"Hey, that looks really good, I'm starving." She pointed to the puffs of pastry, her finger touching the frosting. "Oops." She licked her finger, and she gave him an appreciative look. "Mmm, that's yummy."

"Would you like some?" he asked a little wryly.

"Sure!"

When he sat at the table with their tea, watching with a small smile as she licked her fingers, he remarked, "Well I hope your enthusiasm for geometry is as fervent as your enthusiasm for Danish pastries."

"Highly unlikely," Cat replied moodily, mouth full. "But I guess we have to get to it, huh?"

"Well, I do have another student at five." He glanced at his watch. "Let's see how much we can do over frosting, hm?"

Cat reluctantly finished the last of her sweetness, downed the rest of her cup of tea, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She glanced over at him looking at her, his mouth fixed in a funny little smile, and was struck again by his eyes, how they seemed to miss nothing. She felt suddenly self conscious and tucked her short brown curls nervously behind her ears and cleared her throat.

"Geometry?" she asked.

"Yes," he affirmed. "Let's see your book, and we'll start there."

And so that's how the torture began every day, with a little sweetness, washed down with a warm dose of tea, following by an excruciating hour of math-induced hell. Cat threw books across the room, tore papers in half, swore-

although she always apologized to him, somehow it didn't feel right to swear in front of someone who was British-and slammed her fists on his kitchen table.

She knew he was being patient with her-really his patience was beyond human comprehension-but his sighs, his attempts to show her yet again, a different way this time, something new, somehow it just never sank in. She was a senior in high school, and yet she couldn't seem to grasp middle school geometry concepts.