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Description
Summary: A Daria drabble. Evan Landon teaches his tutor how to get the most out of their education.
Seventeen-year-old Ramona sighed, checking her watch as she hurried into the library. She quickly recognized her target from the school newspaper: a short but stocky black freshman who was leaning back in his chair, tossing a football into the air and catching it with a bored look on his face.
She approached and put her binder down on the table next to him. "Evan Landon?"
"Uh-huh."
"I'm Ramona Johnson, your new Math tutor."
"Uh-huh," he said again, not looking up from his football.
Ramona pursed her lips as she took the seat beside him. She noticed a folder open in front of him. "Are those your assignments?"
Evan gave a noncommittal grunt and pushed them in her direction. She adjusted her glasses and flipped through the pages—lots of angry red marks stood out. She pursed her lips again; this was going to be a tough one, she thought bitterly. "Okay. Well, these don't look good, but Mrs. Reyes told me that you could make up these points if you redo the assignments. So, where should we start?"
"Start wherever you want, as long as you get them back to me but the end of the trimester." He caught his ball one last time and glanced over at the clock, then rose to his feet. "I got football practice in ten minutes."
"Hey—stop—"
Evan started to head off until Ramona grabbed his wrist—he turned around as she gave him a penetrating glare. "I am not doing your homework for you, if that's what you think! I have too much work of my own to pick up the slack for anyone else! And maybe if you cared about something other than football, you wouldn't be in this—what's so funny?"
Evan snickered. "'Care about football?' Are you nuts? Johnson, I don't give a damn about football, anymore than you care about tutoring me or, I'm guessing, the Student Council or the Science Club. I'm only on the team for the same reason you do everything you do."
Ramona paused, her fingers falling from around Evan's wrist. "And why's that?"
"Because my parents make me. Because I can get into a good school just as easily as QB as I could by working my butt off like you and my sisters had to do. So here's your choice," he said, bending down to tap on the pile of failed Math projects. "You could try to actually teach me, which will add twice as much work to both of our overloaded schedules, or you could just do the work yourself in about an hour and accept the letter of recommendation that Mrs. Reyes is giving you for Crestmore or Bromwell or whatever. Got it?"
Ramona was too stunned to speak. Evan took that as a chance to turn around and walk out of the library, throwing and catching his football as he went.
Ramona sighed again and slumped down, letting her head bang against Evan's homework on the table.

Description
Summary: A Daria drabble. Evan Landon teaches his tutor how to get the most out of their education.
Seventeen-year-old Ramona sighed, checking her watch as she hurried into the library. She quickly recognized her target from the school newspaper: a short but stocky black freshman who was leaning back in his chair, tossing a football into the air and catching it with a bored look on his face.
She approached and put her binder down on the table next to him. "Evan Landon?"
"Uh-huh."
"I'm Ramona Johnson, your new Math tutor."
"Uh-huh," he said again, not looking up from his football.
Ramona pursed her lips as she took the seat beside him. She noticed a folder open in front of him. "Are those your assignments?"
Evan gave a noncommittal grunt and pushed them in her direction. She adjusted her glasses and flipped through the pages—lots of angry red marks stood out. She pursed her lips again; this was going to be a tough one, she thought bitterly. "Okay. Well, these don't look good, but Mrs. Reyes told me that you could make up these points if you redo the assignments. So, where should we start?"
"Start wherever you want, as long as you get them back to me but the end of the trimester." He caught his ball one last time and glanced over at the clock, then rose to his feet. "I got football practice in ten minutes."
"Hey—stop—"
Evan started to head off until Ramona grabbed his wrist—he turned around as she gave him a penetrating glare. "I am not doing your homework for you, if that's what you think! I have too much work of my own to pick up the slack for anyone else! And maybe if you cared about something other than football, you wouldn't be in this—what's so funny?"
Evan snickered. "'Care about football?' Are you nuts? Johnson, I don't give a damn about football, anymore than you care about tutoring me or, I'm guessing, the Student Council or the Science Club. I'm only on the team for the same reason you do everything you do."
Ramona paused, her fingers falling from around Evan's wrist. "And why's that?"
"Because my parents make me. Because I can get into a good school just as easily as QB as I could by working my butt off like you and my sisters had to do. So here's your choice," he said, bending down to tap on the pile of failed Math projects. "You could try to actually teach me, which will add twice as much work to both of our overloaded schedules, or you could just do the work yourself in about an hour and accept the letter of recommendation that Mrs. Reyes is giving you for Crestmore or Bromwell or whatever. Got it?"
Ramona was too stunned to speak. Evan took that as a chance to turn around and walk out of the library, throwing and catching his football as he went.
Ramona sighed again and slumped down, letting her head bang against Evan's homework on the table.