The next day arrives swiftly, bringing with it more nerves and anticipation as I prepare to meet my class again. As I approach the lecture hall door, I hesitate for a moment. I know I need to face them, but the thought of interacting with so many people at once makes me uneasy.
Walking into the lecture hall, I find the students chatting among themselves, some flipping through their notes from yesterday's lesson. It's a reassuring sight-a sign that they're taking the material seriously.
I make my way to the front of the room, adjusting the stack of tests under my arm.
Millie and Sawyer enters together, his arm comfortably around her waist. A pang of jealousy twinges inside me as I watch them, the picture-perfect couple. They exchange a quick kiss, and Sawyer whispers something in her ear that elicits a bright smile.
In that smile, I catch a glimpse of Joyce.
The thought strikes me-could Millie be related to Joyce? They share the same surname, Robertson. Perhaps they're friends or even relatives. I make a mental note to find an opportunity to speak with her.
Millie catches my eye briefly, and I quickly avert my gaze, pretending to straighten my tie as I gather my thoughts.
"Okay, class, settle down!" I manage to project my voice with a forced calmness. Inside, my stomach churns with anxiety, but I can't show it. I distribute the test papers with trembling hands, trying to avoid eye contact with the students.
"I expect each of you to answer every question on the paper," I announce, slightly as I hand out the papers to each student. The room feels too warm, too crowded, and I resist the urge to fidget. "No blank spaces allowed. Write down what you know, even if you're unsure." The words come out more forcefully than intended, a cover for my own discomfort.
As the students start writing, I retreat to my desk, seeking refuge in the familiarity of paperwork and the hum of the air conditioner. I steal glances at the students, trying to gauge their progress without making it obvious. Sawyer scratches his head in concentration, Kagawa nods along to his own rhythm, and Millie studies a question with a thoughtful gaze. The sight triggers memories of Joyce, but I push them aside to focus on the task at hand.
An hour crawls by, marked by the ticking of the clock on the wall. When it's finally time to wrap up, I call out, "You have ten minutes left!" The tension in the room heightens, and I feel a pang of guilt for putting them under pressure. It's the only way I know to maintain order.
Julie Stones, the girl with fringe framing her tanned face, raises her hand timidly, and I force myself to walk over to her. "Yes, Julie?" My voice is softer now, almost pleading for the interaction to be brief.
"Could you clarify question 4.5?" she asks.
I retrieve the test paper, reading aloud, "What is Π67 ÷ Π689 - X - Y4? What specifically confuses you?" I ask, struggling to maintain eye contact with her.
"I'm not sure if you want us to solve it or just answer the question," Julie admits.
"What do you think is required?" I prompt.
"I... I don't know," she replies nervously.
"Figure it out," I respond calmly.
Kagawa chuckles behind her.
"Time's up!" I announce as the bell rings, signaling the end of the test. "Pens down, papers in!"
There's a collective sigh of relief as the students start to gather their belongings. Some exchange nods and murmured conversations about the test, while others pack up in silence.
YOU ARE READING
Eighteen With A Chalkboard
Teen FictionKnown before as "The Unexpected Mathematician" ---- Since he was two years old, Jonathan Poland's world has revolved around numbers. He skipped grades at school, outpaced his teachers, and soon found himself home-schooled by the legendary mathemati...
