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He glanced down at the textbook with an eyebrow raised. “My palm?”
“You’re not allowed to get up and storm away. No yelling. If you get frustrated, put your hand on the page and we’ll take a timeout.”
Over the two years of tutoring, frustration was an almost guarantee. Math brought out the Hulk in stressed students, which to a certain extent, I could understand. I’d once had a sophomore throw their textbook at me because they were too overwhelmed. Thus, the new rule—no temper tantrums. We’d take a break instead.
“Fine,” Connor said after a moment, trepidation in his expression. “If I want a time out, hand to the Bible. Got it.”
The hour moved by slowly, but it hadn’t started off as bad as I’d been expecting. Connor needed a refresher on what a number line looked like, so a process that should’ve only taken a few seconds turned into five minutes of explanation.
“These lines mean absolute value,” I explained, tracing the straight line on the textbook’s page. “So you want to find the absolute value of 2-7.”
He blinked at the sheet. “Which means…”
“You’re starting at notch two on the number line.” I tapped the second notch. “You want to move backward seven spaces.” I moved my finger backward like a chess piece. “And what number are we on now?”
After counting the notches, he said in a voice that lacked confidence, “Negative five.”
“But we don’t focus on the negatives, only the number itself. So 5 is the absolute value of 2-7.”
Despite not liking who I had to tutor, after a while, I fell into my usual peace of it all, and found myself having fun.
It was not fun for Connor, but unlike many of the students I tutored, he didn’t lose his cool when my explanations made no sense. I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting going into our sessions, but I hadn’t expected him to be so patient. So determined. It left me wondering what had ever led him to failing in the first place.
Connor placed his palm gently against the textbook page, his fingers aligning with the top of the binding. “I don’t understand,” he said simply, refusing to meet my eye.
“Which part?”
“How you got this number.”
I looked at where his finger pointed, figuring out where he lost me, and went from there. It was odd to watch his confidence waver. Throughout the entire hour, he only focused on the textbook and notebook in front of him. Or when he wasn’t going through the papers, his attention darted at every little thing around us. The other picnic tables, the water, the geese, the rustling trees.
While he worked on the last few practice equations in Chapter Two, I pulled out a sheet of paper from my bag and smoothed it out on the picnic tabletop. It was a graded worksheet I’d gotten back today, with a red A+ in the top corner, and I creased it enough times that I could tear the rectangular piece into a square.
Origami was something Jozie had picked up in middle school, and as her younger, nosy sister, I’d had to learn it too. I could do simple things—boats, cranes—but my favorite thing to fold were paper roses. They didn’t take too long, didn’t take any complex folding, and it was a perfect way to bide my time. While Connor worked on his assigned equations, I folded.
He only glanced up once. His hair had dried in the sun during our session, the loose waves falling over his forehead. “What are you doing?”
“Origami.”
“Ah, so a math loverandan origami lover.”
“There’s geometry in origami,” I mused, delicately folding back the piece of paper. “Once I finish this flower, and I unfold it, the paper will have all kinds of lines on it, right? Those creases indicate intersecting planes and symmetry. If I were to mess up a fold, even by just a millimeter, the shape would be all messed up. It’s fascinating.”
When I looked up from the paper, I found Connor blinking slowly at me, as if he waited for a punchline.
The expression made me realize how lame I must’ve sounded. If Alex were here, he would’ve tried to cut me off before I got that far. Clearing my throat, I pocketed my half-finished rose. “It’s about time to head back. You finished?”
“Yeah.” There was a tinge of something sharp in his voice as he leaned backward, working a hand over his eyes. “We only worked through two chapters, though. That’s not fast enough, is it? And won’t the chapters get harder from here?”
“They’ll build upon each other. They won’t necessarily get harder, but there’ll be more information to remember and work through.”
Connor’s lips tightened at my words, and now it was plain as day to see the nervousness wash over him. “How am I supposed to remember all this?” he demanded, gesturing at the book. “I’m not some math genius who can store equations and crap in their head.”
“All you have to do is think them through.” I began packing up the materials, sliding the notebook into my bag. “I have a few problems you can work through tonight—”
“I have homework from you, too? How am I supposed to juggle all this with my other classes?”
“Connor—”
