Four Of A Kind

Chapter 45: [2.18] The Moral of the Story is a Guillotine

“Here.”

She crossed her arms. Glared at me. “The library is too quiet. It makes my brain hurt.”

That’s not how brains work, but okay.

I settled back into the chair. Placed the calculus textbook on the small table between us.

Cassidy stared at it like I’d set a live grenade in front of her.

“I hate math.”

“Most people do.”

“No, I REALLY hate math.” She pulled her knees up to her chest. Made herself smaller. “The numbers don’t make sense. They just sit there on the page and look at me.”

“Look at you.”

“Yes. Judgmentally.”

Interesting.

I’d read her file. Dr. Reyes had included a note about suspected learning difficulties that had never been formally diagnosed. Camille Valentine had apparently refused testing. Something about Valentines not having disabilities.

Rich people solutions to real problems.

“Okay.” I set aside the calculus book. “Let’s start with something else.”

“Like what?”

“What subject do you hate the least?”

She blinked. The question seemed to catch her off guard.

“I don’t know. History, maybe? Mr. Klein tells good stories.”

“History it is.”

I pulled out the world history textbook. Found the Chapter they were currently covering. The French Revolution.

“Do you know anything about the French Revolution?”

“People got their heads cut off.”

“That’s technically correct.”

“See? I’m a genius.”

“You’re something, alright.”

She threw another pillow at me. I caught it this time.

“Okay.” I opened the book to the relevant Chapter. “The French Revolution wasn’t just about heads getting cut off. It was about power. About who has it and who wants it.”

“Boring.”

“Is it?” I leaned forward. “Picture this. You’re a peasant in France. 1789. You’re starving. Your family is starving. Meanwhile, the queen is throwing parties at Versailles and eating cake.”

“She didn’t actually say ’let them eat cake.’ That’s a myth.”

I paused.

Cassidy’s cheeks flushed pink. She looked away.

“I saw it on YouTube.”

“You watched a history video on YouTube.”

“It was in my recommended. I didn’t CHOOSE to watch it.”

Interesting.

“So you know it’s a myth. What else do you know?”

“Nothing.”

“Cassidy.”

“I said nothing!”

“You just proved you know at least one thing about the French Revolution that most people get wrong.”

She glared at me. Her purple eyes were bright with frustration.

“That doesn’t count.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s just random trivia! It’s not REAL knowledge!”

“Who told you that?”

The question stopped her cold. Her expression flickered. Something raw passed behind her eyes before she could hide it.

“Everyone.” Her voice was quieter now.

Seven tutors.

Seven people who looked at Cassidy Valentine and saw a problem to be fixed.

No wonder she burned through all of them.

“Here’s the thing.” I set the textbook aside. “I don’t care about your grades.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because your grades affect my employment. But YOUR grades aren’t MY grades. I’m not here to fix you. I’m here to help you understand things you already know.”

“I don’t know anything.”

“You just corrected me about Marie Antoinette. That means you’re curious enough to watch random history videos in your free time. That means you’re smart enough to retain what you learn when you actually care about the subject.”

She stared at me.

I stared back.

The clock in the corner ticked. The gods on the library ceiling continued their eternal lounging.

“That’s stupid.”

“Is it?”

“Yes. You’re stupid.”

“Probably.”

“Stop agreeing with me!”

“Stop being right about things.”

Her mouth opened. Closed. She looked like she wanted to throw something else at me but had run out of pillows.

“I hate you.”

“Noted.”

“I’m going to make your life miserable.”

“You’ve already started.”

“Good.”

She grabbed the history textbook. Flipped it open to a random page. Scowled at the contents like they’d personally offended her.

“Fine. FINE. Explain the stupid Revolution to me. But if you start talking to me like I’m five years old, I’m shoving this book somewhere uncomfortable.”

Progress.

“Deal.”

I pulled my chair closer to the table. Started with the context. The debt from helping America in their revolution. The famine. The disconnect between the aristocracy and the common people. I told it like a story instead of a textbook. Names became characters. Dates became plot points.

Cassidy listened.

She didn’t take notes. She didn’t ask questions. But she listened. Her expression shifted from hostile to reluctantly interested. Her posture relaxed by degrees.

Twenty minutes in, she interrupted me.

“Wait. So the king was basically broke because he kept spending money on wars and parties?”

“Essentially, yes.”

“And the regular people were starving because all the money went to the rich people?”

“Correct.”

“That’s so stupid.” She sat up straighter. “Why didn’t anyone stop him earlier?”

“Because the system protected him. Until it didn’t.”

“Until they cut his head off.”

“Eventually, yes.”

She was quiet for a moment. Processing.

“So the moral of the story is don’t be a terrible rich person or peasants will murder you?”

“That’s one interpretation.”

“Cool.” She looked down at the textbook. Then back at me. “What happened after they cut his head off?”

She’s asking questions.

Cassidy Valentine, who allegedly burned through seven tutors, is asking follow-up questions about the French Revolution.

“You want to keep going?”

“I mean.” She looked away. Her cheeks were pink again. “We might as well. Since you’re already here. Being annoying.”

“Sure.”

“This doesn’t mean I like studying.”

“Understood.”

“Or that I like you.”

“Obviously.”

“Stop smiling.”

“I’m not smiling.”

“Your face is doing something suspicious.”

I schooled my expression into neutrality.

Cassidy glared at me for another three seconds. Then she grabbed the textbook and shoved it toward me.

“Fine. Keep talking. Tell me about the head-cutting part.”

Seven tutors failed.

But seven tutors probably didn’t realize that Cassidy Valentine isn’t stupid.

She’s bored. She’s scared. She’s been told her whole life that she’s the dumb one.

And nobody bothered to tell her otherwise.

I opened the book to the Chapter on the Reign of Terror.