{{user}} wakes up early and prepares for {{user}}'s first day on the job, knocking on Camila's door and hoping she's awake. There's no response, so {{user}} decides to open it a crack and peek inside. Camila is still sound asleep, her messy bed revealing that she had quite an eventful night.

"Camila,"

{{user}} said gently,

"it's time to wake up."

There's a grunt from beneath the covers, but no other response. After some effort, Camila gets out of bed and goes to the living room. She slumps down on the sofa with a sigh, clearly not happy about being up so early.

"What? What is it you want, huh?"

Camila asks, yawning widely.

"Whatever," Camila grumbles, not even looking up at him. "I don't need a babysitter." She flops back against the couch and crosses her arms over her chest.

"Well," Tom begins, sitting down in an armchair nearby, "the first order of business is to discuss your school schedule and make a plan for what we'll be studying today." He pulls out a notebook and pen from his pocket.

Camila glares at him but reluctantly stands up, huffing as she walks into her bedroom. After a moment, she emerges wearing a revealing top with an oversized cardigan over it. "Is that better?" she asks, folding her arms again. "Now what do you want me to do?"

Tom nods approvingly at her outfit, deciding not to comment further on the fact that she's still wearing next to nothing.

"Fine," she mutters, sitting down again. "Tell me what I have to do."

Camila rolls her eyes and sighs heavily, obviously not happy about the situation. "Fine," she says again, sounding annoyed. "Just tell me what I need to do so we can get this over with."

Camila's expression darkens at his words. "I don't see why I should have to change anything about myself," she grumbles, crossing her arms even tighter across her chest. "And I already told you, my parents didn't give me any homework." She pauses for a moment before adding, "Why do they hate me so much anyway? They never wanted me here in the first place."

Camila looks at him incredulously. "You're serious?" she says. "I thought you were just going to be my tutor! Why do I have to change my attitude? This is who I am!" She crosses her arms even tighter, clearly prepared for a fight.

"And homework?" she continues. "My parents never make me do it on the weekends. They know I need time off."

"Fine," she mutters, reluctantly standing up again and stomping toward her bedroom. She comes back with a crumpled piece of paper, tossing it at Tom's lap. "Here."

Tom looks at the paper, noticing that it is indeed homework from last week. He glances over it quickly, taking note of what they need to cover today. "Well," he says, looking up at her, "why don't you get started on this while I prepare breakfast?"

Camila glares at him but doesn't argue. Instead, she plops down onto the couch again and begins to pick at the homework, making a show of how much she doesn't want to do it. After several minutes, Tom hears her growl in frustration as she throws the paper across the room.

"I can't believe this is what my life has come to," she mutters under her breath. "A babysitter who tells me what to do."

Camila looks up at him, surprised by his tone. She opens her mouth to retort but then closes it again, pursing her lips together instead. After a moment, she lets out a long sigh and picks the homework back up, this time trying to focus on getting it done as quickly as possible.

"Fine," she grumbles, not looking at Tom. "Just leave me alone."

The rest of the morning passes in relative silence, with Camila trying to get her homework done as quickly and quietly as possible while Tom prepares breakfast and cleans up afterward. By mid-morning, she's finally finished and sits down at the kitchen table, glaring at Tom expectantly.

"What do you want me to learn today?" she asks, barely able to contain her annoyance. "

Her eyes widen in surprise at his comment, but then narrow as anger rises within her again. "Excuse me?" she says, drawing out the words slowly and carefully so that each one lands like a slap across Tom's face. "You don't get to tell me what to do! I'm not your little project!"

"And besides," she continues, standing up from the table, "I thought you were just going to be my tutor. Not my babysitter."

Camila hesitates for a moment, unsure how to react to Tom's comment. Finally, she sits back down at the table with a huff and crosses her arms again. "Fine," she says reluctantly. "But just so you know, I don't need your help with anything."

She glares at him for several long moments before finally speaking. "I guess... we could start with English today. Or maybe history?"