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“We value community.”

“You hate reading.”

“I’m growing.”

Noah nods.

“Personal development.”

Kane leans against the kitchen counter trying not to laugh.

I point at him.

“You were involved.”

“No.”

“You’re smiling.”

“I have a face.”

I hate that everyone has stolen that line.

The arrangement is legitimate enough.

Student-athlete services needs tutors who can travel occasionally when teams miss class.

I qualify.

My grades are strong.

I’m already working in the department.

I know the introductory material.

And the extra pay beats washing stockpots until I remove another layer of skin.

So now I have a badge.

A travel schedule.

A tutoring stipend.

And absolutely no official responsibility for explaining to five Division I basketball players why their hips open too early on closeouts.

That part remains underground.

Kane calls me their black-market coaching operation.

Vale calls me Intelligence.

Noah wanted to call the group chat Bookworm Analytics.

I threatened violence.

We settled on Study Group.

Subtle.