Logs:Stupid Kid Math

Stupid Kid Math
Dramatis Personae Roscoe, Tok
In Absentia	2024-07-23 "No, I was in prison," he says. "You have got to stop trying to guess how I'm gonna answer your questions, isn't this kind of embarrassing for you?"
Location <XAV> Library - Xs First Floor
Xavier's librarian might hope the library is a quiet place to sit and study, but with a school full of teenagers that is not always the case. Nevertheless, it is certainly a treasure trove of knowledge, well-stocked with a wealth of books on its high shelves. Its reference section is vast, though its fiction is as well (much to the delight of many of its students.) The wide octagonal tables and smaller armchairs are often crowded with students, though the whispered conversations that often take place leave some doubt as to how much work is getting done at any given hour. It seems sort of unfair and unreasonable for summer classes to have midterms or pop quizzes or frankly any expectations at all, and yet even in the height of July there are still some students in the library, some of them even working. Roscoe looks like he would much rather be outside -- sleeveless black tee shirt, athletic shorts, backwards Celtics cap -- yet here he is, in a cross-legged slouch at one of the tables, kind of working, spinning his pencil around his fingers, occasionally flipping it to just bounce it on its eraser off the table. "Did they say how long you're gonna be in Stupid Kid Math?" he says -- that's presumably not the official title of the course -- "I think after this summer, I'll be all caught up again." Tok’s legs bounce in a way that reverberates through the table, tail flicking and twitching in a restless manner unlike its usual idle or excited wave. He wears a baggy soft green t-shirt, and basketball shorts that are just a tad too long on him. In between the occasional far off looks, leaning back to stare at the ceiling, various restless shifts in position, doodles, looking up to Roscoe’s pencil, to his hat, to the kids next to them, Tok does occasionally attempt to read a few lines from the text book in front of him. “I ain’t stupid, Ma always said I just struggle to learn in structured environments.” He says automatically in a practiced way, almost distractedly. He looks up from the page and rubs at his eyes with the palms of his hands. He allows himself to slump and slide down in his chair. “I’unno. At least another term I think.” He stops rubbing at his eyes and looks at Roscoe, “How long did it take you?” "This place ain't structured," Roscoe wrinkles his nose in a buck-toothed smile as he makes this (dubious) claim. He gives the pencil another lazy spin to land back in writing position, one hand pressing his graph paper flat to the table in a fruitless attempt to keep his handwriting neat despite the jiggliness of the table. "Technically three, but I got here halfway through the first term," he says. "I think I did fine for missing two years of school but --" he blows a breath through his teeth, puffing up his cheeks. "S'posed to be done with precalc by now." He waggles his pencil, then readjusts his grip. "You were homeschooled, right? How's that?" Tok grins, “Well then I just ain’t stupid.” His eyes follow the movement of pencil with his tail beginning to twitch in a more rapid back and forth. It takes Tok a delayed moment to respond, and his eyes jump back to Roscoe, “Yeah yeah! I liked it a lot—my parents are reeaalll smart. They made it all so easy, helped I could take breaks whenever.” He shifts positions, again, into a more perched one with his feet in the seat of the chair, knees pressed up against the edge of the table. “Then missed uh…I dunno, couple years and it all went whoosh!” He mimes with his hand outwards from his temple towards the ceiling, “I tried to read n’ stuff at some libraries cause Pa always said it was real important, but s’not as fun when you’re just trying to- wait wait wait.” Tok interrupts his own rambling, Roscoe’s words seeming to finally process more thoroughly. He tilts his head at Roscoe, “Why’d you miss two years? Oh oh- was it cause of how you said you couldn’t stop seeing through your math tests ‘n stuff?” He squints his eyes towards him, unsure. Roscoe tilts his head to one side, giving Tok a dubious squint, then he seems to decide not to weigh in on this homeschool stuff, just shakes his head and marks his answer at the bottom of his work, drawing a neat box around it, very careful in squaring the corners. "No, I was in prison," he says. "You have got to stop trying to guess how I'm gonna answer your questions, isn't this kind of embarrassing for you?" Tok’s eyes widen in alarm, “Wait- what?” His voice pitches from loud to quieter, suddenly aware of his own volume around the other students. He instantly begins to open his mouth again, presumably to ask more questions, or maybe take a guess, but closes it with an audible click. He scans Roscoe, briefly, before forcibly looking away, down towards his own grid paper. “That’s a long ass time.” He says finally, letting out a long breath, unable to hide the concern that slips into the statement. He fidgets, claws tearing idly off one of the corners of his worksheet, which he then tears into smaller pieces, creating a little pile. “If I don’t try and guess this time uh…” He hesitates, “Can I ask what uh…what happened?” He asks, casting a quick side glance towards him from his paper tearing activities. “Or like- I mean- just anything. Two years? ” He asks in a non-question, in lieu of the hundred other questions being restrained. "Shhh," this might be just a stock we're-in-a-library shush but that Roscoe's face has fallen into a sudden threatening look, eyes fixed flintily on Tok, hand tense around his pencil. He eases off when Tok looks away, spins the pencil again in his hand -- "It's not that long," has a bit of it-looks-worse-than-it-is blustery nonchalance to it. "I don't know, can you?" he says, while he is channeling his inner librarian; he finishes copying the next problem onto his paper. "No, I'd love to hear these guesses," he says, but then, "-- later. I'm working." He gestures at his paper with the pencil again, and settles back in to work. Tok’s ears pin downwards, brow furrowed in a distinctly upset expression, though at what exactly is unclear. “…Not that long.” He echoes. He groups the little torn papers up, and pushes them carefully over to the side. “I hope that’s true.” Then, he adds quieter, “Glad you’re out.” He’s shifted positions again, one leg pulled close, foot still in the seat, and the other leg dangling so it can resume its bouncing from earlier. He looks at Roscoe one more time, before picking up his own pencil again to continue his own work. “I mean, If you want my guesses, I can give you guesses.” A hint of a smile briefly flickers on his face, “But sure. Later.” He’s quiet as he stares at his current problem, and he manages to keep that silence for a whole minute before sliding closer and pushing their grid paper closer to Roscoe, “What the fuck is a prime factorization and why are they asking me to make a tree out of it?”