Two students swung a jump rope in a wide arc round and round and round.
Ruby Rose bounced in its center, where her long hair swished side to side. "Eight, nine, ten~!" She spun to face the other way and repeated, "One, two, three~!" all the way to ten. Then, she pivoted to face the rope's descent, how it sped down her front toward her toes unless she hopped in time.
The Linai twins flanked her at the cord's handles and counted along-side her. They controlled its rhythm: whoosh-wap, whoosh-wap, whoosh-wap. "Backward!"
At last, Ruby spun on the spot for the final stage. The rope sped upward, arced behind her, aimed for her heels, and she jumped to the tempo. Ten more times she skipped, until the cheers of her and her class-mates erupted and she rested both feet on the padded gymnastics floor.
Their teacher applauded nearby. "Well done! Switch it up."
The kids changed places. Oni and Daisy picked up the jump rope handles, Percy seized up between them as if the jump rope would sprout thorns, and Ruby sprinted to a five-gallon jug at the closest bench, where she filled a cone-shaped cup with cool water.
Every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon, Summer and Winter Court attended the same Arithmetic classes where they practiced the most basic math skills: numbers, shapes, units of measurement, addition, and subtraction.
That mid-Fall Thursday, Summer Court's teacher tested her kids on flawless counting between one and ten, though she'd shown them every number up to one hundred.
Math lessons didn't end there, though.
Summer and Winter Court's homeroom teachers organized their students in single-file facing several round tables. Windows and ceiling panels illuminated the classroom in stark white. The marker-board gave off a subtle dry-erase scent and the hard-tile ground wafted with minty sanitizer.
Summer's teacher, Miss Admiral, shuffled slips of paper in a newsies cap, each piece folded over to hide what was written inside. "Every paper here has a math problem and every seat in class has a number between one and twenty. The answer to your math problem is where you need to sit. Who's first?"
Oni picked out the first math problem: 10-8. They froze in place, all but their lips as still as stone, and they silently mouthed every number up from eight and nine and ten with their gaze glued to the paper. It took them a hot minute and some encouragement from Miss Admiral to answer in their throaty voice, "Two!"
One at a time, the students responded, taking their time to puzzle it out correctly the first time, until the next student from Ruby's class stepped up.
Daisy Linai picked her math problem: 8+9.
"Seventeen." She sniffed and curled the edges of her lips.
"You barely even looked at it." Miss Admiral accepted the slip of paper into her free hand. "Are you sure?"
"I added eight and nine. It's seventeen." Daisy moved past her teacher and searched the chairs as if a breeze carried her across the floor.
Ruby counted with her fingers at first, nine, eight, seven, no—seventeen, sixteen, until she realized she was counting the wrong way. Stunned silence muted the rest of her class-mates, too, though everyone glanced left and right at each other.
Miss Admiral stammered, "Well done," and moved on to the next kid in line, Daisy's brother. He struggled like the rest of them with his math problem (11-3), and the lesson went on from there.
A week later, the teachers quizzed them again.
Daisy Linai stepped up and picked another random math problem: 3-1.
She rolled her eyes while stepping on the paper toward her seat. She even grinded it under the toes of her weathered shoe before going on.
The third time on a different day, Daisy picked: 7+8.
"Fifteen." She passed Miss Admiral on the way to her seat without looking at either teacher.
Ruby sat next to her that time along with two kids from Winter Court. She didn't know their names, but they knew Daisy for the reputation she made for herself.
Ruby hovered a pencil above her work sheet on which twenty equations asked for her attention. Her pencil fiddled over a math problem, 1+10. Eleven, she was about to write. Eleven. It wasn't that hard, but something stopped her. El…ev…en.
Meanwhile, the two kids from Winter also paused their work.
Daisy tapped her pencil against her right cheek, worked her expression as if something troubled her, then wrote out a couple numbers under her first equation: 3+17+2.
=22.
16-9+12
=19.
13+19+14
=46.
6x3
=18.
Ruby leaned forward. "How come your paper looks different from mine?" It didn't come out as an accusation. Instead, wonder softened her tone and made her eyes go wide.
"I don't know. Miss Admiral just gave me this one." Daisy answered the next equation without looking up from her paper, without returning Ruby's or their class-mate's stares. All three of them drilled through Daisy's bleach-blond hair, through the top of her head as if X-ray vision could track the gears turning in Daisy's mind. What processes made her think this way? What gadgets in her brain made Arithmetic so easy for Daisy?
"Yeah, you are." Ruby swelled her chest and shoulders. Her class-mate was good at this. Her class-mate was the best at this. The realization made itself more plain while they sat together. Daisy's skill at Addition, Subtraction, and whatever the other thing was shed upon Ruby and it made her smile. "Can you help us when you're done?"
Daisy said, "You know how to do this. I'll help you when you need it."
As if that was final, the sound of pencils scratching on paper filled the room, and everyone went on with their work. Ruby wrote, 11, at last, and joined her class-mates in quiet concentration.
Still, math classes didn't end by just repeating numbers.
One day, an enormous digital screen covered the marker-board surface from end to end. Miss Admiral pulled blinds over the windows and dimmed the lights, so everyone and everything became silhouettes. Only the screen's electric-blue lumination shined on Ruby's face.
A single dot was placed in the screen's center.
An unseen hand drew lopsided loops round and round while text appeared, multi-colored in every shade between green and red: Can you draw a perfect circle?
Ruby's friend, Oni, charged before anyone else.
The teacher handed them a stylus pen and gestured to the screen.
At once, the lopsided loops and the text vanished, and Oni used their left hand to swoop the stylus around. A few portions of their egg-shape shone red, some glowed a gentler shade of yellow, but Oni didn't close their drawing at the top. XX.X%, the screen flashed a few times, before Oni's attempt erased itself from the screen.
Oni snarled, "I'm trying again!"
They still didn't close the oval-shape at its top during their second drawing, but this one at least said, 67.6%, until it was erased as well.
Oni returned the stylus and stalked back to their seat, muttering something about broken and Mister Ogre and didn't see that. Snickering from their fellow class-mates followed Oni all the way to their seat.
Miss Admiral called the students one at a time, and everyone tried twice to draw the most perfect circle they could.
Half the time, a kid didn't close their whole circle: XX.X%. XX.X%. 63.5%. XX.X%. The other half scored 83.5% where half the circle glowed green, 81.3% in which red flanked the oval's left and right arcs, 84.6% showing the whole awkward bottom as this red glow.
Ruby hooted and threw both hands high up, when Daisy Linai approached the screen. Everyone held their breath and leaned forward, until a collective cheer followed her first drawing. Yellow and green traced around the best circle they'd seen so far at 89.7%, followed by the text: Personal Best!
Another inhale seized the classroom when Daisy tried again, but Ruby drooped her shoulders. Daisy's second attempt had wobbled around the bottom, turning red. The screen flashed 81.3% a few times, before it and the circle erased themselves.
One of Ruby's other class-mates broke the record a little while later, when his first circle scored 91.6%. Veridian Pike beamed at his teachers wide enough so the grin showed his teeth and he whirled both arms like he was dancing. He bobbed his head side to side. However, laughter humbled him on the way back to his seat after Veridian's second try, when he scored 87.0%.
Once Miss Admiral called Ruby's name, the little girl tightened her lips shut. Every step forward scuffed heavily.
The stylus' plastic handle emanated warmth after dozens of uses. Its tip ended at a rubbery ballpoint. She cleared her throat while her grip on the stylus shivered.
Several pairs of eyes narrowed on the back of her head where their presence tingled her hair. Static (or nerves) prickled behind her neck. Everyone else had to do this; she was among the last ones. Did everyone else endure the same paralytic awe that she was?
She swallowed with difficulty while resting the stylus upon the digital screen.
Then, with a crescent swoop, six-year-old Ruby Rose drew 91.9%, and overjoyed spirit roared from her audience.
Personal Best!