The sound of pencils scarping across white paper
Thunders through the room.
Gentle clicks echo as more lead is needed
To finish the problem.
Erasers gently remove evidence of mistakes
While fingers jab at the keys on calculators.

Someone coughs and suddenly all attention
Is trained on him.
No one moves, no ones eyes dart
In his direction
But our focus has been taken away
From the girl and her six kilometer radius forest.

The teachers aid asks timidly if we've completed the problem
His roughed blondish hair and quiet eyes
Give reason to believe
He should have majored in English.

Math is a quiet language
For those who dwell in books and corners
Bringing it out into the open air
Calls for trumpets, banners, and birds.
Or maybe just some awkward shrugs and shifty eyes.