Disclaimer: Still Rainbow Rowell's.
Calculus is hard. It takes an entire term of both Khan Academy and tutoring from Matilda, a term in which I take the bare minimum of university courses in order to focus on maths and still wind up staying up late and getting up early trying to beat limits, derivatives, and integrals into my head. Conic sections had nothing on this. And then just when I master integrals and think I'm done, there are Taylor Series and Maclaurin Polynomials and magic-knows-what-else. For the first time since I started trying to learn maths again, it feels like it doesn't fit in my head, like I'm back in Magic Words class trying to transfigure a button into a butterfly and coming up empty.
The lightbulb moments are worth it. When I finally understand derivatives, I dance around the flat singing "Wait for It" from that Hamilton musical Penny's gotten us all obsessed with. I am inimitable, I am an original . . . It feels like going nova, like going off, but I get to stay conscious. It's incredible. Understanding integrals feels the same way. And then with infinite series I wind up proving amazing things, like ½ + ¼ + ⅛ + 1/16+ . . . = 1. It makes me so happy when I finally understand the logic.
I pass the A-level at the end of spring term of my first year of university, and as soon as my results come in Professor Wilson lets me sign up for both Linear Algebra and Discrete Structures in the fall. Professor Wilson is going to be my Linear Algebra professor. He smiles at me as he helps me register for the class. "You've done well this year, Mr. Snow," he says. "If you could master everything from algebra to Taylor Series in a single year, who knows what you'll do next. Could be a Ph D in your future."
I come home after I register and find Baz already in the flat, sitting on the sofa reading over some notes. I let my rucksack fall off my back and collapse onto the sofa next to him. "Baz," I say. "I did it. I really did it."
"You passed?" he asks, glancing up at me from his notes.
"Professor Wilson thinks I could get a Ph D," I reply. "For real, Baz. I'm actually good at something."
Baz sets his notes on the table in front of us. "Snow. You're good at plenty of things. Speaking of which, will you have more time to demonstrate your many talents now that the term is almost over and you're caught up on maths?" He wiggles his eyebrows, and it's all I can do to keep from collapsing into giggles.
"Yes. But Baz. Now I'm good at something I can actually tell people about. And it feels so good."
"As good as what we get up to in your bedroom?"
I think about it for half a second and then say, "Actually, yes. Better." I haven't tried to talk to Baz much about maths up until now. He's been vaguely jealous of the way I've devoted all of my time to studying, pointing out that if even he can clear time in his schedule, even though he also has to hunt, I should be able to find some time as well. Maybe calling maths better than intimacy is just going to make things worse, but I can't help it; it's true, and I want him to understand my joy.
Baz stares at me. "Really." But his tone isn't jealous now; it's as if something is dawning on him.
"Really," I say.
"You've really found it, then. Your thing."
I nod, solemnly at first and then vigorously.
He pulls me into his arms. "Congratulations, Simon."
I nuzzle into his chest and say, "I'm good at something, Baz. I'm really good at something. It just makes so much sense, and even when it's hard I want to keep going. I want to keep doing this. It's so good."
Baz kisses my forehead and plays with my curls. "I'm proud of you."
Penny finds us cuddling on the sofa when she gets home. "Can you boys keep the physical affection to Simon's room, please?" she says. "And Simon, since when do you have spare time for cuddling?"
I look up at Penny without leaving Baz's embrace. "I passed, Penny."
"Oh my Merlin!" she exclaims, joining us on the couch and pulling me out of Baz's arms and into hers. "Simon, that's wonderful!"
"I'm registered for two university maths classes next term, and the head of the maths department thinks I could get a Ph D!"
She stares at me, face inches from mine, brown eyes so wide that her long, curling eyelashes brush the bottoms of her eyebrows. "Simon. That's amazing. Only one of my professors has said that to me."
She and I just grin at each other for a few seconds, so mentally in sync that I don't feel the need to explain anything else to her. Unlike Baz, Penny's been around for all of my late nights and early mornings; she's seen me beating my head with a book and also dancing around singing "Wait for It." She knows that I feel like I'm going supernova when things are going well, and she knows how frustrated I get when maths doesn't make sense.
After several seconds, Baz pulls me back into his arms, and I cuddle up against him. Penny looks at us and says, "Okay, for once I'm going to let you cuddle in here, since Simon has such exciting news. Anything past cuddling had better be in Simon's room, though."
"Thanks, Penny," I say.
Baz and I cuddle while Penny makes dinner—distinctly burnt lasagna—and after dinner we all scatter to study for our finals. I have fewer finals than Penny or Baz since I cut back on my course load this term to work on maths, so I feel like one of my finals is already finished, but I still need to study.
The next day, though, Penny brings home a chocolate cake and a dozen sour cherry scones from the bakery. The cake says, "Congratulations, Simon—future Ph D!" For all that I can't wait to stuff my face with it, part of me wishes I could hang the cake on my wall instead for when I need encouragement.
"Isn't this counting our chickens before they hatch?" I ask around my first bite of cake.
"Modesty is pointless," Penny retorts, and Baz nods. (They've gotten to be good friends this year, somehow, around all our schedules.) "You're damn good at something, Simon, and we're going to celebrate it, not tiptoe around it."
"You're good at things too," I mumble around my first bite of my second piece of cake.
"Well, yes," Penny says. "I'm the best anthropology student this university has ever seen. But that was to be expected. This is new, and we're celebrating."
"Quickly, though," Baz adds. "The way this microeconomics final is shaping up, I think my professor is trying to murder me."
"Ditto," Penny says. "My sociology final is going to be absolute death."
So we finish shoveling cake into our mouths and I volunteer to clear the dishes, since I have the fewest finals. I try to think about the finals that I do have as I stick the plates in the dishwasher, but all I can think of is what Penny had written on the cake. Simon Snow—future Ph D. I can't get over how much I like the sound of that.
A/N: I still love reviews, follows, and favourites! There are a couple chapters to go!