the eyes of a storm

2

"Aspen Rocket!" Mr Kenneth hastily yelled after me.

Mr Kenneth's been bugging me, longer than humanly possible, to talk to him after class. All the other times, I've swiftly dashed out the classroom as soon as the bell went and before he even noticed the absence. Today, he had other ideas.

My face retorted in a frown. The rest of the students flooded out the classroom as I had to walk back into the dreaded room that that held stenches of cheese and the remnants of yesterday's baked beans from jacket potato day in the canteen.

Mr Kenneth had a stern face usually but now he just looked frustrated. A quiet sigh escaped his lips and he told me to sit down on the seat directly opposite him on his desk. The desk only consisted of his laptop, a neat pile of paper and an unopened but large £1 packet of salt and vinegar hoola hoops.

"We need to talk about this," he said as he dropped the heavy sheets of paper, stapled in the top left corner revealing the front cover that had 'AQAMaths, Practice Paper 1' printed and my name scribbled on it. Not only did the paper drop but so did my stomach; so low I think it reached the pits of hell. This was the test we'd done last week - first this year in fact.

"Sir, why do we-"

"You know why," he cut me off and began to flip through the pages. "Look, this is the very bottom-est set of any bottom set and you still failed. This is foundation level, Aspen."

"Mhm," I mumbled in response.

"So you should be getting this stuff right, right?" When I didn't answer, he continued, "I let you sit wherever you want but you can't sit at the back by yourself doing nothing. Do you even take notes?"

I looked down.

"Can I see your book?" My obvious answer was no but clearly he wasn't taking any of that. I unzipped my bag grumpily and brought out my orange maths book that was actually in pristine condition. He opened the first page. Shock engulfed his face and he narrowed his eyes at me.

"Are you sure this is your maths book? Looks more like an art book." He stared into my soul and I bit my lip nervously.

"Around school, you have quiet the big mouth, don't you? So why are you so quiet now." He raised his bushy eyebrows at me. Air hurried out his nose as he sucked back in his sigh when I once again didn't answer. No words wanted to leave my mouth into the awkward and cold atmosphere that was this classroom.

"It's good. Really good," he commented. My mouth fell agape.

"What is?" I asked. It couldn't possibly be my notes, I don't take any. He laughed, it was a strange laugh - ghastly. But at least he laughed.

"The drawings, especially this one." He revealed to me the drawing I drew yesterday of him teaching the class with a stick pointing at the white board. A smile was painted on his face.

"Usually they draw me as weird, comical monsters. This is, this is nice. I'm flattered." He concluded and handed the book back to me. I accepted it quickly and put it back into my bag.

When I looked back up, Mr Kenneth was snuggly leaned back on his chair, hands intwined in each other and exposing his large belly. "So what's the deal with maths. You hate it that much?"

"Yeah. I don't get it. I don't get anything. It's all weird and confusing and way too complicated for my brain to even try to process." I rambled. His face turned into a thought bubble. Literally. I could see the cogs turning in his brain.

"You mean that? Not just like how every other student exaggerates about maths being a world's crisis?"

I nodded. Certainly not exaggerating.