Calculus
Math- any math- came easily to Ahmer. It was just a given. It'd always been like that. His mother had taken him to a library book sale when he was in fifth grade, and he'd come away with an eighth grade math textbook and a teacher's edition trigonometry textbook. He'd worked through them both by the end of the school year. In high school he'd taken all the math courses they had to offer, to the point where his last math class of senior year had been Accounting because there wasn't anything else to take. Numbers, any numbers, were his bitch. So to speak. Unfortunately, the numbers he and the rest of his class were facing now were under the leadership of one Hiroaki Ikeshoji, Ph. D., and while Dr. Ikeshoji was no doubt a brilliant man capable of making the numbers dance, the English language tended to look his way and laugh before riding off on the pilion seat of some other professor's motorcycle.
Ahmer slumped in his seat. This was not going how he'd planned.
As Professor Ikeshoji launched for the third time into an explanation of something that sounded like it had to do with cardioids, something jabbed Ahmer sharply in the upper arm. "Pay attention," Sam Witwicky hissed.
"To what?" Ahmer murmured back. "The man's incomprehensible! Why did they hire him?"
"Because he's a genius," Sam returned. "If you just follow what he's writing instead of what he's saying, anyway."
"Oh, come on!" said Ahmer. "How am I supposed to-"
"Ahmer?" said Sam, but Ahmer wasn't listening. His eyes had fallen on Sam's notebook. The page was covered, absolutely covered, in tightly written, inscrutable ideograms or glyphs that didn't look like anything Ahmer had ever seen before- row after row after row of them. Oh, sure, there were Professor Ikeshoji's equations and diagrams in there too, but they were almost completely crowded out by the weird little symbols.
"What language is that?"
"Huh?" said Sam. "I don't- what?"
"That." Ahmer jabbed a pencil at the ideograms. "What language is that?"
"It's not- I don't know what you're talking about."
Ahmer eyed him suspiciously.
"No. Really. I don't know what you're talking about."
"Sam, you're taking notes in another language," Ahmer pointed out. "What language?"
"Seriously, Ahmer, I don't-"
"Mister- ah- Witwicky." The professor's voice cut through the conversation; both Sam and Ahmer jerked upright guiltily. "I need you to pay attention."
Sam gulped, but his voice was clear as he said, "I am paying attention. Professor. Sir."
The lean, grey-haired man eyed him suspiciously. "PLease," he said, "come and demonstrate, then. This problem-" He nodded to the chalkboard, where a blank coordinate graph and a half-completed equation waited. "Needs solving."
"Gladly. Sir."
Grateful that the professor's wrath had fallen on someone who wasn't him, Ahmer nonetheless watched Sam approach the front of the room with dubious hope for his roommate's survival. There was no way this could end well. Sure, Sam had said he'd gotten a 5 on the AP Mathematics exam, but-
Wait. Sam was writing out the rest of the professor's equation.
Sam was plotting out the equation's results on the graph.
Sam was correcting the professor's equation. And writing out new ones as easily as if it were breathing.
And Ikeshoji was looking at him as if he were the genetically engineered simultaneous clone of Al-Khawrizmi, Aryabhatta, and Newton.
Ahmer started copying out as many of those weird little ideograms as he could. There was no way he was going to let Sam get away with not telling him how he was doing this.
Ahmer slumped in his seat. This was not going how he'd planned.
As Professor Ikeshoji launched for the third time into an explanation of something that sounded like it had to do with cardioids, something jabbed Ahmer sharply in the upper arm. "Pay attention," Sam Witwicky hissed.
"To what?" Ahmer murmured back. "The man's incomprehensible! Why did they hire him?"
"Because he's a genius," Sam returned. "If you just follow what he's writing instead of what he's saying, anyway."
"Oh, come on!" said Ahmer. "How am I supposed to-"
"Ahmer?" said Sam, but Ahmer wasn't listening. His eyes had fallen on Sam's notebook. The page was covered, absolutely covered, in tightly written, inscrutable ideograms or glyphs that didn't look like anything Ahmer had ever seen before- row after row after row of them. Oh, sure, there were Professor Ikeshoji's equations and diagrams in there too, but they were almost completely crowded out by the weird little symbols.
"What language is that?"
"Huh?" said Sam. "I don't- what?"
"That." Ahmer jabbed a pencil at the ideograms. "What language is that?"
"It's not- I don't know what you're talking about."
Ahmer eyed him suspiciously.
"No. Really. I don't know what you're talking about."
"Sam, you're taking notes in another language," Ahmer pointed out. "What language?"
"Seriously, Ahmer, I don't-"
"Mister- ah- Witwicky." The professor's voice cut through the conversation; both Sam and Ahmer jerked upright guiltily. "I need you to pay attention."
Sam gulped, but his voice was clear as he said, "I am paying attention. Professor. Sir."
The lean, grey-haired man eyed him suspiciously. "PLease," he said, "come and demonstrate, then. This problem-" He nodded to the chalkboard, where a blank coordinate graph and a half-completed equation waited. "Needs solving."
"Gladly. Sir."
Grateful that the professor's wrath had fallen on someone who wasn't him, Ahmer nonetheless watched Sam approach the front of the room with dubious hope for his roommate's survival. There was no way this could end well. Sure, Sam had said he'd gotten a 5 on the AP Mathematics exam, but-
Wait. Sam was writing out the rest of the professor's equation.
Sam was plotting out the equation's results on the graph.
Sam was correcting the professor's equation. And writing out new ones as easily as if it were breathing.
And Ikeshoji was looking at him as if he were the genetically engineered simultaneous clone of Al-Khawrizmi, Aryabhatta, and Newton.
Ahmer started copying out as many of those weird little ideograms as he could. There was no way he was going to let Sam get away with not telling him how he was doing this.