Page 9 of Power Play

In case studying runs through dinner. Proud of you.

The food smelled good. I ate three pieces of broccoli and half the chicken before imagining the skirt pulling across my hips the following morning.

My fork stopped halfway toward the rice.

I covered the plate.

When my father entered at seven, I had completed every problem in the textbook section twice. He stood behind my chair with one hand resting against the back while he reviewed the pages.

“You’ve been working.”

“Yes.”

“How long?”

“Since I came home.”

His attention shifted toward the tray. “You didn’t eat.”

“I had a late breakfast.”

“At what time?”

“Nine.”

His mouth tightened. “You need fuel if you expect your mind to perform.”

Shame climbed through me. My mother wanted discipline from my body, and my father demanded precision from my mind. Somehow, I had failed both of them with the same plate.

“I’ll eat later.”

He sat beside me and chose one of the more difficult problems. “Show me.”

I solved it while he watched. My hand trembled slightly near the end, and I erased one number after writing it in the wrong column. The smudge remained after the correction.

My father tapped the page. “Slow down. Precision matters more than speed.”

“I know.”

“Then behave as though you know.”

I swallowed and rewrote the equation. This time, the answer was correct.

He selected another problem, then another. By the fifth, my thoughts had begun moving through syrup. Hunger pulsed behind my eyes, and every number required more effort than it should have.

I changed another sign.

My father leaned back. “You know this material.”

“Yes.”

“Then why are you making careless errors?”

“I’m tired.”

“Being tired isn’t an excuse for failing to apply what you know.”

“I’m not failing.”