𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦, 𝘌𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 ☆ 𝘕𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘹 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

☾ 𝙘𝙝. 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙚 ☾

❃゜・。。. ・°゜✼ ゜°・ .  。。・゜❃

caus•tic (adjective):

sarcastic in a scathing and bitter way.

❃゜・。。. ・°゜✼ ゜°・ .  。。・゜❃

"A telescope is pointed at a star 50° above the horizon. What angle, x°, must the mirror BD make with the horizontal so that the star can be seen with eyepiece E?"

It's like I had been staring at this question for ages. Geometry was the last subject that I had to work on, and I was already having a silent mental breakdown.

How the hell am I supposed to even figure out the x angle??

I started writing down my thought process, but when my pencil touched the printed sheet, my brain suddenly drew a blank to what I was thinking, and instead I drew a straight line.

Focus!

I told myself in my head as I erased the line, though, when I did I had pushed too hard and made a rip in my page.

Upon seeing the big rip I accidentally made, my whole body froze in an attempt to conceal an angry outburst.

I curled my fingers that rested on my page and the paper crinkled a bit, my knuckles gripping my pencil turned white and my eyes squeezed shut.

Norman was laying on my bed messing around with a professor's cube I had, so I guess he heard the paper crinkling.

"Are you stuck?" he asks monotonously.

I didn't answer, because I didn't want his help. And I also thought that he was lost in thought before.

If I can't do Geometry, how am I going to survive Trigonometry next year??

There was silence as I smoothed out my paper, my teeth gritting as I attempted to loosen the grip on my pencil and write.

"Y/n." Norman tries to get me to answer, but I keep ignoring him.

I can do this by myself.

I think, taking a deep breath.

Okay so... I need the angle of the mirror to figure this out...

How do I figure out the angle again?

I flip through my textbook and all I see is the question.

I go to the back of the book when suddenly the big book is lifted and it closes.

I look up to see Norman with my textbook in his hands. He sets it down beside him and leans over my desk to look at my worksheet.

"You're stuck on Question 6?"

"No, I'm not. I'm just thinking."

He interjects with, "You also got Questions 3, 4, and 5 wrong."

I hit my head on my desk and grunt loudly in annoyance.

"Your point?" I ask, a bit bitterly.

"I can help you since you seem pretty distraught over this."

No matter how annoyed I sounded, his voice remained the same, unphased.

I took another breath. "Fine." I say.

Norman leaned over next to me to take a better look at my work, seeing the random lines I kept impulsively drawing over one of the questions, and apparently the others that were wrong.