“I’ll try my best,” I sneered.
“Are you capable?” he asked again.
“Excuse me, but I attended the most elite prep school in my area and I graduated with honors, not that that’s any of your business. So, yes, I believe I am capable of handling third-grade math.”
“Fine. All I want you to do is circle the desks and make sure they’re grasping the lesson.”
“I’ll try, your majesty.” And that earned me an eye roll that simultaneously made me want to slap him and kiss him.
“Today we’ll continue with equations and variables.” I turned, expecting them all to groan and whine the way my classrooms back home would, but I looked at the little faces and saw nothing but excited anticipation.
They like learning.
I listened as Dingane taught them how to solve for “x” in a simple variable and tried so hard not to let myself get distracted by his hands as they moved fluidly over the chalkboard. When the lesson was over, he and I both awkwardly danced around the other in attempt to avoid being near each other as we circled the desks. I’d barely avoided him when I noticed a little girl twirling her pencil in her hand and blankly staring at her desk.
I bent and sat on my heels next to her. “What’s wrong?” I asked too harshly. I cleared my throat. “What’s wrong?” I asked as sweetly as I could.
“I do not understand,” she stated clearly, no emotion in her voice.
“Here,” I said leaning over her a little, “let’s try together then.”
She scooted nearer to her paper and readied her pencil. “Okay,” I continued, “the equation reads, solve for ‘r’ when three times ‘r’ is twenty-four. Let’s imagine ‘r’ is a number. What number multiplied by three will get you twenty-four?”
I could hear her saying her times tables under her breath and when she got to her answer, she blurted, “Eight!”
“Very good,” I told her. “I wanted this to be simple for you to understand. Do you understand what they were trying to get from you now?”
“Yes, Sophie,” she said, making my heart race at the mention of my name.
“O-Okay,” I stumbled out, swallowing hard. “Now that we know what they were trying to get from us, let’s apply Dingane’s method. Shall we?”
“Yes.”
“If we know that three multiplied by eight yields us twenty-four, then twenty-four divided by three gets us eight or twenty-four divided by eight gets us three, right?”
“Yes.”
“And if three multiplied by ‘r’ is twenty-four, then we can take three from this side of the equation and divide twenty-four by it and that will yield us ‘r.’ What would we do if there was a division sign on this side of the equation?” I asked, pointing to the left side of the equation.
“We would multiply the number by the answer to get our variable.”
“Oh my word, you’re a genius!” I told her, squeezing her hand.
She beamed at me. “I understand now.”
“I’m so happy!” I told her and I was. Happy. Truly. “What’s your name?”
“I am Namono.”
“It’s so nice to meet you, Namono.”
She surprised me by throwing her arms around my neck. A swelling sensation invaded my heart and I’d no idea what it was but it was a good hurt, a hurt that felt worthwhile. I smiled at myself before looking up. Dingane stood at the far corner of the classroom, peering my direction, but I couldn’t read his expression. My face flamed a bright red and I turned slightly into Namono to hide my reaction. Although I could no longer see him, his eyes still felt heavy on my head and shoulders. What I wouldn’t have given to read his thoughts in that moment.
The rest of the morning was full of math, math and more math. At lunch, I waited in line a few children down from Dingane. Namono held my hand while the other children bombarded me with questions.
“Where do you come from?” a little boy asked.
“California. Do you know where that is?” I asked him.
“No,” he said, squinting his eyes as if he could imagine it.
“That’s okay. I’ll show you when we return to the classroom.” He was satisfied with that answer.
“Do you have a mother and father?” another little boy asked.
“I do.” I looked up and noticed Dingane had tilted his head, listening in.
“What are they like?” he continued, while the others’ eyes were rapt with attention.
“They are nice,” I lied.
“Are you married?” a little girl chimed in.
“I am not,” I chuckled.
“Dingane is not married either,” she added for good measure.
I almost fell over in laughter when Dingane’s shoulders tensed.
“He isn’t?” I asked. “Why not?” Dingane stopped breathing altogether and I stifled the snort threatening to escape.
“He says he will never marry,” one little girl answered.
“Never marry. How interesting. Do you think it is because no girl will have him?” I teased.
He turned around then and shot me a look to kill, but I just shrugged my shoulders in question.
“No,” she answered, “he is handsome enough.” No kidding, kid. “I think it is because he doesn’t think he deserves to marry.”
“All right, that’s enough!” Dingane said, parting through the line of children before us like he was Moses and they were the Red Sea. “I have to talk to Miss Price. Excuse us.”