My Old Truck-talk story
naturally being the kiaweking, am asked to supply the wood for the barbecue. So I load up the back of the truck with kiawe wood and start out for ...
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Chapter 5 – Mathematical Symbolism
It was midnight, but then it was always midnight here. Penny and Graeme were walking hand-in-hand down a leafy seaside street, past brightly painted houses lit by gas streetlamps. They sat atop a harbour wall and watched the unnaturally large moon sink beneath the ocean horizon. The seas and craters vanished one by one, and Graeme leaned in and so did she, and slowly they –
“Penny, I just asked you a question!”
Awoken from a daze, Penny brushed the hair from her eyes and noticed Mr Beaumont glaring down at her.
“You’ve done one question in fifteen minutes,” he said, tapping a pen against the mostly blank page in her jotter. “Stop daydreaming and get on with your work!”
“Sorry,” she said, sheepishly turning her attention to her trigonometry once more. She wasn’t really in the mood for triangles, though. Her mind kept wandering back to that oh-so wonderful dream she’d had last night, a pleasant change from her all too frequent visits to the stone circle. The black dots – boats, surely – were much closer to shore now. The people of the circle were terrified. They wanted to leave, but they had nowhere to go. Penny wondered whether Graeme had seen it all too. A warm, guilty pang welled in her stomach as she pictured him sharing her every dream, even the seaside moon dream, even the –
“Penny, I won’t warn you again,” snapped Mr Beaumont from the other side of the room.
Come on Penny, focus, she told herself. Stumped by the next question, she looked to the whiteboard for inspiration. Her eyes were drawn to a recess on the opposite wall. A shelf above the radiator was piled higgledy-piggledy with ageing textbooks, obscuring most of a poster on the wall behind. All that was visible was part of a black circle studded with nodules and tendrils. She frowned at a vague sense of déjà-vu as it floated by. Then she realised.
“Rebecca, look over there,” she said.
Rebecca was immersed in her own special work – something called calculus, she’d said earlier. Penny now knew that she had a “peculiar talent” for mathematics, as Mr Beaumont put it, so he’d taken to giving her work more suited to the fifth-years than the third-years. Penny had to prod her a few times before she looked up from the arcane-looking squiggles in her book.
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