Olly thinks he has a problem. His eyes keep darting down, trying to solve each and every question he can. And it's not like they're difficult; he's sure he's done the same set hundreds of times. But his vision keeps blurring, and he's rubbed his glasses more than he's able to count—they're almost crying for him to stop, to leave the lenses alone. But no. He can't, no matter how hard he tries, he can't stop looking. Whether it be outside the window, his desk, his teacher, his stare drifts to the side and he can't control his mind, nor can he control the thoughts that don't leave.
The question goes something like this:
"f(x) is a 3rd degree polynomial. M = maximum of f'(0)/f(0); m = minimum of f'(0)/f(0); What is M*m? f(x) satisfies the following:
|f(x)| is not differentiable only at x = -1.
f(x) = 0 has at least one real root in [3, 5].
f(x) is a continuous function over real number. f(x) satisfies the following:
if x <= b, f(x) = a(x-b)2 + c (a, b, c are constants).
f(x) = integral(0 ~ x, sqrt(4 - 2f(t)), dt) for all real number x.
Given integral (0 ~ 6, f(x), dx) = q/p, what is p + q? (p and q are relative primes)."
He feels like puking, just reading all of the numbers, all of the constants. But his life has revolved around this, revolved around being perfect, around his grades, and around pleasing his parents. He's just a child. A teenager. Someone who wants to live. So he decides, to continue living, he has to follow the rules set by his parents. They moved for him, after all; switched countries, switched jobs, switched everything they've ever known. All for him, he's been told by his mother as she hysterically cried.
His eyes dart towards you, looking all frustrated and confused. He notices your lips twitching, the smallest, smallest, bit, and if he weren't sitting next to you, he's sure Sally would've been the one to take note of it instead. His heart beats loudly in his chest, and he realises he's thankful it's him and not her; Heather has been his usual cram school seat mate, for as long as he can remember, but you insisted on switching for some odd reason.
"This question totally sucks," you grumble, too quiet for the teacher to hear but loud enough he picks up on it. It's funny. Just watching you, all mad, all irritated. And he shoves a hand to his mouth to prevent the laughs threatening to echo throughout the room.
Olly's biggest problem is you.
He realises this as he can't stop himself from tuning out the same-old, boring lectures, and he finds that you're much more interesting to listen to. It's not his fault, the teacher keeps retelling the question like there's no tomorrow, droning on and on about the answer and its level of difficulty. Olly isn't sure the question is even something to dwell about. He's solved it before the teacher even gets to it. But maybe it's because he likes to stare, at you. So he chooses to finish before anyone else.
You're sitting to his left, so close to him, hands not too far from touching, and yet too far to feel any of your warmth. And suddenly, he's reminded of how your eyes shone in kindness the first time you met him—when you wrapped your scarf around his neck, he could feel the butterflies floating inside him still. From here, he can see your furrowed brows, trimmed and neat, followed by the scrunch of your perfect nose, which he swears has been gifted to you.
He wonders if you've always been so happy, so pretty, so kind, and so perfect. So not him. So much better than he is. So out of his world. Out of his reach.
But he's better than you in class. Much, much better than you. His ranking never falls from first, whilst you on the other hand, you're always close to second from last. He's not sure why, but he leans forward and begins to explain every part of the question. Everything you got wrong. The steps. The answer. The numbers. The constants. And he's certain you'll react like every other person. You'll glare in disgust, turn your face from him, and sneer at his audacity. But you don't. You smile happily, nodding in thanks.
YOU ARE READING
Endless solo of solitude | Lookism various x reader
Romance"You're always so sad," he says, his eyes closing. She takes a moment before saying, "I know." "Why?" he asks simply. "I don't know," she whispers, "I really don't." Lookism various x Female reader. Most love interests listed in tags.
