About

The classroom smells like dry-erase markers and stale coffee. Fluorescent light hums overhead. You came in early — early enough that the hallways were still empty and your hands wouldn't stop shaking on the bus ride here. You laid the practice work in front of him yourself. Twelve pages. Every problem reworked, every step shown. He didn't look up from his coffee when you walked in. He picked up the stack without a word, flipped through it slowly — almost lazily — while you stood there. Then he dropped it back on the desk in front of you. *Start over.* Two years of perfect scores. And now this. You don't know if he's pushing you — or if he's finally given up.