So this is the random result of a small idea in my head that probably doesn't work. I'm not sure how clear it is as to what's going on, but if it's not, please let me know in your reviews :)

Big thanks go to my wonderful beta, Elledreamer.

Maths is the Answer

This is a small space.

In reality, I think there may be a lot of air around me, but that's not what this feels like... this feels like 'trapped' and 'unable to do anything.'

Occasionally I can hear them talking. They speak in low voices around me, as if it will make any difference. Actually, it does. It means I can't hear a damned word they're saying, and so I have no clue what's going on. When I wake, there's either silence or hushed whispering. And maybe cool water on my chest or at my mouth. It varies.

I don't wake often, granted. Most of the time, my mind is a confusing pit of swirling thoughts that don't quite linger long enough for me to make sense of them. Other times, nothing seems to come into my head at all and the time drags on. At times like these I invent a puzzle in my head. A complex quadratic equation that I have to use the formula to solve, or a velocity-time graph to interpret.

Ask one of the others what I'm talking about, and they'll shake their heads in bewilderment. Alex might have an idea... he seems pretty smart. Paulo wouldn't have a clue. I assume he spends all of his Maths lessons flirting with girls and fantasising over dream machines. Amber probably doesn't even know what an A level is, and Li wouldn't care. She'd find it boring.

Boring.

How someone can be so clueless is beyond me. Maths? Boring? She doesn't have any idea... all the puzzles, the patterns... there are endless possibilities! How Pascal's Triangle seems to pop up in the most random of places, and how the gradient function can be used to find gradients, acceleration and speed, and reversed to find areas and distances... and this is just a pixel. A pixel on a massive football pitch-sized computer of mathematics. A taste of what's out there in the depths of this world that people find... boring.

So I'm trapped in this body that doesn't seem to want to do what I want it to do, regardless of the orders from my brain, and I am occupying myself with Maths problems. It works for me. It takes my mind off the relatively small space in which I am trapped, and it will work. At least until I am freed from this ordeal.

I can picture the last page I visited on my palmtop before Amber threw it overboard. Well, not... threw, exactly, more laughed when it fell. I run through the images in my mind, and recite the text on the page. I could name everything I packed in my suitcase when I left for this place. I made a mental list so I wouldn't forget anything. I run through it in my head, checking off each item when I visualise where I left it in my dorm. There's just one big, gaping hole where my palmtop should be.

It took me weeks to save up for it. Months.

There's a general buzz of conversation nearby, but I can't make anything of it. They're probably discussing my condition. They think I'm unable to walk, and I think Alex built a stretcher last night out of twigs or something. He must have thought I was asleep. It's surprising, the things you can get away with when you're suffering from septicaemia.

Stretcher. I don't need a damned stretcher. I haven't even tried to walk yet. I'll probably find that this is all a bad dream, but with quadratic equations and Pascal's triangle. I'll wake up in a bit, and we'll still be building our aqueduct, or better still... we'll still be stood in front of Heather being severely chastened. And that time I'll refuse to join their little picnic on the boat. Or, even better... I'll wake up and find myself at home, waking up in my bedroom at the start of the weekend, with a fully-charged, dry palmtop at my bedside.

So maybe I won't find myself at home or back on board the boat. But maybe the Komodo dragon and the scalpel were all a bad dream... yes, that's it. I'm fine. I was never bitten, and I am perfectly capable of walking.

I can walk.

The conversation buzz abruptly stopped. Oops. Did I say that out loud? Good. Maybe they'll listen. It's the first word I've said aloud for a while, I think. I waited for my eyes to open and my body to respond to my brain's commands, but it didn't happen. Damn. Now they'll never let me walk.

My thoughts drift away from the present and back to the moments when I first met the other guys. Alex was in the dorm when I arrived. He seemed nice enough, just a little too... good, in a way. He was all excited and told me about his wonderful father who was in the SAS or something, and how he wants to follow in his footsteps... none of it bothered me. Ha, I'd like to follow in anyone's footsteps but my father. Alex gave up eventually when he realised I was more interested in what my palmtop had to say.

Paulo arrived late. He immediately dumped his suitcase next to me on the bed and opened his arms wide, and cried, 'Hola, mis amigos!' He strolled around the room, and – I swear – actually knocked on every surface he could find, analysing the material used or something. All the while he spoke non-stop to Alex and I, completely unaware of the glances we were shooting each other. He's from Argentina, I think. Somewhere over there. He lives on a ranch with his parents and sisters and cows, and apparently lots of girls have asked him out. All information courtesy of Paulo.

Li defines the word annoying. I first caught sight of her before I was sent to my dorm, chattering non-stop to this other girl who looked positively bored. I didn't think much of it at first – I'd seen dozens of kids around already. But then she turned up in our watch, and I'm sure I saw Alex inwardly groan along with me. Paulo's permanent grin just got wider. She gave us all a hug – first Paulo, predictably, then Alex, and then me. It was awkward. I doubt she noticed... she just hugged our leader, Heather, straight after.

So there were four of us. I could have put up with them, I think, and for a while I was hopeful. Another person would have taken up more space and demanded an extra fifth of my attention.

And then Amber arrived.

Amber. I just don't get her. One minute she acts all stuck up and American, and the next she's all 'poor me, my parents died and I'm a diabetic.' I get it. She's had some rough times... and I can respect that. It's her damn attitude I hate... no, her attitudes OK, but I don't like the way she is. No. So I've never been a guy of words. I don't like the way she looks at me, like some street scum... which is probably right, but I shouldn't really care about how she looks at me. She's just some rich American kid. Usually I'd just ignore people like that, or I couldn't be bothered.

So why do I want to change the way things are between us?

God, this is confusing. People. They never stick to facts. Maths, on the other hand... yes, that is the answer. I think I will think up a kinematics problem to solve instead.

The End