& Be a Man [Harold]

[Archer Homer Clark]

"When you're happy like a fool, let it take you over,
When everything is out, you gotta take it in,"

Math. Loathsome, loathsome math. That was what he was doing at the moment, and, frankly, Archer was sick of it. It just didn’t make sense! Sure, when the line on the graph went up, but it was so freaking hard… The blind boy didn’t understand why he had to take it. He was going to be a writer, after all, and already had a tidy sum set aside from his published ones, so why take math? With a groan, his forehead hit the table in front of him, as he inwardly lamented the fact that he wasn’t in Ancient Greece. There, trying to teach this stuff to him would’ve been ludicrous! After all, it had been amazing enough that he was able to write down the language! …Well, and make it legible.

Sighing as he turned his face so that his cheek was pressed against his paper, the freshman found himself very annoyed at the school system for not letting him take another math class. After all, it was really hard to understand equations and stuff when they kept trying to reference graphs, which were very, very hard for him to comprehend. True, he probably would’ve gotten a little ticked, considering he liked being considered ‘normal’, but had he known what he was getting into… He would’ve said yes in a heartbeat.

Math just didn’t agree with him. Numbers and variables, equations and graphs… It was like trying to speak Chinese, for goodness sakes! He had had a far easier time learning Latin, though languages were a strong point. It didn’t flow with him! Words were his best tool, his most friendly ally, and it was one of the reasons that Archer had little trouble with word problems, but anything else… It boggled his brain, and he had even considered getting a math tutor. With the book he had, it wasn’t as if it would be super hard.

Because his teacher had to know what problem he was on, or for some crappy reason like that, his book was printed in an odd fashion, for whenever they had problems, like for homework, they would have the problem written in English by the Braille section. Archer probably wouldn’t have noticed it at all had his mother not pointed it out, but it was still weird… Perhaps he just didn’t get it. That could be it.

Reigning in his uncharitable thoughts, and straightening back up, the boy picked up his mechanical pencil, biting his lip as he tried to figure out the horrendous problem. Come on, come on, work for him…

~~~~~~

Song: Good Life by OneRepublic
Word Count: 429 words

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[Harold James Greyson]

Math ruled the world. Harold knew that. At the end of the day, it was mathematics that explained it all. If you knew math, you presumably knew everything. But he knew something else. Knowing math didn't mean you knew everything. If math was the perfect answer to all, he would be the smartest person on the face of the Earth. But he wasn't. He was far from it. He was stupid, in everything but math and physics and such grand things like that. But English? It sucked.

That, of course, brought up a good question. What would Harold Greyson, resident autistic savant, be doing in the high school library? He certainly hadn't come here to read, or count the books. Nope. He was coming to do math, outside of his dormitory. He didn't want to go walk all the way to see Alice right now, and she was probably busy. She hadn't answered he phone, after all. And he didn't want to stay in his dorm because Angelo hated him; though Harold pretended to be oblivious to that half the time, he knew it was true. It made him sad. No one really liked him, did they? No one really called him friend, except Alice, but she never answered her phone now. It wasn't fair! This was going to ruin his chances at everything! At college, at everything!

Caught up in his anger, the young man sat right down at an occupied table, and threw his math book upon it. AP Calculus. Easy stuff. It was relaxing to do. No doubts it drove his classmates mad, that he could do it for fun. The resident nerd of the class had yet to beat him on a test - for Harold, the score didn't matter, but for that guy it did, and it was just more more person that was mad at him. He put his head on his arms and stared at the spine of the textbook, wondering what chapter would make him feel the best, when he noticed the boy.

Slowly, cautiously, Harold looked up again. A blonde boy, probably a freshman, sat before him. When did he get here? Harold felt alarmed. Had he actually sat on an occupied table, or had the boy come here? Did it matter? The two of them were face to face now. It left several options open to him. One, he could pack up his books and book it. Two, he could ignore the boy, but even he knew that was weird. Three, he could talk to him.

He looked down at the boys book, noticing math. Math. Math and the boy. He wasn't much for symbolism, but it seemed like an equation to him, telling him to speak up. So he did. "H-h-hi?" He stammered, voice gruff from lack of use. Prior to this, he hadn't said a word all of today. "I-I'm Harold. D-do you like math?"


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words| 533
tagged| Archer / Poet
notes| Sorry this took so long. D:

[Archer Homer Clark]

"When you're happy like a fool, let it take you over,
When everything is out, you gotta take it in,"

The first thing that alerted Archer to the fact that someone was there were the quick, angry footsteps, following by the scraping of a chair across the floor and then a loud thump that jerked his head off of the table, having felt the vibrations. Obviously, something had been thrown upon it, probably books, but he wasn’t sure. It had startled him, honestly. Had the person not noticed that he was there? Or had he (it was most likely a he, judging by the heavier footsteps, though it could’ve been a larger girl who walked firmly) just been so angry that he hadn’t cared?

The poet was unsure of what he should do, as well. Quietly pack him? Draw attention to himself and say something? He just wasn’t sure… Deciding that the best option, at least for the next few minutes, so that the person could cool down, was to just pretend that nothing had happened and try to struggle through his homework, Archer proceeded to do just that, wondering with his usual curiosity who exactly was sitting at the table with him. It was quite annoying, not to be able to speak up and ask, though he didn’t really want to bring attention to himself if the person was mad…

That was why he was both very surprised and grateful when the boy (for he had identified him correctly) spoke up, definitely not sounding angry, and actually quite timid. …Alright then. Times like these, Archer wished he could see, just to see know what exactly the other looked liked, as he was getting massive mixed signals at the moment. Ah well, you couldn’t win them all. Smiling, and ‘looking’ in the other’s vague direction with his unseeing eyes, Archer replied calmly, trying to be reassuring to the clearly-nervous boy. “It’s nice to meet you, Harold, my name’s Archer,” he told the other, deciding to not throw his nickname it there. It wasn’t his favorite thing to be called by, and it might confuse the other, seeing as he seemed timid enough as it was.

His question made him pause for a moment, however. He couldn’t just say that he hated math (though it was pretty much true), considering that Harold was implying that he quite liked the subject. If he hadn’t, he would’ve likely commented on it being a drag or annoying or something along those lines, so the former possibility was more likely to be inferred. “I enjoy Algebra, but anything that has to do with graphing and shapes and Geometry escapes me,” he ended up replying, wincing internally about how truly terrible the structure of that sentence was. Ah, how that tended to get on his nerves, and here he was doing it himself! He was such a hypocrite!

Archer decided to pose his own question, though, and spoke up curiously. “What about you? Is it your favorite subject or something?” he asked politely, though part of him was wondering about the odds of the other being willing to help him with his homework. Because if Harold liked the class, it was quite likely that he was good at it, as most people didn’t exactly like classes that they did horrible in, though there were, of course, always exceptions. But if he was willing to help him…

~~~~~~

Song: Good Life by OneRepublic
Word Count: 550 words
Note: I'm so sorry it took so long...

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