He hated everything about math class—the color of the textbook, the row he sat in, the students around him, the stupid charts on the walls, the sound of chalk against the blackboard, the way the sun shone through the windows, the pattern of tile on the floor, Daniel Colp—the smartest guy in the class—the teacher, Mr. Surujpaul, the way he wore the same jacket and pants to school every day, the way he combed his hair, the stupid jokes he made (Q: What do you get if you divide the circumference of a jack-o’-lantern by its diameter? A: Pumpkin pi!), the pencil stub he had to use, the noise the sharpener made, the three minutes it took to take attendance and the other fifty-two minutes until the class was over…

Argus hated math because he didn’t get it. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand a few concepts here and there, he didn’t get any of it. Perhaps it was the way Mr. Surujpaul explained things, or maybe his head wasn’t wired for numbers. Whatever the reason, the moment class started, he immediately tuned out and, the next thing he knew, Mr. Surujpaul would ask him a question.

Like now.

“…which gives us a factor of what…Argus Brock?”

“Huh?” Argus said, turning toward Mr. Surujpaul.

“Surely you’ve been following.”

“Yes.”

“Good. Then, what’s the answer?”

Argus’s mind had been off in the forest, running through the trees and hunting prey. He stared blankly at Mr. Surujpaul’s green plaid jacket, his mouth open and sweat forming on his brow.

“I didn’t hear you,” Mr. Surujpaul said.

“I…uh.”

A slight laugh began to circulate through the classroom. Argus could feel his face turning red.

“Did you do your homework last night?” Mr. Surujpaul said.

He had copied Harlan’s answers into his book, but he hadn’t really done any work.

“Yes,” he said, at last.

“Let me see.”

Argus turned his notebook around to let the teacher inspect it. All of the work was there, neatly copied from Harlan’s detailed notes. Argus had even copied every correction Harlan had made so it looked as if Argus had actually struggled to figure everything out.

Mr. Surujpaul looked at him. “So you did your homework, you just weren’t paying attention?”

“That’s right,” he said.

“So what’s more interesting than math?”

Argus glanced over at the windows.

“I see,” the teacher said. “Next time, try to keep your mind in here with the rest of us.”

“I will.”

“Daniel,” he said, knowing that Daniel Colp—Redstone Secondary’s only Bushlen-Mowatt Teen Scholarship winner—would have the answer on the tip of his tongue.

“Forty-two,” Daniel said, without hesitation.

“Right.” And with that, Mr. Surujpaul strolled up the aisle, away from Argus’s desk.