Twenty-four pencils scratched across the surface of twenty-four papers. Twenty-four students hunched over their timed math sheets, frantically trying to beat the clock.

Their teacher walked up and down the rows, surveying their work. Mr Boddi smiled as he saw George, who'd been struggling with double-digits last week, effortlessly finish a row. His students were catching on fast.

He tapped his trusty yardstick against the chalkboard as he reached the front of the room again. "One more minute!" he called.

The scratching grew faster. A few students yelled out "Yes, Mr Baldi!"

(He couldn't help smiling again, recalling the first day of the school year. How he'd introduced himself to a room of twenty-five second-graders, writing his name in chalk and saying "Mr. Boddi."

One child, a girl with black pigtails, had misheard, and shrieked "Mr BALDY?!" Her laughter had spread through the entire room, and after a moment Mr Boddi had erased the middle two letters and replaced it with 'Baldi.'

Many teachers would have objected to a nickname like that, or refused to go by it. Understandably so. But Mr Boddi - Baldi - saw no harm. The kids still learned and treated him with respect, so there was no harm in a funny name.)

His gaze drifted around again... and settled on the twenty-fifth student. The one whose pencil wasn't moving.

Sam sat in their seat, staring blankly at the paper. Their pencil shook slightly in their grip, and when Baldi made his way over to them, he saw that they'd only finished three problems.

The numbers were nothing.

They were there, yes, but they didn't mean anything. They didn't look like numbers, they looked like lines. Scribbles. Sam didn't know what they were looking at, what the numbers meant. They didn't know what they meant.

They looked up, to check the clock. And then they froze. Baldi was staring at them, frowning mildly.

'You're smarter than this, what are you doing? How could you get this wrong?!'

Sam ducked their head back down and frantically started filling in the blank spots. Not solving the problems - which were starting to blur and run together because they all looked too close together to begin with. Not answering properly.

Just filling in numbers and praying they were correct. They had to get lucky at some point, right?

Baldi frowned harder. Sam was writing now, but... No, something was wrong. They had stared at their paper with wide, fearful eyes too long. They obviously didn't know what they were doing, they weren't really answering questions, they...

...They were guessing.

Baldi exhaled through his nose. If he had a choice, he'd give everyone a little extra time, so Sam could catch up. But as it was...

He checked his watch, then tapped the board sharply with his yardstick. "Time's up!" he called. "Pencils down, pass your papers forward face-down."

Sam swallowed, their throat tight. Their own numbers didn't make sense either. Their own writing was unintelligible, they couldn't read it.

They could a few seconds ago! But the longer they looked, the longer they made no sense.

It wasn't fair. Everyone else could understand these funny symbols. Why couldn't Sam?

With a heavy heart and an ill stomach, Sam turned over their paper. Set their row's papers on top so nobody could see their too-dark scribbles bleeding through the back. And passed the stack forward, where Baldi was waiting.

Baldi collected the stacks and made his way to his desk. His heart felt heavy as he sat in his chair, checking the clock. But he kept a smile.

"You know, I think we deserve a break! Everyone head to recess five minutes early. Quietly!" he hastily added as the kids began cheering and loudly pushing back their chairs.

"Sam," he called out above the din. "May I please see you for a minute?"

Sam felt ice run down their back. They swallowed, their throat too tight.

Shaking, they made their way to Baldi's desk, noting the way he frowned as he pulled out their paper.

'This is easy, Sam! It's stupidly easy, how can you get this wrong? What's the matter with you? Are you even trying?'

"Y-Yes..." Sam answered the phantom voice in their memory. Baldi seemed to take it as an answer to him.

"I want to talk to you about your progress in math."

The ice grew colder.

"I notice you seem to be struggling. You freeze up during our timed quizzes, and your tests and homework..." He thought back to the last test. Wrong answers, all of them. Far too many smears from an eraser. A hole, where Sam had erased too hard.

Sam had looked ready to cry when they turned it in. "You're doing fine in your other subjects. Your writing skills are extraordinarily advanced for your age, the art teachers love your creativity, and you're one of the best runners in gym. But math..." His frown deepened in concern. He laced his fingers together on top of his desk and leaned forward.

Sam stood straighter. Their eyes went to the yardstick propped against the wall beside Baldi.

'You know the rule, Sam. One for everything below a B.'

They stared at the yardstick, suddenly thinking of how Baldi held it, carried it around the room in case he needed to point at something or get someone's attention. But now- Just what if-

'One!'

Sam flinched, hugging themselves.

"Sam, if you'd like to stay behind after school for tutoring, we have an excellent program that can help you. We'll send a letter home so your parents can-"

"No! No, please, it's okay."

Another deep frown. "Sam, it wouldn't be any trouble. And you need to do better in math, we use it every day. I want you to do better, I want to help you."

Sam only shook their head.

Baldi looked angry. It was because they'd gotten it all wrong, they knew it.

They looked at the yardstick again. Could almost hear it whistling through the air behind them. Saw in their mind's eye the way their teacher tapped it against his hand when he got really into a topic. They'd always thought it was a natural, unconscious reflex but-

"At least for today, please. We can go over your quiz together and fix the problems together. It won't take longer than twenty minutes."

Sam was trapped. They nodded, heart sinking to their shoes. "May I go to recess now, Mr Baldi?" they whispered.

Baldi sighed. Despite Sam's agreeing...he felt they hadn't really gone anywhere. "Alright, go right ahead. But remember to stay behind after school."

He watched with a heavy heart as Sam bolted for the door, as if they couldn't get away fast enough. He sighed, looking at their quiz again.

8 + 3 = 249. 10 - 7 = 2378. 24 - 12 = 02.

It was all guesswork. Just random numbers jotted down, he knew.

He put the quiz in Sam's folder, updating the sticky note on top of it. 'Show to principal and counselor. Suspected learning disorder.'

After a pause, he added another: 'Speak to counselor privately. Suspected trouble at home.'