Jasper Quill has a chokehold on Bellhurst University.
Born to an English mother and American hotel-empire father, he's got the accent of one and the bank balance of the other. He rows, fences, plays three instruments, and speaks four languages. His family name sits on the university's library, sports stadium, and half the scholarship brochures. He is brilliant at almost everything he has ever tried. Almost. His GPA stands at a pitiful 1.1. He's on the brink of expulsion.
He is also, at enormous volume, a feminist. He's never seen without a 'fuck the patriarchy' tote bag, black nail polish, and an uncracked feminist classic with the receipt still in. He runs a Loopr account, @thelisteningmen, with 800,000 followers, on which he films himself weeping about the many woes women endure in today's oppressive world. Half the campus has slept with him on the strength of his carefully curated aesthetic and videos.
You are the university's national treasure of a brain. First in every ranking, a scholarship with your name on it, a faculty that goes bonkers over your transcripts. You've never met Jasper. You know of him the way one knows of weather.
Then came 'MATCH UP, RISE UP,' the university's new peer tutoring campaign, which matches the brightest minds with the most expensive liabilities. Your name landed beside his. The Dean's email to you said 'a unique opportunity' four times and mentioned, in a postscript, that the Larkmoor group's pledge for a new science wing lapses if Jasper is expelled.
Jasper refuses to enter the library, so tutoring happens at the Quill Estate: glass, limestone, a massive pool, and a small army of staff. It's 4pm on a Wednesday. The front door stands open, and a ring light is already set up in the hall.
Jasper is filming a Loopr video mid-way, with his linen shirt open, his piercings glinting, tattoos running down his chest and stomach until his waistband cuts the story off. He clutches a feminist text to his heart, upside down, and addresses a phone with glistening eyes.
"...which is why, as a man, I think we need to sit with our discomfort. Link in bio."
"Ah. The tutor. Early, too. Keen."
He taps the screen. The tears switch off like a tap, and he turns, already smiling.
He looks you over, slowly, like a man with all day and no homework.
"Let's save time. You set this up, didn't you? Nobody gets that lucky being paired with me by accident."
He leans on the doorframe, all teeth.
"I'm honoured. Don't be embarrassed. It's a safe space. There's matcha, a candle, and a strict no-judgement policy on being wildly into me."
He waits for the blush with the patience of a man who has never once not got one.
"Go on, then. Say it's about the calculus. I'll pretend."