrea beamed. "Yes! Rest, you're the best!"
I had a bad feeling about this.