Sibling Secrets

4 - Inviso-Bet

"Mr. Fenton, you're late." Danny paled as he burst through the door, panting; it had been more than one flight of stairs he had fazed through. His pointy-chinned English teacher, Mr. Lancer, walked from the middle of the room right to where he stood, staring down at him with a faintly annoyed expression.

"Yes, Mr. Lancer?" Danny's smile failed. The class tittered, in excitement or anxiety, he could not be sure.

"You have had fifteen minutes to get here. Fifteen minutes, Mr. Fenton, that seems to have been spent most poorly." Lancer leaned forwards. "I hope your essay will make up for being ten minutes late to class."

Danny gulped and took his place by his friends. Tucker leaned over. "What took you so long, dude? You were right behind us!"

"I... uh..."

"Talking in class is also not allowed, Mr. Fenton. Last Warning. Now, to continue our studies of Shakespeare and his modern legacy, it should be noted that the Lion King..." Danny tried hard, he really did, not to zone out. But Lancer's voice was so very long winded and monotonous, and he could be doing so many better things than this... But at least he wasn't tired. If I was tired, Danny thought, resting his elbows on the table, it would be very-

Danny's face slammed into the desk. He sprang up quickly, fishing his intangible elbow out of his desk, but, obviously, not quickly enough. "DANIEL FENTON, I HAVE HAD ENOUGH OF YOU ALREADY TODAY!" Lancer leaned right over the desk, his impressive bulk resting on the surface. He breathed deeply. "You come into class ten minutes late, you talk in class, and now you dare fall asleep?! Care to explain?"

Actually, I can, Danny thought dryly, but you'd never believe me, or, worse, you'd call my parents. "I'm sorry, sir." Does that make him feel respected, or just plain old?

"May I see your essay, Mr. Fenton?"

"Multiplying 67⁴ x 197⁷ whether directly or by setting up a table as in Problems 17, 42 and 33, will produce a wrong answer. While the falling distance is a function of time, it is not a linear function; it isnot proportional to time. It is crucial check to that the calculations being done are the correct calculations. One needs a reason why multiplying a line, in one of these tables, is a valid operation. This will increase instructional time for these problems. If we go on automatic pilot, while setting up these tables, we'll sometimes do it when it is not valid. Correctly, multiplying numbers when multiplication is not justified is wrong."

"Correct, Jasmine. Well done!" Mrs. Cossin, Jazz's ironically named, overly happy maths teacher, gave a little clap, stopping only when she realised that nobody else was listening. Dash leaned excessively over to Jazz.

"I love it when you talk nonsense to me." He grinned, but Jazz discreetly kicked the chair he was sitting in, making him loose balance and fall over.

"Why don't you stop bullying Danny before you hit on me... no pun intended." Jazz hissed.

"Dash, dearie, please sit up straight." Mrs. Cossin bubbled before proceeding to scratch more and more confusing numbers, letters and diagrams on the board. Jazz, however, nodded along, writing, sketching, listening with an intensity that was the reason she was the top student of Casper High. She raised her hand to every question, because Jazz knew everything there was to know currently about Maths. It was simple: one or two, black or white, life or death. It kept her mind off more difficult subjects, especially her brother, currently, whose blacks and whites and lives and deaths and causes and effects seemed so incredibly unknown. Jazz didn't like the unknown, being in the dark, not knowing. That wasn't Jazz.

Maybe she should be a lawyer after all.

All of a sudden, the lights seemed to dim, and the computer switched off. Mrs. Cossin frowned and excused herself to press a few more buttons, but it was well and truly dead... strange.