We sit watching blankly as he scribbles the quadratic equation out for us. He turns, expecting and awaiting the bustle of calculators being tapped and pencils being steered. He waits for us to brandish our thoughts. Yet we stow them away. To fill the awkward blankness that seems to engulf the room, he flips the green white board marker in his hand. The classes eyes universally watch it spin up and down. Ignoring the little thoughts in our head which scream, "Foil the formula!"
We wish to take off our socks and shoes, so as to climb more quickly and quietly out of the windows. The rain has fallen, and the sun is shining triumphantly over the glassy grass. Thick air hangs on our minds. Pulling our eyelashes to our cheeks and our chins to our hands. We want to leave. Our teacher recognizes this summer stubbornness, and surrenders to it.
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