She's a Little Slow on the Uptake (Inanimate Insanity)

Numberstruck

8 + 11 = __

Those cursed numbers were taunting her, Apple just knew it. Eight plus eleven. Eight plus eleven.

'Math would be like ten times easier if you could pick the problem. I know two plus two and seven plus seven just fine!'

"Uhh..." Apple stared at the math problem with consternation. She gulped. "Rrrrgh..."

Two hands were ten fingers, she knew that much. And the answer was clearly more than ten, because eleven on its own was more than ten.

'Does that mean that it's just impossible?'

It was another saccharine and sunny day on the Island of Inanimate Insanity (the III?). Apple was flopped on her front, with a pencil clutched in one hand and a worksheet sitting in front of her... And, as usual, she hadn't the first clue how to start.

Finally she screamed in frustration and chucked her pencil into the distance. She expected to hear no sound... but instead there was a high-pitched squeal.

She looked up to see a furious Paintbrush in the distance.

"You brat! Why'd you throw that pencil at me?! It coulda blinded me, you know!"

'Huh?' Apple looked over. Paintbrush was pulling the pencil out of the bristles on top of... him? Her? Them?

'Whatever, I didn't know it was there.'

"I didn't know you were there," Apple said truthfully, because that was exactly what she was thinking.

"You shouldn't throw pencils where there might be people," Paintbrush sniffed self-importantly. Apple opened her mouth to offer an indignant response, but was interrupted.

"Guys!"

Marshmallow appeared on the scene, arms crossed. "There's no reason to fight over this. We need to be a team if we're going to win the challenge in episode eight. Apple, just apologize for throwing the pencil."

"NO! Math is stupid and annoying and I hate it!"

Marshmallow might've rolled her eyes; Apple couldn't see from her distance. But she did see her take the pencil and walk over. "Look. If I help you out, will you say you're sorry?"

Apple sniffled, suddenly feeling embarrassed. "...I-I'm fine. I don't need your pity... All I need is one of those big ol' books so I can learn what pity means."

"It's not pity, it's making sure you don't throw blinding projectiles at our teammates. Paintbrush is our only chance bird's-eye view, after all."

"But we could stack even if Paintbrush was blind! That unknown gender freak isn't important!"

"Just because we don't know if Paintbrush is a girl or a boy doesn't change that we're a team, and we all have our job to do. Besides, we're two of the tiniest contestants on the show! Even stacking we're short."

'But-' Apple opened her mouth to argue the point again, but upon realizing that they were both indeed short, she sighed and averted her gaze, thoroughly hating that she couldn't debate it. Marshmallow was right.

Marshmallow glanced over her worksheet. "Ahh... Addition and subtraction? This stuff isn't hard."

"I-I'm not good with numbers, okay?!" Her voice cracked. "I went to Kindergarten, but I failed that! And even though I don't wanna do it my dad said I had to learn stuff so I could 'get a job off this farm one day' and it's annoying."

"I'm not saying it in a judicious- er, mean way. It just means you'll get it in good time." Marshmallow looked at her with interest. "I came from a factory, but I do have a third-grade education."

"Are you trying to brag or something?!"

"No. I'm saying that you're going about this the wrong way."

Marsh's arm stretched far. When it came back, her hand had a bunch of little pebbles in it. "I assume you already know the finger rule. But did you know that you can use the things around you to help too?"

She settled on the ground beside Apple, close enough that their arms brushed.

Something about their proximity made Apple's stomach do a little flip. Nerves made her heart go faster: 'She probably thinks I'm s-stupid right now.'

"Okay, so what you do is you use these rocks as more fingers. You have ten, I assume you already know that. So if you make eight with your hands, and eleven with the pebbles, you can count them. In this case, you'll get nineteen."

Marshmallow drew a dainty, curved "19" on the line.

'Oh my gosh, that's perfect handwriting. H-how does that even happen?'

Apple quietly marveled at how neat her handwriting was for a second before gasping. "It's just counting?"

Marshmallow nodded. "Yep! Just be careful to get the right numbers. You don't even need the rocks if you just want to draw some circles or something."

'Are you serious?!'

"Does that clarify it?"

'...Shoot. I'm staring.' "Not sure what 'clarify' means, but i-it does, actually! Oh my gosh, you're so smart! Wait...!" Apple turned the page over to reveal some problems that looked more like this:

23 - 8 = __

"What about these? What's the line mean?"

"Oh, you can do it the same way. Just draw twenty three circles, cross out eight of them, and count the ones that are left." Marshmallow drew the circles and did the according crossing out. She was a quick worker, her every stroke an intentional, solid gray color that made Apple's scribbly "Apel" at the top of the page look shameful. "You get fifteen for this one."

"What are you, a genius or something?!"

Marshmallow giggled. "I'm average, really. But do you get it?"

Apple met her gaze. Her jaw simply wouldn't go back in pace; there was something about that encouraging little grin that rendered her unable to look away. Her hand was clenched into a fist at her side.

Marshmallow's smile soon became a bit awkward. "...Are you okay?"

Apple snapped out of her daze and looked away, feeling her face go warm with embarrassment. "I-I'm fine. I just wish I got this sooner..."

"You're weird, you know that? But as long as you understand what to do, I guess it's fine." Marshmallow climbed back to her feet. "Just make sure you don't throw pencils anymore, okay? And call me if you need any more help."

"Y-yep..."

For some reason she couldn't get that grin out of her head for the rest of that day. Every time it came back, Apple felt herself endeavoring to do the same thing:

'Maybe I should keep trying until I can impress her with my math or writing or... something. Then maybe I can be a bigger help to the team...'