Little Miss Babysitter

-- 7 --

If the coefficient of c is x ≤ 8(π3x-ab2), and the complete equation is 4a8-b(a*bx) = c(7x+3√4), with the values of a = 4, b = -32, and x = 81, what is the value of c?

My hands unconsciously balled up into fists, entangling clumps of my hair inside their folds. I have 19 problems to go, and my brain already hurts as if it was put on a hot plate. And the setting was 'deep fry'. Why can't I be as good in math as I am in history? I flipping love history.

I sighed, skimming over the number coated page, before flipping my books shut, and burrying my head deep into my over worked hands.

"Hey." A mocking voice blew on my ear, causing me to wince and groan, all at once. I decided to tune it out, knowing very well of who it was.

"Hey." He whispers again, a jeering high to his voice. I press my my fingers over my ears, exposing my eyes a bit, but I close them immediately into thin lines. Not today, not today, not t-

"Hey." He crooned again, and I slapped my hands down onto the cold marble table.

"What?!" I yapped, my mouth forming a well deserved frown. "What could you possibly need from me?!"

"I just wanted to say hi." Nate giggled, slipping into the springy chair next to mine, and bounced around a bit. "Plus. It's fun to piss you off."

"I'm not in the mood." I snarled, causing him to snort guttarly, and put his feet up on the table. "--Nathaniel Rider; I may not be your mother, but you have exactly two seconds to remove your feet from this table or I'll do it for you. And my tactics are not gentle."

He chuckled, wilting down into his chair again. "I love it when you talk sexy to m-"

"Oh, shut up." I groaned, pushing him out of his chair with an impractical shove of his arm. He hardly budged. Damn. "Can you go away please? I'm trying to do my homework."

"What homework?" He was suddenly alert, gaping into my face with an open mouth and raised brows. They look like baby caterpillars. On a very, very good day. "You don't go to my school. Do you?"

"Uh, no? Where do you go?" I hardly asked, not quite interested, not quite bored. I took a sip of my water, enjoying the cooling feeling of it rolling down my throat, when he began to speak.

"North Brinley Charter School? For the Musical Arts? You heard of it?"

I spat out my water in a fine mist, and flipped around to gaze at him with a newfound respect.

"You go to North Brinley Charter School?" I whimpered, pawing at my matted hair with my fingers.

"Yeah, but I don't really have talent. I mean, when it comes to playing... anything, really. I'm only there because my mom forces me." He shrugged, plucking an orange from a fruit tray, and begining to peel it directly over my homework. It's stench rang out like a sour note, and my nose instantly crinkled. "Why?"

I laughed. "Why? I'm only taking this job so that I can go there!"

He paused, his eyes daring to find mine. "You're coming to my school?"

"Maybe! If I get in, and if I get enough money in time for next year." I reveal, putting down my pencil, and opening my math booklet yet again.

He nodded, sinking his canines into the citrus fruit so deep that I can hear the gush of liquid spurring from inside.

I began to tackle the problem yet again, making hardly anything that's remotely similar to the thing that people call 'progress'. I enjoyed his company, although he had just been sitting there, it was nice; I wasn't smacking him around with a chopping board, and he wasn't screaming at me for interrupting his phone conversations. That was really weird, though, the other night. When he came so close to me, almost as if....