I tap my feet against the floor.
The instructor walks past me, glancing over my shoulder. Barely halfway with half the time remaining.
I just need to focus.
I scribble out an equation before catching a mistake. Ugh. I imagine crumbling up the piece of paper and tossing it out the window.
The mountain waves at me. The lush green trees dance in the summer breeze. Playfully taunting me.
My feet are back at the river, treading through the warm creek while the jellyfish dance around me. I pick one up and it glows a scolding red.
The pages comes back into focus.
I tap my feet as if to dry them off from my quick little adventure.
I calculate again before the unitless numbers turn to time. How long would it take me to get back up the mountain? The math dissolves in the creek. How many jellyfish float through the creek every day? How do-
Clack!
The instructor's pointer comes down against the deck.
"Focus."
I tap my feet again.
