VOTE & COMMENT for more mathematical operations that both you and I do not understand.

ALSO: The FIRST person to answer QUESTION 2 OR QUESTION 5 correctly, will receive the first dedication next chapter! 

                          Chapter Nine Minus Seven 

                               "{s,e}, {t,s}"

 “The Calculation” – Regina Spektor

Smalle

If X is equaled to mathematics, which is parallel to bullshit and Y is equaled to my patience that intersects through the ring loops of Henle or whatever, how long will it take before I throw this book out of the window and burn my school down to the ground? Round your answer to the nearest fucks I give about the dumb subject.

I'm going to be a freaking Olympic swimmer! Gold medals were in my future! Gold I tells ya!

Why in the name of all that is Phelps do I need to take a math class?

So I could have basic skills to survive adulthood? Well, I call bull on that. Besides, I'll probably just hire a dozen accountants with small glasses and tight skirts to do this stuff for me anyway. 

Mr. Smalle, your finances are done sir.

Times magazine has called for the thirtieth time today, sir.

They would like it if you would do their cover story for the eighteenth time this year.

We have also started up the Jacuzzi and would like it if you could get in with us.

And they’d giggle. And I’d say I’ll be there in a minute. Problem solved. Crisis averted. No obtuse angles drawn.

By the way the answer was: In about three-fucking-seconds.

I swear.

Is there any subject more deathy than maths? It gives me serious heart palpitations. I mean, was it created as some cosmic joke?  

I can just picture all of the religious figures like Zeus and Buddha and Beyoncé all on some cloud, bored.

And one day, maybe it was raining, bad stuff always happen when it’s raining, Zeus just said 'these humans look too happy with their invention of the wheel and their harmony and their living together without war’ and then it rained down math equations. I'm pretty sure that's a Bible verse in Exodus.

This things started wars, my friends. Along with causing me unwanted grief and strife and pain and just absolutely killing my spirit. Dead-dead. Down in the ground-ground.

I hurled out a breath. Then I turned my head to see if Price heard that. He was sleeping in his bed. I had casted him off of his one man island and forced him to take a nap, after he was still up at about 3:in the morning doing the homework that teach gave us.

Price liked to say that she was just trying to help us. But really, she was just probably the devil.

 Question 2 . Pixar is deciding on the price of their DVD release for "Cars 2". It's Marketing Team suggest that at p dollars it can sell a total of q = 6700 - 3400p copies. FIND THE REVENUE FUNCTION.

Ugh. Next.

I was secretly trying to do Price’s homework for him. Or well, our homework. We were in the same Math class. Price had opted out taking AP Math. The kid was muy fabuloso at the subject. Arithmetic, Geometry, Algebra, Calculus.

They were like languages to him that he mastered.

But he just lacked the confidence.

I on the other hand, was horrible at it. For the most part. Well, for 99.9888% of the part.

Price also snored when he slept, so I kept getting things mixed up whenever he did it. It sounded like a bear was wrestling with Godzilla.

I found it really annoying, but really really adorable. Everything about Price was slightly adorable. Which is why, I was on mission to get Price a boyfriend so he could share those adorable things with someone who would appreciate them like I did. Love them like I did. Like his little lisp. The dude couldn't pronounce anything with ‘s’ without spitting a little. I’d laugh at him and he’d turn red like a ripe tomato.

Woah.

That was pretty gay. Must be this coffee.

I pushed the mug away and rested it on the coaster, so Price doesn’t try to strangle me when he wakes up.

‘that isn't there for decorative purposes, Jer! Use the coaster, you ass blah blah blah bark bark bark nag nag nag.’ Jesus. Sometimes I could swear we were some old married couple bickering about things that don’t matter.

I sighed and looked back down at the sheet.

 Question 5. Calculate dy/dx, given that  y = -3lnx

Was that even in english? Aaah, fuck it.

I looked at Price’s sheet. It was poking out of his maths book. I could see that he had already done question 6. There was a lot of writing, and a lot of erasing had been done. So much, that the sheet was smeared with pink.

Mhm.

Maybe I could….just take a peek at it to, you know, get a feel for this topic. There was nothing wrong with just looking at an example. That was completely okay. Sure. Right. No guilt. None at all.

I cleared my throat and tugged on the sheet. I tugged it until it was completely out of the book.

I squealed. Then I stopped the squealing and was drained of my excitement when I saw that a yellow sticky note was attached to the paper, at the top.

0100010001101111001000000110100101110100001000000

110000101101110011001000010000001001001001000000110110101110101

0111001001100100011001010111001000100000011110010110111

10111010100100111011100100110010100100000011000110110

1000011010010110110001100100011100100110010101101110

‘Do it and I murder you're children’

Price. Always a few states a head of me. How does he do it?

I turned around in the spinny chair and peered over at the kid. He was on his stomach. His lips were curled upward like a crescent moon. He looked like he was smiling. I turned back around.

Me and Price had our own language. Well, technically it’s not secret. But binary was the only mathy thing that I got. Price taught me it a long time ago, after the thing.

I called them friendship notes when we were in middle school. He called them bro letters. Mine sounded more gayer, and obviously better, so we stuck to that.

I got up and pushed away from the desk, allowing the back of the chair to lightly hit the bed. I looked over at Price. He didn’t budge.

It was 5 a.m. and I would have to go get ready for my swim practice in about twenty minutes.

I jogged down Price’s stairs. I could smell food already. Food, clanking of plates, popping of bacon and light laughter.

It wasn’t Price’s parents. It was the TV playing a majorly fabuloso episode of The Golden Girls.  Rose was telling a St. Olaf and everyone looked miserable.

Price’s parents had a, uh, special way of communicating.

“Jesus H. Christ, Paul can you please not read that book at the table!” Mrs. Bigg shouted from the stove. I stood by the door. It was best to remain unseen when they were in one of their battles. “This place is for eating, not reading bad crime novels.”

“Hey,” Mr. Bigg launched back. The front cover of his book read ‘And Then She Shot Him’. “Don’t knock something until you’ve tried it.”

“That sounds like a defense for a murder,” she answered, scooping eggs from a skillet and dumping it onto a plate. “You’d make a wonderful slimy lawyer, dear.”

Mr. Bigg rolled his eyes. As they came back from their trip to the back of his head, they found me. He smiled and placed down his book next to his empty plate. “Jer!” he greeted. He pointed a silent thumb at his wife by the stove and pretended to strangle himself. “Women.”

“Are the single greatest thing ever?” Mrs. B tried and spun around. Her floral apron said Kiss this fucking cook. “Are the reason why all of you are here?” She was pointing a knife in our direction. “Are the only reason this planet isn't a desolate wasteland filled with sexist magazines and perpetually unclosed toilet lids?” she asked, tapping the counter with her index finger after every word.

“Oh God, here we go,” Mr. B sighed. “Bras! Pantyhose! Feminism!” he wailed with his hands flailing in the air. “We get it. You rule earth.” He picked back up his book. “Now let us men go back to reading our bad novels in peace.”

“Onna these days, Paul,” she huffed with a balled fist. “Onna these days.”

“Make my day, Clara,” he answered back.

She turned back to the stove. “Would you like extra bacon, Paul?”

He thought for a moment. “Sure, love.”

This was a recurring thing. Paul was a Republican and Clara was a Democrat. I don’t know how their relationship ever worked in the first place.

“So,” Mrs. B began. She placed a few plates on the table. She kissed her husband on the forehead. “You stayed here last night, Jeremy?”

I nodded. “Yup.” I stepped into he kitchen fully now. It seemed safe enough to sit at the table.

Mr. Bigg eyed his wife. His eyes scaled back over to me. “And…you slept in Price’s room, correct?”

Mrs. Bigg rested a plate down in front of me. I ate a piece of bacon. “Mhm.”

Mrs. Bigg sat down. She reminded me of Price in so many ways. Her dark brown hair. Her slightly paled skin. Her semi-short stature. She was Price with boobs and a passion for female rights. “We’re just curious,” she said. She placed her hands underneath her chin. “Has he ever….confessed anything to you?” she mumbled.

Her eyes were bright with something; they flared. Mr. Bigg’s were practically anime eyes.

I narrowed my pair. “Well…there was that confession about him believing that Flash could defeat Batman in hand to hand combat, which I mean,” I snorted, “I didn’t talk to him for about a week for saying that.”

“Mmmmm.” Mrs. B’s eyes were really sharp. “How about something…more personal?”

I tapped my chin. “Well, he’s still a virgin, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Mr. B sighed. “No. Has he…confessed anything to you about…you, specifically?” he questioned.

I am not the brightest light bulb. I am not the sharpest pencil. Or the swiftest tortoise in a race against a cocky, sleepy rabbit. I think I may have mixed up something somewhere. My point is, I have no clue what these two are getting at. So, I shrugged. “No. Not really.”

Mrs. Bigg looked at her husband; said husband looked at his wife. Both parental figures looked at me and then both sighed out frustration in sharp bacon flavored breaths.

“Okay, then.” Mrs. Bigg commented and stood. “I better start getting ready to go to the station. Those bad guys aren’t going to arrest themselves.”

“And I’ll stay home and take care of the baby.” Mr. B rolled his eyes. “No wounded man pride or anything,” he murmured.

Mr. Bigg gave up his job to take care of their newborn baby. They had Price at a really young age (Mrs. Bigg was just 16). She made more money than him, so he gave up his job to take care of Little Henry.

She came over and pecked his cheek. “See you tonight.” Her eyes flashed to me. “I’ll see you around, Jeremy.”

Once she was gone, Mr. Bigg looked over at me. “Kid, do yourself a favor when you grow up; marry within your own political party.”

I got ready for swimming practice afterwards. I stuck a note on Price’s door.

01010000 01110010 01100001 01100011 01110100 01101001 01100011 01100101 00100000

01111000 01101111 01111000 01101111

‘Practice xoxo’

Price may have been the Michael Phelps of Math, but I was the Albert Einstein of Swimming.

 E=MC Backstrokes. Or something. I wasn’t good at making equations. My point is, I was a tremendous swimmer if I did say so myself. Which I did. I did say that.

Rory pulled up his blue trunks and threw me a pair. As if on instinct, I smelled it. “This better be clean, Rory.”

He gave me a look. “I’m not unaware of my bad hygienic skills like you are, Jer.”

Rory’s eyes were really blue, and I think the blue trunks brought them out even more. I have known him for about six years now. He was slightly taller than I was, by about an inch. He was also t lanky like I was, but with paler skin.

I took off my pants. We were the only two left inside the boys’ locker room since we were late. That meant Coach would make us do at least fifteen laps for being so. “By the way, thanks for dooming the both of us to a life of misery by picking me up late,” I mumbled, naked.

Rory grabbed his blue cap out of his duffle bag and balled it in his hands. His wore his goggles like a girl’s purse. “Dude, I already told you. My mom thought she was going into labor; I couldn't just leave her there while dad is still out of town. She would’ve had to drive herself to the hospital.”

“Bro. The one has to suffer to save the many.” I mumbled, pulling the red swim trunks on. 

Rory through me a look but didn’t say anything. We exited and joined the others.

He moved toward Joy, the tall brunette who was second only to me on our team.

“Where’s Coach?” I asked.

She shrugged and dusted something off of her swimsuit. Joy sure could full out her suit. It usually had me wondering how she moved so fast when she had so much to carry with her. She wasn’t...I guess, big to say. But she was just full. Curvy. “He went back inside to get ice. He wants to dump it into the water so those who came late can swim in it.”

“That seems impractical,” Rory noted.

“And mean. What is he? A Disney villain?” I pouted. “I hate you and you’re pregnant mom so much, Rory.” 

“Well walk next time,” he snapped.

“Guys, Tina says hi.”

The three of us turned. Mario, the fourth and final person who I usually spoke with on the team; who I had really known, crept up behind us.

He was in a relationship with Tina Cosby. And she basically consumed him. Everything had suddenly become related to Tina.

“Good Morning Mario” “Tina thinks so”

“Orange soda is great, man” “Tina likes orange soda”

“Do you think they’ll ever cure cancer” “Tina’s hair looks great today!”

“Good morning to you too, Mario,” Joy said.

 “Tina says that,” Mario sighed. His body was here, but his mind was obviously still with Tina from earlier. “Though her voice is a lot feminine than yours. No offence, Joy.”

“Some taken.”

 “Tina took some of my peanut butter and jelly this morning,” he sighed again.

“Speaking of PB&J...” Rory looked over to me, “J, where’s PB?” he asked. “Usually, he comes to watch you.”

I frowned a bit. “Yeah, but he was up doing his dumb maths—“

“Math,” Joy mumbled. “Math, not plural.”

I rolled my eyes. “Whatever. He was doing homework last night, and he’s tired so I didn’t wake him.”

“You guys should just fall in love. It’s the best feeling ever,” Mario sighed, off topic as usual. “It’s like it’s raining over me, but like instead of rain, its pancakes and bacon filled with syrupy love”

“And high cholesterol,” Joy added.

“And clogged arteries,” Rory tried.

Mario’s face fell slightly. I chuckled. “Dude, I say good for you. Being in love is majorly coolio.”

He turned his nose up at the other two. “At least someone agrees with me.”

Joy snorted. She was adjusting her black swimming cap. “Please. Jeremy wouldn’t know love it knocked at his front door and sold him a box of cookies.”

“Hey,” I sung. “I’ve been in love plenty. Dara in 8th grade; Tanya from 10th. I’ve had four girlfriends for Phelps sakes!” I flailed.

Rory gave Joy a look. What was up with these looks today? Was I missing something again?

 Rory turned to me. “All we’re saying is, is that sixteen-year-old boys are clueless when it comes to love.”

“Clueless in general,” Joy expired.

Trick was one year older than us. That hardly made her a pro on it.

“What would you know about love?” I asked Rory. “You’ve only been gay for about six months.”

Rory face tomatoed. He always got really embarrassed when we talked about his Pre-Gay days. “I’ve always known that I was gay, doofus,” he said. Then he whispered something under his breath that sounded a lot like, “Unlike some people.”

Before I could ask him about it, Joy stepped in. “Look. Let’s just agree that we all know nothing about love. Besides, this is swim practice, not Love Guru. She looked at me. “And you know Jeremy, you are a bit clueless when it comes to these things. You’re a bit blind to your own feelings sometimes, even when they are staring you in the face.”

“Jer!”

We all looked left. Price was standing near the entrance for the pools.

“My Point.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing.” Joy folded her hands across her chest. “Hurry back.”

I shuffled over until we were face to face. “Buenos días, PB.”

 He handed me a brown bag. Presumably lunch. “Good morning to you too, J.”