Clever Girl

Chapter 27: the importance of so-called education.

"Right, well, I don't need tutoring anymore," I say as I keep my eyes on Crantson. It takes a lot of strength to not turn fully to face Jay, who hasn't glanced at me once so far, or even shown a hint of acknowledging my presence.  "I promise to pay more attention in all my classes, and to raise my average to a B by graduation."

"Oh? I'm sorry to say, I don't find that feasable."

"It wasn't so much that I was stupid before, I just didn't apply myself. If I start applying myself now, actually doing the work and participating in class, I'm sure I can help you raise the school's GPA, and then your wonderful sponsors and the school board will give you all the attention and money you crave." I don't mean to sound hostile, but the feelings I possess now towards Apollo are the same as it was before this mess. 

Cranston's expression transforms from understanding to extreme frustration in the span of a second. He frowns at me, the furrow between his eyebrows intensifying, "Miss Boniadi, I don't appreciate the tone you are using, or the assumption that all we care about is money. Furthermore, no respectable educator would ever use the term 'stupid' against any student here."

Let it go, Veronica. If I keep on hating this place, let it overtake me, it can then manifest itself in some other destructive way, a way that might show up at home. Perhaps I owe it to my parents to, along with applying myself, lessen my spite against the school system. "I apologize, sir. But I swear, I don't need tutoring anymore. I can prove it to you. Give me a couple of days, and you'll see some serious improvement."

For a while no one says anything, and the silence seeps into my mind like poison, and I wonder if I'm about to be lectured more on the importance of so-called education. Though when Cranston speaks again there is no longer any anger towards my earlier tone. "Veronica, please understand that I am not an unreasonable man. Perhaps placing you with a tutor is what drove you to quit in the first place, and repeating such an action might push you to quit again. If you believe you no longer require tutoring, I am in no position to say otherwise. The very act that you decided to re-enroll is a step in the right direction, and it may be a sign that you will indeed apply yourself moving forward." Cranston then faces Jay, "Mister Alderan, I suppose you are not needed. You may leave now, as I do have other matters to discuss with Miss Boniado. I do apologize if this has taken away time from your own studies."

"There's no need to apologize. I can still include it in my college applications. Thank you, Principal Cranston, for the recommendation letter. It's an honour having one written by such an esteemed and respected member of the school board" Jay gets up and, while continuing to pretend like I'm not even there, heads towards the door and exits.

Furious and reeling with the familiar desire to strangle him, I sink into my seat. What's his problem, anyway? Yes, I did ignore his calls and texts for two weeks, and I know that was wrong of me, but it's not like we were super close and the best of friends before. His reaction now is slowly dissipating my desire to offer him a proper explanation. Maybe I did let him kiss me, and maybe it was my idea to remain friends, but if he wants to pretend like I don't exist, what I can do?

"Miss Boniadi, I do recommend that you continue seeing the school's councillor. I believe it will help your transition back to school," Cranston's voice interrupts my thoughts about Jay. 

"What? Why? I was only gone for two weeks. It's not like I've been away for years and don't know how school works." 

"I know, however, I believe it may shed some light as to why you might not have applied yourself before - where now you insist you will be different. It is only a recommendation, though I hope you consider it."

"Considered, and decided against it. Thanks anyway." I stand up, hoping there isn't anything else he wants to discuss. "Can I please go now? I'd like to have my lunch before class starts."

"Yes, you may go." 

***

We're on chapter seven of the textbook, and the following problem is copied onto the board: Solve the trigonometric equation given by sin(x) + sin(x/2) = 0 for 0 ≤ x ≤ 2 pi. We have ten minutes to solve it. I solve it in less than a minute, and I lead back in my seat, close my eyes, and try to think of ways I can double my profit and lessen my workload for writing papers. 

"Veronica, did you complete the problem already?" someone asks, and my eyes flutter open. The Trig teacher Mister Weir is standing next to my desk, his eyes scanning the open notebook before me. "Did you copy this from the back of the textbook?"

I glare at him. "Yes, I did complete the problem, and no I didn't copy it from anywhere."

"Then you can solve the next problem." He takes my textbook and flips to chapter seven, and points to problem number two. "Go ahead, I'd like to watch as you solve it."

Some of the students sitting nearby face me, most with expressions of ridicule and annoyance. They could be irritated that their concentration on the problem was lost, or they could be waiting for me to embarass myself so they can laugh. Settling on the former, as it's less paranoid, I glance down at the next problem; Prove that sin(105°) = ( sqrt(6) + sqrt(2) ) / 4. "Well, fine, you use the identities..." my voice trails off as I quickly work out the equation:

sin(a + b) = sin(a)cos(b) + cos(a)sin(b)
sin(105°) = sin(60° + 45°)
= sin(60°)cos(45°) + cos(60°) sin(45°)
= (sqrt(3)/2 )(sqrt(2)/2) + (1/2)(sqrt(2)/2)
= ( sqrt(6) + sqrt(2) ) / 4

When I finish, I look up at Mister Weir, who's staring at my notebook as if it were an alien device, his mustache seeming to sharpen at its edges. "Now do the next one."

This goes on for about ten minutes, and I go through nineteen other problems. In the middle of the twentieth, I stop and glance up at him, "How much more of this?"

It's at this point that I realize the entire class is watching me, and the attention is drilling me with severe anxiety. I can't tell if they're impressed, angry or curious, and quite frankly I don't care which of these is true. I want them to stop, and I want the teacher to leave me alone. Though Mister Weir presses on, "Two boats on opposite banks of a river start moving towards each other. They first pass each other fourteen-hundred meters from one bank. They each continue to the opposite bank, immediately turn around and start back to the other bank. When they pass each other a second time, they are six-hundred meters from the other bank. We assume that each boat travels at a constant speed all along the journey. What is the width of the river?"

"Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously. What is the width?"

I press my lips together, hating myself for allowing this to happen. If I had just solved the first problem at the same speed as everyone else in class, I wouldn't be in this situation now. Then it occurs to me that If I had just remained on the same level as most of the other students, averaging B's instead of D's, none of this would have happened at all. How can I call myself a genius when I made such a stupid, long-lasting mistake? But the cat's out of the bag now, and there is no possible way I can force it back in. I look up slightly, the tiles of the ceiling appearing to cave in on me, and I consider the problem. "Three thousand six hundred meters."