Oscar Cameron moved to South Korea at the age of sixteen. By eighteen, it has been decided that he was to go for business studies - except his grades were absolute shit.
That's how she came in.
She got him into university.
She took the blame when...
I met Oscar Cameron when I was twenty-two and at my second year of studying law.
He was eighteen then and I, four years older than him.
To me, he was a child.
The first time I met him, he eyed me warily, hands in his pocket and a gruffness in his voice.
I tried to make conversation with him, adjusting my bag that I got for cheap on a part-timer pay. I was everything he was not. Gangnam had its reputation for having luxury estates and the Cameron's proved this to me – a grassy front law, floor to ceiling mirrors, intricate and delicate parquet floors.
I was told that he needed help to bring up his grades. I was told that he was sporting D's and F's.
I was his parent's last hope.
Their only hope.
Even though I was not blessed with rich parents like Oscar Cameron and his sister, positively speaking, I was intrinsically hardworking. I had a good reputation. I tutored students for a living, paying off student debt and—
"You're wasting your time," Oscar said, falling back onto the bed with a baseball in hand. He began throwing and catching it with one hand. His light brown hair was way too long over his ears, an indication of one being in a school that had lax regulations – normally a private school that ran on expensive tuitions.
I calmly moved towards his desk. I liked to spend the first session doing nothing – I wasn't in the rush. I had learned over three years of tutoring that the more I rushed sessions without building a natural rapport, my students would often grow hard and stubborn.
Or worse.... Defiant.
I spent the first day taking in the small details.
Oscar had a very expensive-looking guitar at the corner of his bedroom. The left side of his room was filled with everything that had to do with music.
A DJ mixer placed on what should be his study table; a drum set, high-quality microphones with tangled wires.
"Do you compose music?" I asked, Oscar's gaze moving to me. "How good are you?"
My question must have triggered his pride; Oscar telling me that he was very good.
"Show me how good you are," I said to him.
If you think that was all it took to get on Oscar's good side; you are wrong.
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I spent hours, days, sessions, listening to Oscar's DJ mixes and giving what I thought was 'constructive criticism'.
Truth be told, I had no idea what I was saying or doing. In return of giving him comments I searched from the internet and a Wiki-How page of: How to Speak Like A Musician, he would spend one hour studying.
