She greets me as I arrive. Cordial. Practiced. Yet sincere.
The table is clean and uncluttered. Just her textbook. Her notebook. Five freshly sharpened pencils.
I ask her what's new. She tells me about a book she's reading.
She likes to read more than she likes to do math. But I'm here, so we will do math.
We'll play a game first. She knows this. She likes this.
I shuffle the cards and deal. The game begins.
She wins. And smiles. I tell her she's faster than she was last time.
Open the book. I remind her that algebra can be fun. She's starting to believe me?
She's Wolfgang's age. Academically, she's younger than Meego.
It makes me sad to think how lonely she was in school.
It makes me happy knowing her parents took her out.
It makes me sad that these concepts are such a struggle for her.
It makes me happy when she answers correctly and smiles.
It makes me sad that she needs a private tutor.
It makes me happy that her tutor