Wow. My first NUMB3RS fic, ain't I proud? Seriously.
This was intended to be maybe a thousand words maximum, but I got carried away. Based more on speculation about how a personal epiphany could have come about had I access to a certian curly-haired math professor, rahter than on actual experiance. No, I have to think up this all on my own. Octavia is lucky. The footnotes didn't turn out very well, but bear with me, okay?
"Thanks for coming, Charlie." A tall, pretty woman in her mid-thirties smiled at the young professor. "I have a feeling that you're the only one who can get through to this girl." She said. Charlie nodded.
"I see. Why do you say that? You didn't really elaborate over the phone." Charlie said, dropping his leather satchel on a desk.
They stood in a high-school classroom. It was lunchtime in the tiny high school, nearly five hours out of LA in a small, virtually unknown town on the coast. It was popular in the summer, when its population grew nearly thrice its normal size due to tourism, but when asked, nobody would know if you tossed out the name in conversation. Ann Neals was the advanced algebra teacher, and had been one of Charlie's tutors when he was younger. He had outgrown her when he was seven, but they had kept in touch.
"Well, this is her test from last week." Charlie took the three stapled pages from Ann and glanced over the front page. He raised his eyebrows. The entire page was covered in scribbles, sketches, diagrams, and equations, all completely unrelated to the exam questions. For example, Number one read: Upon what iteration does the following recursive equation fall out of the graph?" and then it gave the equation and a 40x40 graph, 20 through -20 on both the x and y axis.
Violet pen ink glared up at him, defiling the space used for equations with a rather nicely fleshed out image of several numbers acting out the infamous 'because seven ate nine' joke, followed by a short explanation: "I'm sorry, but recursive equations have no application in real life outside of figuring out mortgage payments. That's what financial advisors are for." A small heart and a messy signature followed. Number two, solving systems of equations with substitution, was decorated with a short story, about ten sentences written in a tiny, neat text that contrasted with her scribble of a signature. The story was about a girl who tried to solve an equation in that manner, got so confused that her head exploded, and the subsequent explosion of heads as the janitors one by one refused to clean the mess it made.
Charlie was almost afraid to turn the page, but did anyway. Numbers three through six were similarly disregarded, each with some sort of comic involving squirrels that looked a lot like an internet cartoon that had circulated the office a couple months back with an involved computer joke and a lot of cussing1. Seven, however, caught his eye for a different reason. Here, she actually had done some sort of work.
It was an equation about where a boat would end up if the current, speed and winds were at specific angles. The point was to use trigonometry, but the girl made a note near the top of the page: "I've told you several times that I wasn't taught this in my old school. I've told you time and again that this integrated mathematics program is absurd, not well thought out, and immature. Third graders have integrated mathematics. High school has always been separated into Algebra, Geometry, Trigonometry, and Calc. I've gone through Algebra one, nothing else. Get it through your head."
And from there, she proceeded to fill the page with admittedly made up, but not entirely off, statistics concerning her learning curve, equations calculating her IQ against the IQ of her classmates and proving that, technically speaking, she should understand on a higher level, if only they would teach her from the bottom up instead of dropping her in the middle and expecting her to figure it out. Charlie was somewhat impressed. The next page, however, deflated his hopes that this would simply be a matter of convincing her that math was important. A page-long essay covered up the eight and ninth problems, basic geometry review questions, expounding on each job that she had heard of, how it used math, and how computers and technology would eventually replace the need for mathematicians.
The final page was covered in scribbles that could be called doodles. She had done some of the simple problems with no work written out. The last problem, a word problem, was written out with a full verbal explanation, explaining how it was simply common sense common sense and didn't require a chart like they had been taught.
"See why I'm worried?" Ann sighed as Charlie handed it back. Charlie nodded.
"I can see." He said. "You said that you had arranged a meeting?"
"Yeah, she should be here with her lunch tray soon." Indeed, as Ann said it, the door was kicked open and a girl strode in. Charlie, whatever he had been expecting, didn't expect her. Every single student in the school was moderately dressed, most often preppy. There were a few guys who dressed similar to the stereotypical punk, but no girls for sure.
This girl, however, was dressed in baggy, tan cargoes with a lot of zippers. Her shirt was black, emblazoned with a green dog-like creature and the words "I still got a hug in me"2. Her hair was in a pony tail. Black rectangular frames sat in front of eyes of indefinite color. From his distance, Charlie swore they were grey. She could have passed for simply a tomboy if not for the thick leather band encircling one wrist, the terrycloth band around the other one, and the heavy, dangerous-looking black boots and heavy eyeliner. She swaggered casually to a desk, dropping her tray on it with a clatter. Her black bag, emblazoned with a pentagram with two rounded tips3, dropped next to her.
"Salvete.4" She said, pronouncing the 'v' like 'w'. "To what do I owe this honor, now?" She asked, taking a bold bite of her salad.
"Miss Colby, This is Professor Charles Eppes, from CalSci. I asked him here to talk to you about your last test, and my class in general."
"Oh, yeah. Hey, you got the joke on the first page, right?" Octavia5 Colby asked, chuckling. "I thought it was rather clever."
"Nicely executed sketch, but actually solving the equation would have gotten you credit."
Octavia shrugged. "My way was more fun." She said, dipping her breadstick into the cup of chili and looking at the curly-haired young man in front of her. "So, Prof, you're from CalSci? What do you teach?"
"Advanced mathematics. Highly advanced Mathematics." Charlie said, sitting himself backwards in the chair in front of Octavia, an attempt to be as casual and open as possible. "Ann tells me that you're very bright, but don't apply yourself."
"You apply a temporary tattoo, not a person."
"You apply talent, too." Charlie countered. Octavia glared.
"Hey, look. I didn't ask for this. If I wasn't so smart, nobody would look twice at my grades." She sighed. Charlie raised an eyebrow.
"Failing on purpose doesn't seem so smart to me." He said. Octavia's fork froze on its way to her mouth. Her eyes flew up to Charlie's.
"Professor... I swear I could kiss you right now." She said simply, before finishing her fork's journey. Charlie sat back, raising an eyebrow.
"Because I told you that failing on purpose wasn't smart?"
"Yes." She said. She swallowed, and then continued. "Everybody always asks me how I can fail when I'm so smart, and I reply that I just don't do the work. The only reply that their infantile minds can come up with is "Oh, but you're so smart!" They give me this dumbfounded look when I say that failing isn't very smart, now is it?" She explained. Charlie nodded.
"I see what you mean." He said solemnly. "You're tired of people seeing you as a brain."
"Yeah." Octavia admitted. "They expect me to get all the right answers in everything, especially math, but math is actually my worst subject. Not any teacher's fault--" She chanced a glance at Ann, who was pointedly ignoring the conversation, "--but just because most people try and make me explain how I do stuff, write out my work, and a lot of the times I can't do that, because I just kind of.. Logic through things. Like this one," she snagged the test off the nearby desk and flipped to the final word problem. "See, if Juan leaves fifteen minutes after Anita, and drives sixty miles an hour, then he would arrive at the same time as Anita if she was driving 45 miles an hour because the destination is 45 miles away. 45 miles at forty-five miles an hour is an hour. Forty five miles at sixty is forty five, which is how much time he would have if he left fifteen minutes later, see? But I can never put that into a RTD6 like Neals and every other teacher wants me to." Octavia said, her voice growing more frustrated as she said the last few words.
"I know, it's irritating." Charlie said. "I went through the same thing growing up. My tutors were anxious to see how my mind worked, but often times I could only tell them the end result. Even though it was always correct, they wanted to see how I got there. They forced me to write it out, the equations and processes. I'm thankful that they did, because the equations that I work with now are infinitely more complex than those I used to solve, and I'd get lost if I didn't write it all out."
Octavia stared at him skeptically. She took another bite of salad and made a face. "This dressing tastes funny." She said, avoiding the topic. Charlie caught the brush-off.
"Avoiding the topic won't work." He said. Octavia had the grace to look properly chastised. "Trust me, you use math more than you think, it's not useless." He said, switching topics slightly.
"Name ten instances." She challenged.
"Figuring out how much time until the end of class, calculating your GPA, making sure the shady-looking cashier didn't rip you off in making change, figuring how many bottles you'll need to return to get a pack of gum, drawing block numbers, estimating newspaper circulation and readership of squirrel comics, figuring out where you are when you get utterly lost in the middle of the ocean."
"That's seven." Octavia smirked.
"Counting out how many examples I give--" Charlie said pointedly, making Octavia chuckle slightly. "Comparing which pair of boots will provide the most momentum with which to kick people, and figuring out the trajectories of the people you're attacking with the boots after you've bought them." Charlie finished.
"Fine, ten." Octavia laughed slightly. "But that only applies in school. Once I get into the real world, I won't need these boots, I'll be allowed to apply for a concealed weapons license and carry around kunai." She joked.
"Well, what do you plan on doing when you graduate?" Charlie asked.
"Well, college obviously." She shrugged and took another bite.
"And then what?"
"I dunno. Brief course in cosmetology, then maybe go into a bit of criminology, and perhaps touch on psychology, then maybe wind up back in cosmetology, doing manicures for wayward college students on Caribbean cruises." She shrugged.
"How do you plan of financing all of this?"
"Well, I looked into it a bit, and if I worked a full forty-hour week every other week, and fifty hour weeks on opposing weeks, working at Curves, I could afford a small apartment near campus and attend school. Then I'll get a job at USA Nails downtown and get only six an hour, but I'll have tips as well, and trust me, more than half of the women and girls in this area have their nails done regularly and all of them tip fairly well, I did a survey, and that will get me through a few night classes in criminology, just for background. I figure I'll take some criminology courses and a psychology course or two at the same time. Then, I'll go to Florida to find my job on a cruise liner, which I could probably manage to work it so that I could practically live on the ship and afford just a hotel for a week at a time every few months, you know?"
Charlie raised an eyebrow. "Do you realize how much math you used to figure all of that out?" He asked. Octavia opened her mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. Finally, eyebrows furrowed, she closed it once more and settled back in her chair, examining Charlie very closely.
Finally, she gathered her thoughts. "I was planning a future for myself, that doesn't count as math. If it works towards something, it's just a necessary life function. Like reading signs versus reading Romeo and Juliet in English."
"Well, if you don't do your math in class, then you won't have a future to plan for." Charlie said, not unkindly. Octavia seemed to think bout this for a few minutes.
"So it seems." She said. The bell rang. "If you'll excuse me, I have Biology." She got a wicked grin on her face. "We're looking at blood under the microscope!" She took her tray and left the room, vanishing into the slowly crowding hallway. Ann sighed.
"She'll be fine." Charlie said. "I know it's not policy, but maybe you could give her her tests one-on-one, and have her walk you through stuff, like she did with the word problem for me." Charlie said, standing up. "She strikes me as the kind of kid who would like teaching the class something. Give her something to research and give a miniature lesson on, or let her pick something."
Ann nodded. "Thanks so much for coming in, Charlie." She reiterated. "You did in fifteen minutes what I couldn't do all this year."
"It wasn't a problem." He said. As he left the building, it occurred to him that he hadn't told Don when to pick him up. He searched through his pockets to find his cell phone.
1 Foamy, Tech Support I and II.
2 G.I.R., Invader ZIM. This shirt really exists.
3 Heartagram, HiM's almost universally known symbol. Rate-Time-Distance chart. I'm not sure it this is universal or not. Anybody who wants an explanation is welcome to ask for one, I'll do my best.
4 Latin greeting, as spoken to more the one person. When speaking to only one person, the word is 'salve', pronounced 'sal-way'.
5 Octavia is an old Latin name, derived from the word for 'eight', usually meaning 'eighth daughter'. Funny, Octavia is an only child.
6Rate-Time-Distance chart. I doubt they're standard, so if anyone is a masochist and wants to know exactly what they are, drop me a line.