Oneshots (countryhumans)

Calculus

America slipped the scrap of paper out of his pocket, smoothing it out on the desk in front of him. He cursed as the digits that had been hastily scribbled down appeared blurry and distorted from being smushed in his pocket all day. Desperately, he tried to decipher what the numbers once were, like an archeologist decoding ancient runes. He needed this phone number. His calculus grade depended on it. His life depended on it.

Now, America would tell you that he was far from being a bad student. He had always achieved decent grades, listened when it mattered, and avoided getting himself into trouble (for the most part).

But all those simplistic years of winging it were child's play compared to junior year. The devil himself smelted 11th grade calculus in the fiery pits of hell, melding it with a hammer of insanity and anvil of torture. Test after test came back with lower and lower scores, no matter how much America thought he was prepared. He wasn't an obsessive overachiever who contemplated death if he received a score any lower than a 98%.

But he also wasn't looking to fail a class and face the wrath of his parents, which would no doubt result in a ban from electronics and social interaction for a month. He would rather be shot 26 times with a nail gun than live an entire 720 hours living like a Victorian child whose only hobby was staring at a wall and dying of yellow fever. America confided his frustrations in his close friend, Canada, who never seemed to have any issues with math.

"You should really talk to Dominica!" Canada had exclaimed. She was a quieter girl from their biology class, with large round glasses and a sharp mind. "She'd be able to help you, she does math tutoring on the weekends."

That's how America had ended up with the crumpled scrap, praying that she wouldn't already be preoccupied that Friday afternoon. If he failed this quiz on Monday, his grade would be in danger of dropping from a delicate B- to a C. If it reached that point, he could kiss his freedom goodbye. Phone already in his hand, he gingerly typed the contact in, number by number, as best as he could, until he was left with the last digit. Only, there was no last digit considering the paper had torn.
Well fuck...Is it a 5? Maybe a cut off 8? ...No, it's a 6. It has to be.
America held his breath and sent a message.

America 🦅🔥
heyyyy
it's America
the guy Canada shoulda told u about

A reply came rather quickly, saving him from the dreaded pain of waiting.

Maybe Dominica
Sorry, I believe you have a wrong number. I don't know you

America 🦅🔥
oh shoot rlly?
ur not Dominica?

Random Person??
No, I'm not((

America 🦅🔥
oh my bad

America fought the urge to rip his hair out. His chances of passing his test were quickly slipping through his fingers, his sanity along with it. No! He slammed his fist down on his desk. There's no way in hell I'm gonna let myself fail again. With sudden invigoration, he returned to the message thread that was still open, attempting one last hail mary before he resigned himself to his fate.

America 🦅🔥
hi again-
kinda random
r u good at math??
calculus specifically
i need help and i can't contact the person who was supposed to help me 😢

Random person??
I can do calculus. My english is not perfect but I can try))

America 🦅🔥
oh where r u from?
actually nvm thats kinda personal
i really just need math help🙏🙏