7 Tutoring
Michael finished his shift right on time, clocking out at ten in the evening. The mall was quiet now, a stark contrast to its usual bustling state. Most shops had already pulled down their shutters, and the usual crowd of shoppers had thinned out. He stretched a bit, feeling the strain of the day's work in his muscles. Checking his phone, he saw a message from Catherine Estolas.
[Is your work finished? Just tell me, and I'll book you a Grab to my place.]
When he read that, Michael's eyes widened in surprise. Her place? Is she really that desperate to finish that homework to the point she'll let a stranger inside her home?
Taking a moment to think, Michael typed a quick reply. [Yes, I just clocked out. But are you sure about inviting me over?]
Almost immediately, a response came back. [Yes, I'm sure. Don't worry. So what's your location now so I can book you a Grab? Don't worry, you won't have to pay the driver as I'll pay by card.]
Michael hesitated but eventually agreed. Within minutes, a Grab car was booked, and he was on his way to Catherine's place. The ride was quiet, and he spent most of it wondering what he was getting into. He'd never been in a situation like this before, helping a customer—especially one from a well-off family—after hours.
The car pulled up to a luxurious-looking condo in Rockwell. Michael stepped out, his head tilting back to take in the impressive sight of the Rockwell Condominiums. The buildings soared into the night sky, their edges outlined with a warm, orange glow that gave them an almost ethereal presence against the darkening cityscape.
He walked forward to the lobby where he was met with a nod from a concierge dressed in a smart uniform. As he walked through the grand reception hall, he couldn't help but be awed by the marble floors, the high ceilings, and the modern art pieces that adorned the walls. The air was perfumed with a subtle, expensive scent, and soft instrumental music played in the background, adding to the aura of exclusivity.
"Where to sir?" Asked the concierge.
"I'm supposed to meet someone here, her name is Catherine Estolas," Michael replied.
"Ah....she did mention someone coming over. What's your name for verification?"
"Michael…Michael Reyes," Michael responded, shifting slightly under the concierge's assessing gaze.
The concierge checked his list, nodded, and then directed Michael to the private elevator. "Penthouse floor," he said. "Miss Estolas is expecting you."
The ride up was quick, and Michael felt his nerves bundle up. He was about to enter the private space of one of the richest families in the city. When he reached the penthouse and the doors opened, Catherine was there to greet him.
"Thanks for coming," she said, leading him into a large living area that was stylish yet minimalistic.
Michael followed her, his eyes quickly scanning the room. It was filled with designer furniture and looked out over the city through massive windows. No personal items were in sight, making the space feel more like a show home than a lived-in apartment.
"I don't belong here," Michael muttered under his breath.
Catherine seemed to have heard him and spoke. "Yeah…this is probably too much for someone like you. Well, you can thank me for allowing you to see a glimpse of this kind of lifestyle," she said, with a half-mocking tone.
Michael chose to ignore the jab. "So, where do we start?" he asked, trying to keep things professional and focusing on the reason he was there.
Catherine pointed to the array of papers and books spread out on the dining table. "Here. These problems are driving me crazy," she admitted, showing a rare moment of vulnerability.
He took a seat and looked around. "Wait…are you alone here?"
Catherine nodded obliviously.
"So you invited me over, a man, to your place while you're alone? That seems a bit risky, doesn't it?" Michael couldn't hide his concern. It wasn't every day he found himself in such a situation, and he wanted to make sure there were no misunderstandings.
Catherine returned to her default ice-princess expression, her gaze cooling instantly. "If you try anything funny, the security team will be here in seconds," she stated flatly, leaving no room for argument.
Michael raised his hands in a gesture of innocence. "No worries, I'm just here to help with the homework, nothing else," he assured her, wanting to keep the situation strictly professional.
"Good," Catherine said, a slight edge to her voice. "Let's get this over with then so that you can return to your place sooner."
They settled into a rhythm, with Michael explaining the more complex aspects of the problems and Catherine quickly catching on. As they worked through each equation, the earlier tension dissipated, replaced by a shared focus on the task at hand.
"So in this equation, you'll need to apply the concept of separable differential equations. You see, we can separate the variables and integrate each side accordingly," Michael explained and continued. "It's like untangling a knotted string — step by step, methodically, until it's all laid out clearly."
Catherine watched him, her initial skepticism giving way to a focused concentration. "Okay, so we're separating the variables to solve for the concentration over time..." she murmured, following his lead.
Exactly. You'll integrate the rate of change of concentration with respect to time. Remember, the rate of reaction is also dependent on the concentration of your reactants, so we integrate that with respect to time as well," Michael continued, scribbling down the steps on a piece of paper for her to see.
Catherine leaned in, her eyes tracing the lines of Michael's handwriting. "And here... this is where the rate constant and flow rate comes into play, right?"
"That's right. The rate constant, k, will affect the speed at which your reactants convert to products, while the flow rate, F, affects how quickly the reactant is entering and leaving your system," Michael replied.
"So, the equation we're trying to solve will give us the concentration of reactant A at any given time, taking into account all these factors," Catherine said, a hint of excitement creeping into her voice as the pieces started to fit together in her mind.
"Precisely," Michael nodded, impressed with her quick uptake. "With the differential equation properly set up, you can then apply the initial conditions to solve for the particular solution."
Catherine nodded, finally cracking a small smile. "I think I'm starting to get it. You're making it sound way simpler than it looked. Are you sure that you are just a student? Because you teach better than my professor…where do you study again?"
Michael chuckled at the compliment, he was using system points on other questions as he couldn't understand the other problem.
"I study at the Technological Institute of the Philippines."
"Ahh…that's a good school," Catherine said, familiar with the name.
"How about you?"
"University of the Philippines Diliman," Catherine said.
"Wait? UP?" Michael gasped. The University of the Philippines is the most prestigious university in the country. And it ranked highest in the world.
Catherine shrugged a touch of pride in her eyes. "It's tough, but I manage."
"But aren't UP students smart? This should be easy for you because you got into that university."
"Are you making fun of me?" Catherine said, her tone shifting
to a slight annoyance.
"No, no, I didn't mean it like that," Michael quickly backpedaled, realizing his words could have come off wrong. "I just meant that you're clearly capable since you're studying at such a prestigious place."
Catherine's expression softened a bit. "Well, everyone has their strengths and weaknesses," she admitted. "This just happens to be a topic I struggle with."
"Fair enough," Michael conceded. "Look, you got the basics down now. With a bit more practice, you'll be acing these problems in no time."
Catherine nodded, seeming to appreciate his encouragement. "Thanks. I guess I needed to hear that."
They spent the next hour going over the remaining problems, with Michael guiding her through the tougher parts. By the end of it, Catherine was solving them with much more confidence.
"Looks like my work here is done," Michael said, standing up and stretching his back. "You've pretty much got it all covered now."
Catherine looked up at him, a genuine smile on her face. "Yeah, I couldn't have done it without you. Thanks, Michael."
"No problem, Catherine," Michael replied, gathering his things. "Just remember the steps we went through, and you'll be fine."
As Michael headed for the door, Catherine walked him out. "I'll transfer the payment to your Gcash account," she said. "And maybe... if I need help again, I can reach out?"
"Sure, anytime," Michael responded with a nod. He stepped into the elevator and gave her a final wave as the doors closed.
Michael heaved a sigh of relief. At last, it was done, he checked his phone and saw Catherine already messaging him.
"What's your number so I can transfer the money? Oh, and also, I need to know where you live so I can book you a Grab."
"What a thoughtful woman," Michael mused, and simply replied with the information she needed.
Thirty seconds later, when the elevator doors opened, he received a notification from his Gcash account informing him that there had been a money transfer, but instead of three thousand, she made it five thousand. Is that a mistake?
A message popped up again in his Messenger. "I have transferred you five thousand because I am impressed by your teaching skills…consider it a bonus. Also, I have booked you a Grab, it'll arrive in five minutes. I'll share the driver's information so you can look out for it outside. Thank you once again."
Michael long pressed her message and tapped the like icon, acknowledging it. And then another message popped up but this time, it was from his mother.
"Where are you, it's already twelve o'clock?!"
"Oh shit…" Michael checked the time, it was 12:27 a.m. "Fuck…my mother is going to kill me."
