Chapter 39 Was she the favorite?
Fifteen minutes later, João Pedro's office was a temple of silence and efficiency, now desecrated by the presence of two reluctant students.
Octavio sat in a side chair, head bowed, looking like a prisoner on death row, and next to him, Katherine maintained her usual expressionless look, twirling a pen between her fingers.
On the solid wood table lay two math books and two sketchbooks that Anastasia had provided.
“João... just say it,” Octavio muttered. “I have an online game in a little while, and I'm busy.”
“Shut up, Octavio!” João Pedro was sitting in his leather armchair, reading a financial report, and didn't even look up.
Then he reached out, demanding Octavio's latest test, who reluctantly handed over the question notebook, forgetting that the answer sheet was attached. Then the folded sheet of paper slipped and fell to the floor, gliding gently to João's feet, and the grade, marked in aggressive red pen at the top, was clear: 70. The total score was 150, and he hadn't even come close to the average.
“I'd better put this away!” Octavio tried, in a ninja-like movement, to retrieve the test, but he froze when he felt the weight of his older brother's gaze.
João's pupils were black abysses of disapproval.
Obediently, Octavio picked up the paper from the floor, unfolded it, and placed it on the table, smoothing the edges with a guilty smile.
“Pedro... little brother... let me explain. The test was really hard, I swear! The teacher is a torturer!”
João slammed the textbook shut and tapped Octavio lightly on the head.
“No excuses,” he ordered, his voice sharp. “Read the theory in the chapter I circled. Three times. Then solve all the marked questions. If you get one wrong, double the task.”
“Understood, general...” Octavio rubbed his forehead, whimpering softly.
As he opened the book, Octavio glanced at Katherine with sympathy. She sat there calmly, her eyes half-closed with sleep. Poor thing, he thought, lighting an imaginary candle for her. If he was like that with me, imagine how he was with her.
In the morning, thanks to his spy glasses, Octavio had seen Katherine's book, which was immaculate. White as snow. Newer than if it had just come out of the bookstore. She hadn't made a single note, hadn't solved a single exercise.
If bad grades irritated João... the total lack of effort would make him explode.
At that moment, João Pedro's hand moved. He took Katherine's textbook and pulled it toward him.
The air in the room became thin, and Octavio held his breath, waiting for the explosion.
João opened the cover.
Katherine leaned back in her chair, her hands in her sweatshirt pockets, the relaxed posture of someone about to take a nap, not face a marathon of studying.
Next to her, Octavio pretended to read the textbook with Oscar-worthy dedication, while peeking at his older brother's expression out of the corner of his eye.
As he feared, João Pedro's face was a mask of storm. The temperature in the room seemed to have dropped ten degrees, emanating from him a cold and oppressive aura.
Octavio swallowed hard. He kicked Katherine's chair leg discreetly under the table and whispered desperately, “Run. It's your only chance.”
Katherine gave him a look of utter boredom and didn't move a muscle.
In the next second, a large, long-fingered male hand reached out in front of her.
“Give me the notebook,” ordered the deep voice from above.
Katherine pulled out her sketchbook and handed it over without ceremony. Then, as if the intimidating CEO's presence was nothing, she rested her chin on her hand and began to play with the pens in the pencil holder, twirling them absentmindedly.
João didn't scold her. He simply pulled up a chair, sat down in front of her, and began to write. The luxury pen glided across the paper quickly and smoothly.
Octavio bit the cap of his Bic pen, perplexed. What's going on here? he thought. Why do I get yelled at and slapped on the head, and she gets complacent silence?
“Octavio,” João said, without looking up from the paper, his voice cold as steel. “Focus on your work or I'll double the assignment.”
Octavio slumped in his chair.
The sound of the pen stopped, and João closed the notebook and slid it gently back to Katherine.
Octavio's curiosity exploded, and he stretched across the table, almost falling.
“Let me see! What questions did the executioner give you?”
Surely it must be something easy, he thought. His brother wouldn't be so cruel to a girl.
But the moment his eyes focused on the page, his jaw dropped. He looked at the paper. He looked at his brother. He looked at the paper again.
“Brother!” Octavio jumped up, indignant. “This is blatant favoritism! You're biased!” He pointed to Katherine's notebook, trembling with envy. “Why did you explain, step by step, the logic of the solution to her? You wrote down the exact formulas for each situation!” You made a treasure map! And for me? ‘Read the text’?
The difference was brutal. For Octavio: ‘Figure it out yourself.’ For Katherine: Meticulous, simplified notes, highlighting the pitfalls and shortcuts. It was a guide designed so that even a child could understand advanced mathematics in a single reading.
“Man... am I really your brother or was I found in the trash?” asked Octavio, leaning on the table with eyes brimming with drama.
João Pedro didn't even deign to look at him. His dark eyes were fixed on Katherine.
“Read all of this,” he instructed, in a tone that, compared to the one used with Octavio, sounded almost gentle. “Then do the exercises on the marked pages. I'll be back in thirty minutes to check your progress.”
He began to stand up, his imposing posture dominating the office.
“Wait.” The soft, clear female voice broke his rhythm. Katherine reached out her pale hand and grabbed the hem of his cotton shirt.
João Pedro froze and slowly lowered his gaze.
Her thin, delicate fingers contrasted with the dark gray fabric, and she looked small, sunk into her chair, her long eyelashes casting shadows on her cheeks and an expression of slight fatigue.
At that moment, an image invaded João's rigorous mind: a lazy kitten stretching on the windowsill of a sunny room.
“Ten minutes,” she said. “Ten minutes will be enough.”
João Pedro blinked, coming out of his trance, and interpreted the phrase as a sign that she wanted to finish quickly so she could go to sleep. He looked away, ignoring the heat rising up his neck.
“All right. I'll be back in ten minutes.”
He turned to leave.
“What about me, man?!” Octavio pleaded, feeling abandoned.
João stopped at the door, without turning around. “You? Hand it over when you're done. And if you're wrong, you sleep here.”
The door closed.