The Katydid
A writing exercise for worldofscribble This challenge was to use the word labyrinth.
"There are ten steps to solving this equation," Mrs. Davis announced, circling the long line of numbers and symbols with a dramatic flourish, "and once you've memorized them, you'll be able to solve any problem of this type."
The question, as tangible in the brilliantly lit classroom as the marker's persistent squeaking along the white board of why anyone in their right mind would ever want to attempt such an exercise, was left unanswered.
Turning round, she brandished the offending marker and demanded, "Who can tell me the first one?"
Kerry fiercely concentrated on keeping his expression neutral and not slumping in his seat. Kathleen Davis, referred to as the Katydid behind her back, had an uncanny knack for spotting inattentive students, and he had no desire to be the focus of her attention this afternoon. It wasn't that he couldn't tell her what the first step was, or even steps two through ten for that matter, he just wasn't in the mood.
The girl in front of him, Lisa something or other, made a sort of gulping hiccupping noise, and then, staring in horror at the Katydid's approach, pressed down so hard on her pencil that it snapped in half.
"Ms. Carstairs?" the teacher inquired, coming to a halt in front of her desk.
Kerry sighed. Why was it that so many educators favored the adversarial approach to teaching? It was almost as if they went out of their way to ensure that students left their classrooms feeling embarrassed and belittled. Was it some sort of bizarre displacement of feelings they had held towards their own teachers in high school?
Whatever it was, he resented it. Math came easy to him, the numbers almost seeming to flow into their correct positions on the page, but he understood that it wasn't that simple for everyone. He could relate. To him, trying to form sentences into some sort of coherent order that would eventually create a paragraph felt like being trapped in a labyrinth with no hope of escape. He knew how to escape the Katydid's trap though.
Should he share the secret?
"No ideas?" the Katydid taunted her prey.
Leaning forward, he tapped Lisa's left shoulder with his own pencil, and when she spun to face him in surprise, offered it to her, eraser first, with a smile. She hesitated, extended her hand slowly, and finally accepted his gift like a drowning person would grab at a log.
"Simplify," he mouthed at her.
"Are you two quite finished?" the Katydid sneered, knocking on Lisa's desk with the hand not holding her marker.
Kerry leaned back in his chair, thoroughly pleased, and smiled up indulgently at the teacher. He and Lisa were surrounded by tittering classmates, and by tomorrow rumors would probably be flying about their non-existent relationship, but right now he didn't care.
"Just trying to help out," he said, still smiling.
"Then perhaps you could help us all out by telling us what step one is?" she asked triumphantly.
Honestly, did she really think he wouldn't know the answer? The only time his grade in her class had dipped below an A was when he had been obsessed with Sheila Madison--goddess of the exquisite hair, and face and… Even then he hadn't fallen below an 88. Sheila's family had moved to some absurd place like Cincinnati last month, crushing his dreams of a lifelong romance, but also elevating his math grade to its former 96 to 98 status.
Resisting the urge to sigh again, he stood up, extended his hand, and when the Katydid relinquished the squeaky marker of doom, walked to the white board.
"You simplify first," he began, hopeful that the school's rumor mill would focus on his being a show off or math geek, and not on Lisa.
"Kerry?"
His eyes were closed. The tree', its rough bark warm along his back, had been the perfect place to doze away the afternoon, and he didn't much feel like opening his eyes at the moment.
"I don't recognize your voice," he mumbled indistinctly, "but I like the way you say my name."
There was silence for a minute, followed by something indefinable that sounded a bit like leaves rustling, and then he was pawing desperately at his face, trying to remove the itchy, scratchy unpleasantness that had landed on him.
"Hey!" He sat bolt upright, his lap now full of grass and torn leaves, "That was a dirty trick."
"You sorta asked for it," the girl said, grinning down at him.
He still didn't recognize her, although there was something about her dark hair and eyes that seemed familiar. Her voice was a clue, if he could just remember where he had heard it before.
"Lisa?"
The corners of her mouth twitched upwards. "Congratulations, you got it in one."
Only just. Sitting behind her, his most frequent view all year long had been of her back, and even when he had caught a glimpse of her walking in or talking to someone, there had been the irresistible distraction of Sheila drawing his eyes elsewhere.
"uh, hi."
"I just wanted to say thanks!" she said in a rush, her eyes dropping to her feet. "You tried to help me, and that…" She trailed off, as though uncertain of what word to use next.
"Katydid?" he suggested.
She giggled, and her eyes traveled back up to his. "Yeah. The Katydid kept you up at the board solving problems for the rest of the class. I wanted to die."
He shrugged. "It seemed like a good idea at the time. Now though," glancing down at the mess in his lap, "I'm not so sure. Maybe I should've let her eat you."
"Nah," she shot back, her uneasiness of a moment before seeming completely forgotten, "you're so gonna owe me in a minute."
"I am?"
"Uh-huh!" she enthused, and then made him wait for it. "Sheila and I got to be pretty good friends before she moved, and I've got her e-mail and phone number."
Forget paragraphs, girls had to be more labyrinthine than anything else.
"There are ten steps to solving this equation," Mrs. Davis announced, circling the long line of numbers and symbols with a dramatic flourish, "and once you've memorized them, you'll be able to solve any problem of this type."
The question, as tangible in the brilliantly lit classroom as the marker's persistent squeaking along the white board of why anyone in their right mind would ever want to attempt such an exercise, was left unanswered.
Turning round, she brandished the offending marker and demanded, "Who can tell me the first one?"
Kerry fiercely concentrated on keeping his expression neutral and not slumping in his seat. Kathleen Davis, referred to as the Katydid behind her back, had an uncanny knack for spotting inattentive students, and he had no desire to be the focus of her attention this afternoon. It wasn't that he couldn't tell her what the first step was, or even steps two through ten for that matter, he just wasn't in the mood.
The girl in front of him, Lisa something or other, made a sort of gulping hiccupping noise, and then, staring in horror at the Katydid's approach, pressed down so hard on her pencil that it snapped in half.
"Ms. Carstairs?" the teacher inquired, coming to a halt in front of her desk.
Kerry sighed. Why was it that so many educators favored the adversarial approach to teaching? It was almost as if they went out of their way to ensure that students left their classrooms feeling embarrassed and belittled. Was it some sort of bizarre displacement of feelings they had held towards their own teachers in high school?
Whatever it was, he resented it. Math came easy to him, the numbers almost seeming to flow into their correct positions on the page, but he understood that it wasn't that simple for everyone. He could relate. To him, trying to form sentences into some sort of coherent order that would eventually create a paragraph felt like being trapped in a labyrinth with no hope of escape. He knew how to escape the Katydid's trap though.
Should he share the secret?
"No ideas?" the Katydid taunted her prey.
Leaning forward, he tapped Lisa's left shoulder with his own pencil, and when she spun to face him in surprise, offered it to her, eraser first, with a smile. She hesitated, extended her hand slowly, and finally accepted his gift like a drowning person would grab at a log.
"Simplify," he mouthed at her.
"Are you two quite finished?" the Katydid sneered, knocking on Lisa's desk with the hand not holding her marker.
Kerry leaned back in his chair, thoroughly pleased, and smiled up indulgently at the teacher. He and Lisa were surrounded by tittering classmates, and by tomorrow rumors would probably be flying about their non-existent relationship, but right now he didn't care.
"Just trying to help out," he said, still smiling.
"Then perhaps you could help us all out by telling us what step one is?" she asked triumphantly.
Honestly, did she really think he wouldn't know the answer? The only time his grade in her class had dipped below an A was when he had been obsessed with Sheila Madison--goddess of the exquisite hair, and face and… Even then he hadn't fallen below an 88. Sheila's family had moved to some absurd place like Cincinnati last month, crushing his dreams of a lifelong romance, but also elevating his math grade to its former 96 to 98 status.
Resisting the urge to sigh again, he stood up, extended his hand, and when the Katydid relinquished the squeaky marker of doom, walked to the white board.
"You simplify first," he began, hopeful that the school's rumor mill would focus on his being a show off or math geek, and not on Lisa.
"Kerry?"
His eyes were closed. The tree', its rough bark warm along his back, had been the perfect place to doze away the afternoon, and he didn't much feel like opening his eyes at the moment.
"I don't recognize your voice," he mumbled indistinctly, "but I like the way you say my name."
There was silence for a minute, followed by something indefinable that sounded a bit like leaves rustling, and then he was pawing desperately at his face, trying to remove the itchy, scratchy unpleasantness that had landed on him.
"Hey!" He sat bolt upright, his lap now full of grass and torn leaves, "That was a dirty trick."
"You sorta asked for it," the girl said, grinning down at him.
He still didn't recognize her, although there was something about her dark hair and eyes that seemed familiar. Her voice was a clue, if he could just remember where he had heard it before.
"Lisa?"
The corners of her mouth twitched upwards. "Congratulations, you got it in one."
Only just. Sitting behind her, his most frequent view all year long had been of her back, and even when he had caught a glimpse of her walking in or talking to someone, there had been the irresistible distraction of Sheila drawing his eyes elsewhere.
"uh, hi."
"I just wanted to say thanks!" she said in a rush, her eyes dropping to her feet. "You tried to help me, and that…" She trailed off, as though uncertain of what word to use next.
"Katydid?" he suggested.
She giggled, and her eyes traveled back up to his. "Yeah. The Katydid kept you up at the board solving problems for the rest of the class. I wanted to die."
He shrugged. "It seemed like a good idea at the time. Now though," glancing down at the mess in his lap, "I'm not so sure. Maybe I should've let her eat you."
"Nah," she shot back, her uneasiness of a moment before seeming completely forgotten, "you're so gonna owe me in a minute."
"I am?"
"Uh-huh!" she enthused, and then made him wait for it. "Sheila and I got to be pretty good friends before she moved, and I've got her e-mail and phone number."
Forget paragraphs, girls had to be more labyrinthine than anything else.