#solving quadratic equations

[minhosimthings]

Jake and Changbin would definetly put a rose quartz in their s/o's room even if they are together

Someone please come and scream at me to study JAKE IS DISTRACTING ME

[cicadangel]

why is algebra ii genuinely harder than calculus what, i am going to break my head

[9nid]

🧠 Master Graphical Applications of Quadratic Equations – Part 2 | JEE Series Part-15 | By 9nid

🎯 Introduction Quadratic Equations are one of the most tested and important topics in JEE Mathematics, and understanding their graphical behavior can make even the toughest questions feel easy! In Part-15 of the JEE Series by @9nid, we dive deeper into the Graphical Application of Quadratic Equations (Part-2) — focused on visualizing inequalities and interpreting expressions using…

[edusquaremaths]

🧠 Master Graphical Applications of Quadratic Equations – Part 2 | JEE Series Part-15 | By 9nid

🎯 Introduction Quadratic Equations are one of the most tested and important topics in JEE Mathematics, and understanding their graphical behavior can make even the toughest questions feel easy! In Part-15 of the JEE Series by @9nid, we dive deeper into the Graphical Application of Quadratic Equations (Part-2) — focused on visualizing inequalities and interpreting expressions using…

[pyr0peyt]

Holy shit maybe I won't flunk my Algebra 2 cumulative exam after all???

[math-journal2]

<— Unit 9: Part 5 — Unit 10 —>

Solve for x

Quadratic—> Vertex Form

Page 26

[math-journal]

Quadratic Formula

[pitlanepeach]

The Long Way Home I Chapter Two

Oscar Piastri x Harper Grace (OFC)

Summary — When Harper, a kind girl with a guarded heart, meets rising karting star Oscar Piastri at their English boarding school, sparks fly.

It only takes one silly moment of teenaged love for their lives to change forever.

Warnings — Teenage love, growing up together, falling in love, teen pregnancy, no explicit scenes when the characters are underaged (obviously??), strong language, manipulative parents, past death of a parent, dyscalculia, hardly any angst, slice-of-life basically!

Notes — Eek, are we soft for them already?

Wattpad Link | Series Masterlist

Maths was a unique kind of enemy.

Harper stared at the page, where a tangle of numbers mocked her in perfect, immovable silence. Quadratic equations. Graphs that looked like abstract art. Somewhere in her notes, her own handwriting had turned against her.

Jane was no help. "Look, I'd love to assist, but I operate strictly in the humanities. You want me to write an essay on why algebra is a metaphor for emotional repression? I got you. Solve for x? That's between x and God."

Harper sighed, banging her forehead on the desk.

Which is exactly how Oscar found her after his endurance run, still in his hoodie, hair damp and cheeks pink from the cold.

"You okay?" He asked.

"No," she mumbled into the table. "I'm dying. Death by numbers."

He peered over her shoulder. "Those are easy."

She raised her head and narrowed her eyes. "You would say that." She glared at him.

Oscar laughed and slid into the seat beside her. "Alright. Come on. I'll show you."

At first, it was just him. Patient, steady, explaining with short, clipped phrases and pencil taps. She wasn't sure if it was his teaching style or just the fact that he wasn't condescending that made it slowly start to make sense.

But by the next evening, word had gotten out.

Somehow.

The dorm common room turned into a weirdly specific academic support group. Oscar's roommate Sam pulled up a chair. Then Cal (Oscar’s engineer) FaceTimed in "for moral support"; and then casually mentioned that he has a masters degree in quantum physics.

Then two boys from Oscar's algebra class wandered over with snacks and just so happened to linger.

By the third night, someone had drawn up a "Harper's Maths Survival Schedule" and taped it to the common room door.

It read:

Monday: Oscar Tuesday: Sam Wednesday: Oscar Thursday: Alfie Friday: Matt

Harper laughed so hard when she saw it, she nearly cried.

And weirdly, somehow — it helped.

Not just the maths—but everything. The pressure. The loneliness. The constant feeling that she was a visitor in someone else's life. Here, she wasn't her mother's daughter, or the less-than-perfect student, or a problem to be fixed.

She was just Harper. And they liked her enough to stick around and actually put effort into helping her get better at maths.

One night, after everyone else had trickled off, Oscar hung around a little longer. She was almost too tired to think, her head tipped back on the sofa, eventually lolling over to rest on his shoulder.

"I don't know how you did it," she murmured.

"Did what?"

"Managed to turn maths practice into something I look forward to."

He laughed lightly. "You just needed to stop being so hard on yourself about it."

She looked over at him, eyes half-lidded. "Thanks, Osc."

He paused for a second too long. "Yeah. You're welcome."

She didn't respond. Just blinked at him, soft and warm.

And when he kissed her, it wasn't shocking.

It just felt... right.

—

Oscar wasn't supposed to be here.

Technically, he could be permanently expelled from the school. Lose his scholarship.

Not that he seemed particularly worried about that as he ducked beneath the low dorm window Harper had jimmied open earlier that week with a pen and a high level of angry rebellion.

"You're late," Jane said from where she sat cross-legged on her bed, dabbing highlighter onto her cheekbones. "Harper said you'd be five minutes."

"I had to wait for your prefect to leave," Oscar replied, swinging a leg inside. "She was sniffing around like a bloodhound."

"You're lucky you're cute," Jane muttered, not looking up.

Oscar took in the room; two mismatched duvets, makeup scattered across the long desk, fairy lights tangled above a heart shaped mirror. The air smelled like vanilla body lotion and expensive shampoo and some kind of spice he couldn't place. Cinnamon, maybe.

Harper was perched on the windowsill, brushing her hair into a ponytail with one hand, holding a lip balm in the other. She was wearing a navy jumper over leggings, ankle tucked under her thigh like she hadn't even noticed he'd arrived—even though the pink high in her cheeks suggested otherwise.

"I feel like I've entered another dimension," Oscar said, warily eyeing an eyelash curler. "What is that?"

Jane brandished it like a weapon. "Beauty, my darling. Don't question the process."

"You're both unwell," he muttered, but he was smiling.

Harper rolled her eyes at him, but had to purse her lips to hide her smile. "You're the one who insisted on coming over."

"Yeah, and now I regret it," Oscar said, perching awkwardly on the edge of Harper's bed. He knew it was hers because her pillowcase was monogrammed with a cursive H. "What are you doing?"

"Makeup," Jane said, blending concealer with terrifying precision. "You should try it."

Harper handed him a compact mirror with a sly smile. "Want some mascara, Osc?"

Oscar caught his own reflection and made a face. "No. I'll stay ugly, thanks."

Harper rolled her eyes at him and nudged him. He noticed that she'd painted her fingernails a glittery pink. He liked them.

Jane tossed an empty crisp packet across the room and it landed somewhere close to the bin.

Harper held up two near-identical shades of what was apparently lip gloss and demanded that Oscar choose.

Oscar chose the darker pink and Harper beamed at him.

Eventually, Jane pulled her riding boots on and announced, "Right. I'm going to grab some water bottles. Don't kiss until I get back — I want to watch."

Oscar opened his mouth to say something — anything, but she was already gone.

And then it was just the two of them, the room suddenly quieter, more tense. Harper turned toward him, one knee bent on the chair, her face lightly painted with makeup, her cheeks flushed from the laughter.

She looked at him, eyes half-lidded. "Thanks for coming, Osc. I missed you this weekend."

He stared for a second too long. "Yeah. Yeah, of course. I wanted to come. I missed you too."

She didn't look away, and suddenly he couldn't hold himself back anymore.

He pushed off of the bed and walked over to her, leaned down and cupped her face in his hand and kissed her. Long and soft and perfectly minty — from his gum or her lipgloss, he wasn't sure. Maybe both.

Teamwork.

When they pulled apart, she exhaled shakily."Okay," she said, so softly it barely existed. "That was nice."

Oscar looked at her for a long moment, his thumb brushing a smudge of mascara off her cheekbone.

Then Jane banged back through the door with a flourish, freezing mid-step at their closeness.

"Oh my God, did you—? You did, didn't you. I missed it again!"

—

Half term at Harper's house felt like walking around in someone else's skin.

Every day was a new performance: a crisp outfit, polite laughter, perfectly timed nods in rooms filled with too-white teeth and names she was supposed to remember. The dining tables were long and silent, the smiles were sharp, and the wine flowed never-ending.

Her mother paraded her through charity galas and luncheons like she was a debutante being rebranded.

"Stand up straighter, Harper."

"Don't speak unless you're spoken to."

"Do not mention anything to do with your schooling. God forbid they ask about your grades."

So Harper swallowed herself down, tucked her sarcasm into her clutch bag, and became exactly the daughter her mother wanted. For six days.

By the seventh, she'd become brittle.

When the train pulled back into the station near school, Harper had barely spoken a word for almost five hours. The Uber to the gates was quiet. Her mother didn't even look up from her phone when she said goodbye.

And then the building appeared—stone and ivy, wind in the trees, the faint smell of grass and cafeteria food.

Home, almost.

She hadn't texted Oscar. So she just walked straight to the common room, her bag still digging into her shoulder, hair pulled into a too-tight twist, like a fingerprint that her mother had left on her.

He was there, leaning against the radiator with his headphones half on, scrolling through something on his phone. He looked up once and blinked like he wasn't sure she was real.

"Hey—"

She dropped her bag before he could finish. Crossed the space in three quick steps.

And then she was in his arms, burying her face into the curve of his neck.

No words. No warning.

Oscar caught her without hesitation, his arms sliding around her, his hands settling at her back like they'd been waiting. He held her tightly.

For a long time, they didn't say anything.

Just her fingers fisting in the back of his hoodie. His chin tucked gently over her hair. The low hum of the radiator and the quiet outside, and the way she was shaking, not crying, not quite, but trembling with the pressure of having to be somebody else for too long.

Eventually, he whispered, "Was it that bad?"

She nodded into his chest.

"I missed you," he said.

She didn't answer; just held on tighter.

It was the first time she'd ever let herself lean on somebody like this. Not perform, not pretend—just be held. And she didn't care who saw or what anyone thought.

Oscar had quietly become her anchor. Her soft place.

And maybe that was terrifying.

She was only fourteen, Oscar fifteen — but God, his arms felt like safety. And warmth. And something else that she couldn't bear to even consider yet.

—

Harper's fifteenth birthday wasn't eventful.

She didn't tell anyone. Not because she didn't want them to know—but because birthdays in her world had always come with strings. Lavish luncheons, social climbing events, gifts that felt like bribes.

She just wanted this one to pass through quietly. Like a train through a tunnel.

Jane, of course, knew anyway. She left a pastry and a glittery crown on Harper's bed with a note that said, "You are legally required to feel loved today. I don't make the rules." The crown had little fake gems and kept slipping off Harper's head, but she wore it anyway during breakfast.

Oscar wasn't there.

He was in Italy. Or Belgium. Somewhere with a name that tasted foreign and exciting. Somewhere chasing corners at 120 miles per hour while she spent the morning trying to translate her messy English notes into a coherent essay.

Her and Oscar still weren't... official.

No labels, no silly promises.

Just soft looks and secret smiles, warm palms pressed together in the dark of the common room. Kisses that stretched time. Late-night texts that made her stomach twist in ways she still didn't know how to name.

But still. It was her birthday.

She didn't expect anything.

Which is why, when Jane dragged her back to their room after dinner, she nearly tripped over the package sitting on her desk.

There was no name on it. Just a strip of tape across the top, and the faint smell of engine oil clinging to the paper.

She tore it open slowly, heartbeat ticking louder with each pull.

Inside: a hoodie. Worn-in, navy blue. She recognised it immediately—it was Oscar's. The one he always wore over his racing suit, with his initials inked inside the collar. It smelled like him. Like soap and sun and sweat.

And tucked inside the folded fabric, a card.

H — Happy birthday. Sorry I'm not there. Don't let Jane make you wear the crown all day. Put this on instead. I'll be back before the end of the week. Save a birthday kiss for me. Osc x

She stared at the messy, awful, hardly eligible handwriting for a long time.

Then she pulled the hoodie on and let it swallow her whole.

Later, when they'd crawled back into the common room to watch a movie and everyone was pretending not to watch her phone light up every three minutes, Jane nudged her.

"You know he's basically your boyfriend, right?"

Harper rolled her eyes. "He's not, though."

Jane shrugged. "Oh, puh-lease. You're always wearing his clothes. You look at him like he's the moon and you're the stars. You guys kiss all the damn time — like you've got nowhere else to be."

"I don't need a label." Harper said.

"No," Jane said, smiling. "But you'll have one soon. I'd put money on it."

As if on cue, Harper's phone buzzed.

A photo. Oscar, in his race suit, grinning with helmet hair and grease on his cheek, holding up a little cupcake with a candle in it.

Wish you were here. Celebrating for you anyway. Happy Birthday, sunshine.

Harper didn't reply right away. Just closed her eyes, let the warmth bloom under her ribs, and whispered, mostly to herself, "I wish I was there too."

—

The night was cool and quiet in the early spring, the kind of night where the world seemed to be holding its breath for a warm day.

Harper waited near the edge of the astro turf, shadows stretching long under the floodlights that were turned off but still gave the field a faint glow from the nearby streetlamps.

Her hoodie was too big, but it felt like a shield—and it smelled like Oscar.

She heard footsteps before she saw him, and when he appeared, the grin he gave her was full of all the things words hadn't managed to say.

"Hey," he said, voice low.

"Hey," she replied, stepping closer.

They settled on the edge of the turf, legs stretched out, the grass synthetic but soft beneath them.

For a while, they just sat. Quiet but close. Hands finding each other like magnets.

Then Oscar broke the silence. "So... uh, us," he started, voice hesitant but steady.

Harper turned her head toward him, watching the way his eyes caught the light, shadows flickering like secrets.

"I don't want to mess this up," he said, his lips curled awkwardly. "But I really like you, Harper. Like... so much."

She took a breath. "I like you too," she whispered. "More than friends."

He grinned, that slow, real smile that made everything else fall away. "So—you want to be my girlfriend?"

She stared at him, her stomach warm and twirling, her lips twitching into a fond, sweet smile. "Yeah, Osc. Yeah. I want to be your girlfriend."

—

The track in Essex was wet. Not just damp — soaked. The kind of cold, miserable damp that clung to your bones and turned the air misty around the edges.

Harper stood at the edge of the paddock with Mark, a steaming takeaway cup with hot chocolate cupped between her hands, the sleeves of Oscar's team hoodie pulled down over her wrists. Her boots were already muddy. Her nose was red. She didn't care one single bit.

Because out there — helmet on, eyes narrow, engine growling beneath him — was Oscar. Fast, fluid, terrifyingly good.

Mark watched silently, arms folded, one eye on the stopwatch. "Final lap," he murmured.

Harper didn't answer. She couldn't. Her heart was in her throat.

Then he crossed the finish line — just ahead, by a fraction of a second.

A cheer broke out across the team tent, someone throwing their arms in the air. Mechanics pounded backs. One of the younger juniors swore loudly in delight.

Oscar skidded into the pit lane and yanked off his helmet. His hair was plastered to his forehead. His face was flushed, wild-eyed, grinning.

Harper barely waited. She ducked under the barrier and ran straight into his arms.

He caught her mid-stride, lifting her clean off the ground with a muddy laugh.

"You did it," she breathed, half-laughing, half-crying.

He held her tighter, nose brushing her temple. "I did it."

Their kiss was messy and cold and perfect.

A few feet away, Mark shook his head with a smile and muttered, "Teenagers."

Later, after the podium and the trophy photos and the engine checks and the interviews he barely paid attention to, Oscar found her again — sitting on a folding chair, wet hair pulled into a messy ponytail, her boots still caked in track dirt.

He dropped down in front of her, ignoring the mud. His hands slid around her knees.

"You cold?" He asked.

"A bit."

He peeled off his jacket and tugged it over her without thinking.

She let her hands drift to his collar. "You really are the best boyfriend ever, aren't you?"

He shrugged. His cheeks flushed a little. "I try my best."

They sat like that in the growing dusk, a boy covered in sweat and rubber and a girl who didn't belong in this world — but somehow fit in it perfectly anyway.

They still hadn't said the words.

But everyone around them already knew.

They could see it.

"Bloody young love, eh?" One of the mechanics said to Mark, giving him a friendly grin.

Mark stared at his protege and the girl he was wrapped around. "Yeah. Young love. A hell of a thing."

—

The Monday morning after Oscar's karting championship win was business as usual — at least for everyone else.

The cafeteria stank of burnt toast and unripened bananas. Someone's rugby kit had been left to rot in the corridor again. Teachers were barking about mock exams and how important breakfast was for concentration.

Rain pattered against the high windows.

The whispers had started the moment they walked in — not mean, just curious. A mix of respect and amusement. He's the karting kid who actually did it. And she was the girl who'd been there.

They didn't hold hands in front of everyone, they were both too awkward for that, but they walked close. His bag brushed hers. Their shoulders kept touching. She caught him glancing at her more than once, and she blushed every damn time.

They sat at their usual table; Jane joined them, already mid-rant about the biology quiz, and Oscar slid into the seat beside Harper like it was instinct. A few of his mates clapped him on the back, one of them tossing out, "Bloody hell, Piastri. Gonna forget us little people soon?"

Oscar grinned but didn't rise to it. His hand brushed Harper's knee under the table.

After breakfast, Harper slipped away early. Sometimes, the morning noise was too much. She wandered toward the astro, the damp still clinging to the edges of the pitch, her trainers leaving faint impressions on the stone pathway.

A minute later, she heard footsteps behind her.

"You always going to run off without me?" Oscar's voice, soft, teasing.

She turned and squinted at him. "I wasn't running," she said.

He stepped closer, hands in his pockets. "You okay, babe?"

Babe.

Babe. Babe. Babe.

"No," she said. "Yes. No. I don't know. I just needed to breathe."

He stepped up beside her, both of them facing the empty turf.

"You think my mum's going to be pissed when she finds out?" She asked after a minute.

He glanced sideways at her. "About you going to the race?"

"No. Yes. But I meant more about us."

Oscar was quiet for a moment. "Yeah. She probably will."

She looked at him; saw the mud-streaked, medal-wearing, boy-who-won-the-thing him. The one who kissed her under floodlights and held her on her worst days. The one she'd never trade for any high-brow, suit-wearing finance guy in any universe.

"You really aren't going anywhere, are you?" She whispered. "

He shook his head. "Not unless you're coming with me."

She stepped into his chest and sniffled a little, then looked up and lifted onto her tiptoes to let him kiss her.

—

It started as a joke.

One day in maths, Harper made a face so violently pained at the sight of a clock diagram on a worksheet that Jane nearly fell off her chair laughing.

That evening, Oscar mentioned it to the guys — just casually, in that offhand way that somehow made them all very invested in Harper's educational redemption arc.

By the weekend, there was a printed-out worksheet titled "MISSION: TEACH HARPER TO READ A CLOCK" taped to the common room wall.

It escalated quickly.

Now, every Tuesday evening, the boys' dorm turned into a chaotic, loving, entirely misguided tutoring group.

Like an off-brand of the maths tutoring program they'd thrown together for her — but with more interest.

There was Oscar, naturally, trying to be the patient one. Then Alfie, who thought yelling was teaching. Ethan, who brought snacks. And Matt, who had made a papier-mâché clock face out of a pizza box. With arrows.

Harper sat in the middle of them like a hostage.

"I'm telling you," she said, pointing wildly at the pizza box. "That one's ten. I swear. It's a ten."

Oscar, sitting cross-legged beside her, gently rotated the cardboard. "Harper, the big hand is on the two. That means it's ten past the hour. Not ten o'clock."

"Okay but how am I meant to know which hand is the minute hand? They're both just... hands."

Alfie groaned. "The minute hand is the longer one! Like, always! What do you mean 'just hands'?"

"They're not labelled!" She cried. "If someone handed you two spoons and said one was for soup and one was for jazz, would you know the difference?"

Everyone stopped.

Matt blinked. "Why would I have a jazz spoon?"

Oscar covered his mouth and tried not to laugh.

Ethan passed Harper a cookie. "Here."

She took it. "I'm just saying — numbers on a clock move. They're not meant to move." She grumbled and gave herself a frustrated forehead tap. "God, I'm so stupid."

Oscar leaned his shoulder gently against hers. "No you're not. You know that you're not, Harper. You know you're brilliant at a million other things."

She glanced at him suspiciously. "Like what?"

"You have perfect spatial memory. You memorised my whole kart setup after watching one session. You've mastered a million different coding languages already. You're good with people. You know how to read a room faster than anyone I've ever met. And," he added, deadpan, "you've successfully confused four teenage boys into thinking teaching time is a fun group activity."

She laughed then, warm and tired. "Well. Can't say I'm not a good influence, can the?"

"You're just a bit of a lost cause when it comes to clocks," Alfie muttered, re-taping the pizza clock for the fifth time.

But Harper didn't care about clocks. Not really.

Because she was surrounded. Because they kept showing up — Oscar with his soft corrections, Alfie with his shouting, Jane peeking in with popcorn halfway through every session. They all knew. About the dyscalculia, about the clocks, about her brain doing loop-de-loops over simple sums.

And none of them ever made her feel stupid for it.

Just... loved.

Even if she still couldn't tell the difference between three-forty-five and quarter past the hour (because what the hell did that even mean?).

—

It happened on the following Wednesday.

Halfway through the day, Harper was pulled from class. A quiet word from a teaching assistant, a murmured excuse. No one offered a reason why.

She thought it might be something small. Maybe Jane had accidentally set off the fire alarm again.

But then she stepped into the front office — and saw her mother sitting there, spine straight, legs crossed, lips pursed in thin, unimpressed silence.

Harper's stomach dropped.

"Come," her mother said, standing. "We'll talk in the car."

⸻

The car was parked on the far side of the lot, a sleek black town car that looked like it belonged outside a private gallery in Mayfair. Not a school car park.

Harper slid in, cold air brushing her ankles, heart thudding in her chest like it already knew what was coming.

Her mother didn't speak until the door shut.

"A karting race?" Her voice was like glass. "Karting, Harper?"

Harper blinked. "How do you—?"

"I got a call," she said, cutting her off. "From someone on the board. They saw photos. You, standing in the dirt with oil on your jeans. Smiling like you'd won the lottery. Holding hands with some, boy, in a racing suit. Do you understand how humiliating that was for me?"

"It's not—"

Her mother turned, eyes sharp and glittering. "Do you have any idea how much I've done to protect your name? Your future? And you're throwing it away for... boys who drive go-karts and call it a sport?"

Harper's hands curled in her lap. "He's not just a boy," she said quietly. "And it is a sport."

"Oh," her mother sneered, "is he your boyfriend now? Do you want to bring him to your cousin's wedding in Vienna next month? Shall we seat him between a baroness and a venture capitalist and see how long he lasts before talking about gear ratios?"

Harper flinched. "Stop."

But she didn't.

"You are not one of them, Harper. You are not some muddy little pitlane girlfriend who throws her life away for some boy with too much money and a ridiculous dream. I will not let you become a story people whisper about."

"I'm happy," Harper said, voice rising. "For once in my life, I'm actually—"

"Enough." Her mother's voice was like a slap. "We're withdrawing you at the end of term. I've already spoken to Madame Viard. There's a place for you at Lausanne International. You leave for Switzerland in January."

The silence after was suffocating.

Harper sat frozen, winded, as if someone had punched all the air out of her.

Her mother adjusted a glove, calm again. "You'll thank me someday."

But Harper wasn't listening anymore.

Her mother's jaw was clenched so tightly that a vein twitched in her temple.

"Fine," Harper said, voice low but steady.

The word dropped like a weight in the space between them.

Her mother blinked, surprised by the ease of her surrender.

But then Harper looked up — and there was fire behind her eyes. Her voice was calm, controlled, but every word burned.

"But you should know," she said, leaning forward just slightly, "that when Oscar's driving in Formula One — not if, when — and he's one of the most successful athletes in the world, I won't look back. I won't give you an inch. I'll let you sit in your wrongness and stew in it forever."

Her mother went bright red. "Do you think you're making this better for yourself?"

Harper laughed — a bitter, tired sound. "No. I know I'm making it worse. I'm very aware of how this works, Mum. I step out of line, and you slam the gates shut. But what else can I do?"

She paused, chest heaving slightly now.

"You don't listen to me. You never have. You just tell me what my life is going to be. What I wear. Who I talk to. Where I study. Who I sit next to at dinner parties like I'm some sort of accessory you place on a chair next to a financier's son. You talk through me like I'm not a human being. Like I don't have wants and desires and dreams of my own."

"Harper—"

"No. You don't get to talk now."

She didn't raise her voice — didn't need to. Every word sliced clean and deliberate.

"The worst part? The part that actually makes me want to scream? Is that I know Dad would be so happy I found someone like Oscar. That I found someone who likes me in the quietest, most awkward, most real way."

Her breath hitched — not from tears, but from the pressure of keeping them in.

"He's so bad at it. At being romantic. He blushes when I look at him for too long. He stammers when he's nervous. He opens doors and fixes my hair without saying a word. He doesn't like PDA. He frowns when he's concentrating and forgets to drink water and spends more time worrying about everyone else's lap times than his own."

She looked her mother dead in the eye.

"And yeah — he races karts. But he moved all the way here from Australia on his own at fourteen. He trains his body every single day for hours on end. He's braver than anyone I've ever met. Can you name one of your friends' sons who would've had the guts to do that? Or who would sit with me for an hour to explain how to read an analogue clock without laughing at me? Or who lets me cry without asking questions because he knows I hate explaining myself?"

Silence crackled in the car.

Her mother's lips parted — but nothing came out.

So Harper filled the space.

"You raised me to care more about perception than truth. To be polished. Obedient. Photogenic. And I'm done."

She reached for the door handle, voice like steel. "You want to send me to Switzerland? Fine. But you'll have to drag me there. Kicking and screaming."

She opened the door, letting in the sharp slap of cold air, and turned back one last time.

"Because I've finally found something that's mine. And I'm not giving it up for you. Not this time."

Then she stepped out of the car and walked back to class.

NEXT CHAPTER

[startswith0]

Love how Prof was like, you're too smart not to raise your hand don't let them think you can't solve this, Haibara-chan! 🥺 Their kinda uncle-niece relationship is so cute

Then there's Shinichi 'i should be solving quadratic equations' Kudo lolll

Chapter 1112

[reyaint]

the classes | mandatory

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date: march 23, 2025. 3:01 am. (starting). i fell asleep. lmao. 10:30

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✧˖*°࿐ The Mandatory Classes

𓂃༊veltrius Lumos Academy's mandatory curriculum blends rigorous academics with cultural and artistic exploration. these courses ensure students develop critical thinking, research skills, creativity, and problem-solving abilities, preparing them for higher education and global careers.

✧˖*°࿐ Language Studies

𓂃༊students are required to take Haiqinian, Greek, and English throughout their academic journey.

*ೃ༄Haiqinian Language and Composition (3 years, Pre-AP & AP Available)

𓂃༊ Year 1 (Pre-AP or Regular Haiqinian Language & Composition I):

✧ 𓂃 › grammar & sentence structure: verb conjugations, syntax, and advanced sentence formation.

✧ 𓂃 › composition: essay writing, formal letters, and literary analysis.

✧ 𓂃 › literary study: introduction to Haiqinian classical and modern literature.

𓂃༊ Year 2 (AP or Regular Haiqinian Language & Composition II):

✧ 𓂃 › advanced grammar & writing: rhetorical devices, argumentation, and structured compositions.

✧ 𓂃 › comparative literature: study of Haiqinian texts alongside global literature.

✧ 𓂃 › research & analysis: writing research papers and learning source evaluation.

𓂃༊ Year 3 (AP or Regular Haiqinian Literature & Composition III):

✧ 𓂃 › critical literary analysis: deep dive into Haiqinian poetry, novels, and plays.

✧ 𓂃 › creative writing & public speaking: writing short stories, poetry, and persuasive speeches.

✧ 𓂃 › capstone research paper: a long-form thesis-style paper analyzing a Haiqinian literary work.

*ೃ༄Greek Language & Literature (3 years, required for all students)

𓂃༊ Year 1 (Greek I – Basic Grammar & Conversation):

✧ 𓂃 › introduction to the greek alphabet & pronunciation.

✧ 𓂃 › basic sentence structure: verb forms, nouns, and adjectives.

✧ 𓂃 › conversational skills: daily interactions, greetings, and essential expressions.

𓂃༊ Year 2 (Greek II – Intermediate Grammar, Translation & History):

✧ 𓂃 › complex sentence structures: subjunctive, conditional, and imperative verb forms.

✧ 𓂃 › translation practice: excerpts from Homer, Aesop, and historical texts.

✧ 𓂃 › greek culture & history: myths, political systems, and philosophy.

𓂃༊ Year 3 (Greek III – Advanced Reading, Writing & Translation):

✧ 𓂃 › advanced text analysis: works of Plato, Sophocles, and Aristophanes.

✧ 𓂃 › academic writing & discussion: essays on Greek mythology, ethics, and politics.

✧ 𓂃 › capstone project: a final presentation translating and analyzing a classical Greek work.

*ೃ༄English Language & Composition (2 years, English III is an elective)

𓂃༊ Year 1 (English I – General English Skills, Literature & Creative Writing):

✧ 𓂃 › grammar & vocabulary: structure, syntax, and advanced composition skills.

✧ 𓂃 › literature study: analysis of classic and modern English literature.

✧ 𓂃 › creative writing: poetry, short stories, and personal narratives.

𓂃༊ Year 2 (English II – Critical Thinking & Analytical Writing):

✧ 𓂃 › advanced literature study: British and American literature from different eras.

✧ 𓂃 › essay writing & rhetoric: persuasive essays, literary analysis, and argument development.

✧ 𓂃 › public speaking: presentations, debates, and discussions on literary themes.

𓂃༊ Year 3 (English III – Elective, Optional for Advanced Study):

✧ 𓂃 › world literature focus: exploring literature from South America, Asia, and Europe.

✧ 𓂃 › research & thesis writing: students write and defend a long-form literary thesis.

✧ 𓂃 › experimental writing styles: creative non-fiction, stream-of-consciousness, and hybrid prose.

✧˖*°࿐ Mathematics (3 years, AP Available)

*ೃ༄Core Math Progression:

𓂃༊ Year 1 (Algebra I w/ Probability – Pre-AP or Regular):

✧ 𓂃 › linear & quadratic equations: graphing, inequalities, and polynomials.

✧ 𓂃 › probability & statistics: basic probability theory, combinatorics, and statistics.

✧ 𓂃 › real-world applications: business forecasting, data analysis, and logical reasoning.

𓂃༊ Year 2 (Algebra II w/ Statistics + Precalculus – AP or Regular):

✧ 𓂃 › advanced algebra concepts: exponential/logarithmic functions, matrices, and conic sections.

✧ 𓂃 › statistics & data science: regression analysis, probability distributions, and data visualization.

✧ 𓂃 › pre-calculus introduction: trigonometric functions, sequences, and limits.

𓂃༊ Year 3 (AP Calculus + Finance or Regular Finance):

✧ 𓂃 › differential & integral calculus: derivatives, integrals, and applications in physics/economics.

✧ 𓂃 › financial mathematics: investments, banking, risk analysis, and economic modeling.

✧ 𓂃 › capstone project: using calculus and finance principles to analyze a real-world financial trend.

✧˖*°࿐ History & Social Sciences (3 years, AP Available)

*ೃ༄Year 1 (AP or Regular Haiqin History):

𓂃༊ linear & quadratic equations: graphing, inequalities, and polynomials.

𓂃༊ probability & statistics: basic probability theory, combinatorics, and statistics.

𓂃༊ real-world applications: business forecasting, data analysis, and logical reasoning.

*ೃ༄Year 2 (AP or Regular World History):

𓂃༊ advanced algebra concepts: exponential/logarithmic functions, matrices, and conic sections.

𓂃༊ statistics & data science: regression analysis, probability distributions, and data visualization.

𓂃༊ pre-calculus introduction: trigonometric functions, sequences, and limits.

*ೃ༄Year 3 (AP or Regular Government & Economics):

𓂃༊ differential & integral calculus: derivatives, integrals, and applications in physics/economics.

𓂃༊ financial mathematics: investments, banking, risk analysis, and economic modeling.

𓂃༊ capstone project: using calculus and finance principles to analyze a real-world financial trend.

✧˖*°࿐ Science Studies (3 years, AP Available for Some Courses)

*ೃ༄Year 1 (AP or Regular Chemistry):

𓂃༊ atomic theory & molecular structure: periodic trends and chemical bonding.

𓂃༊ thermodynamics & reaction kinetics: understanding physical and chemical reactions.

𓂃༊ lab work: hands-on chemical experiments, titration, and organic synthesis.

*ೃ༄Year 2 & 3 (Choice of Science, Must Take at Least One More):

𓂃༊ environmental science: climate change, ecosystems, and sustainable development.

𓂃༊ forensics: DNA analysis, fingerprinting, toxicology, and forensic anthropology.

𓂃༊ anatomy & physiology: human body systems, genetics, and medical applications.

𓂃༊ physics: classical mechanics, electromagnetism, and astrophysics.

𓂃༊ marine biology: ocean ecosystems, marine conservation, and field research.

✧˖*°࿐ Specialized & Cultural Studies

*ೃ༄AP or Regular Myths & Legends:

𓂃༊ greek & roman mythology: The Iliad, The Odyssey, Aeneid.

𓂃༊ comparative mythology: Norse, Celtic, Japanese, and Mesopotamian myths.

𓂃༊ symbolism & influence: how mythology influences modern media and storytelling.

*ೃ༄Astrology I (AP or Regular):

𓂃༊ foundations of astrology: birth charts, planetary movements, zodiac signs.

𓂃༊ cultural perspectives: astrology in Greek, Chinese, and Vedic traditions.

𓂃༊ scientific & spiritual debate: skepticism vs. belief, practical applications.

[retrotrait]

Ep 8

[School Bell Ringing]

Ms. Baalman: Alright class, today we're going to dive into quadratic equations. Can anyone remind me what the standard form of a quadratic equation is?

[chatter]

Ms. Baalman: Yes, that's right, we'll start by reviewing how to solve these using factoring. Remember, factoring is just one of several methods we can use.

[Lizzie is awful at math]

[door opens Caleb walks in nonchalant]

Ms. Baalman: Excuse me Mr. Idol, school isn't your personal playground, you can't just waltz in fifteen minutes late.

Lizzie: [whispering] oh god, why is he in this class?!

Caleb: It won't happen again, I'm sorry

Ms. Baalman: I sincerely hope so, for the sake of your grade

Ms. Baalman: Anyways class, half of your grade for this class will go towards your final project, which will be designing and analyzing a theme park ride.

Lizzie: [whispering] Oh, that sounds interesting

Ms. Baalman: This will be a joint effort, you will be partnering up with another student and apply mathematical concepts such as functions, geometry, and statistics to design and analyze a hypothetical theme park ride.

[another student?]

Random student: Excuse me Ms. Baalman, how will we know who our project partner is?

Ms. Baalman: Excellent question, to make this simple your partners will be the student behind you.

Lizzie: BEHIND US?

Creator note: My favorite trope you ask? Well, forced proximity ofcourse. [cackling] Short chapter but next one will be up tomorrow!

[worfi]

Ok guys stick with me on this how do you think Gilbert does math? Cuz I've been thinking about it all morning and no one cares but me but lemme explain what I mean, like:

Chev seems linguistic focused because of the association with reading, but also I think he would be the type to just immediately solve the problem with numbers, and he could tell you what formulas and properties he used by name because his memory is perfect but I don't think the words actually cross his mind, he would just move the numbers.

On the flip side, someone like Nokto or Sariel (who I believe have both been said to be good at explaining things when teaching Belle) would likely work through it with the formulas in mind, taking a more linguistic approach of 'now I use this, which is applied like so'. At first I thought Gilbert might be this type because he has that social manipulative 'good talker' energy at times, but I don't think that's how his brain works.

He is a genius like Chev so it's possible he's the same as him but I'm also considering he might be more of the visual type? Like, the type who sees a quadratic equation and immediately has the graph in their head. Can read all of the functions as shapes and lines, move them around quickly, etc. I mean on one hand he clearly doesn't value his depth perception with that eyepatch but maybe he just doesn't need to? I have no evidence though I need to read more of Gilbie I guess.

I don't know why I'm thinking about it I think too many of these condensed math classes in a row have fried my brain but I've had Gilbert on the mind for days and always with the weirdest things.

[rottenpumpkin13]

SAGZC are taking a math test. What happens then?

The SOLDIERs + Cloud Take A Math Test - Who's Doing What

• Angeal came prepared because he had been studying for days. He's confident in his abilities and is ready to ace this test!

• Genesis sits beside Angeal because he plans to cheat.

Zack: Alright! Let's do this! *opens the math test* WHY ARE THERE LETTERS? WHAT THE FUCK?

• Sephiroth isn't worried at all. The equations are simple enough, and certainly less difficult than the ones Hojo had him master at age 7.

• Cloud doesn't expect to get a good grade. He's never been great at math, so all he hopes for is a peaceful exam and to hopefully not get a 0.

• Zack is crying, the tears are smudging the ink on his test, making him cry harder.

• Zack's crying is disturbing Angeal, who's already stressed as shit because the equations are much harder than he expected. His eyes are wide and bloodshot as he stares at his test, rocking back and forth, gripping his pencil so hard it's bending.

Angeal: No....this can't be....I studied so hard....

• Angeal's mental breakdown is disrupting Genesis' cheating, so he whips around and tells Zack to quit sobbing.

Genesis: SHUT UP. YES, MATH HAS X'S AND Y'S.

Zack: But why are they jumbled up???

Genesis: That's a MATRIX.

Zack: WHAT DOES KEANU REEVES HAVE TO DO WITH THIS?

Sephiroth: Why are we talking about Director Reeve right now?

Genesis: Oh my god.

• Sephiroth has never done an easier test. He's effortlessly flying through the equations, humming happily as he solves them. Angeal is enraged.

Sephiroth, while doing the test: What a tedious test. I had been hoping for something more challenging to keep me busy. At this rate, I'll be done in 5 minutes.

Angeal: Hey, Sephiroth?

Sephiroth: Yes?

Angeal: No one gives a shit.

Sephiroth: .....

• Angeal watching Sephiroth's happiness is beneficial for Genesis, who is leaning over and avidly copying everything from Angeal's test.

• Cloud saw his first fraction and gave up. He's now doodling on the back of his test page.

• Zack is having a mental breakdown.

Zack: WHAT'S A QUADRATIC FORMULA? WHEN AM I GOING TO USE THIS IN MY DAILY LIFE??

• Cloud takes out crayons and is now coloring in his drawing.

• Sephiroth loudly proclaims he's finished. Angeal removes his boot and throws it at him.

• Cloud takes out some glitter glue and is peacefully decorating his drawing.

Zack: WHAT'S PI? I DON'T SEE PIE ON THIS TEST. IF I SAW PIE, I WOULDN'T BE CRYING.

• Sephiroth and Angeal are arguing loudly.

Sephiroth: How is it my fault you came unprepared for the exam?

Angeal: You rubbing it in my face is throwing me off! I can't even concentrate on my equations!

Sephiroth: I regret to inform you that from my vantage point I have a clear view of you solving every single equation wrong.

Genesis: SON OF A BITCH I TOLD YOU TO STUDY!

• Genesis gets up, grabs his chair and attacks Angeal with it. Angeal realizes Genesis had been cheating the whole time and is enraged. The two are now fighting.

• Cloud is now coloring in his drawing with scented markers!

• Sephiroth hears a noise and turns around to see Zack choking on his own test, that he shoved into his mouth.

• Sephiroth dives back and starts performing the heimlich maneuver on Zack.

• Angeal is attempting to murder Genesis.

• Cloud is humming Stamp's theme song as he colors his doodle.

• Lazard walks into the room and sees what's going on.

Lazard: Oh my god. Seriously!? Unacceptable. You all fail! Cloud, your exemplary behavior has earned you full marks on this test.

Cloud: Nice!

Angeal: ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

• Zack is still choking.

[moniquill]

Just wanted to say that I greatly admire your ability to just keep calmly reiterating your position in the face of someone who really really wishes you were holding a different one and has decided that the best way to accomplish that is to insist that you already espouse that other position. An excellent non-escalation tactic that I hope to one day be able to apply as gracefully as you are.

Yeah, I've worked with teenagers before - like, professionally. I've taken classes about this exact thing! Gonna quote myself from another post I made back in 2018 that's mostly unrelated except for this part:

I went into a career where a lot of very specific knowledge is required.

I had to learn about verbal crisis intervention and crisis co-regulation. I had to learn about helpful vs. unhelpful language:

“I can only imagine how that must feel.” or “Do you want to tell me how that feels?”

vs

“I know how you feel.”

and about being cognizant of my own emotional state and my nonverbal communication and how they effect a situation.

(What am I feeling right now? What does this person think, feel, want, or need? What am I communicating to this person? How is the environment effecting the situation? What’s the best thing for me to say? What’s the best thing for me to do?)

I had to learn about active listening, about reflective statements and summarizing content and emotions:

“I can see that you’re [overwhelming emotion, usually angry or sad but sometimes bored or frustrated] right now, and I want to help, can you tell me about it so we can figure out what to do?”

vs

“Stop doing [inappropriate behavior]!”

(extra least-helpful-thing-ever points for bullshit like ‘You know better’ or ‘We already went over this’ or ‘You’re too old for [behavior or coping skill]’ or other such boderline-to-flagrantly abusive language that I’ve seen other people say in response to maladaptive coping, including shitty and/or inexperienced staff)

I’ve had to learn about offering validation and support. I had to learn about how to talk to others to help them connect emotions with behaviors so that they can learn to be self-cognizant and learn more effective coping strategies [than harming self/others] for managing emotional crisis.

I was taught whole units on the subjects of ‘Don’t make it about you’ 'Don’t get caught in a power struggle’ 'Don’t get defensive’ 'Don’t focus too tightly on details; understand the larger situation’ 'Understand the other person’s point of view and motivations’

These are specific strategies for dealing with human beings (oneself and others), and they’re super effective.

I mean, these classes I’ve taken boil down to 'how to not be a super shitty human being’.

And none of them are taught as requisite curriculum in public schools, or even college. All of them have been entirely optional and tied to this specific career path. Math majors don’t have to take these classes.

Why is that?

How have we arrived at a place, in education, where we espouse that it will be more important to literally any human being that they be able to solve a quadratic equation than be able to analyse one’s own anxiety and manage overwhelming emotions (and help others do the same)?

One of the problems on my homework tonight was:

“The deck on this house is a triangle. The distance from the base to the apex is nine feet longer than the base is wide. If the area of the deck is 68 square feet, how wide is the base?”

(This requires me to know that the area of a triangle is ½ Base(Height) and to parse the equation as 2(68) = B(B+9), therefor B^2 + 9B – 136 = 0 oh look there’s my solvable quadratic equation)

But in the real world, if I need to know how wide the deck is, I’m going to use a tape measure. If I don’t have a tape measure, how the fuck did I work out the area of the deck or the proportions of base to height in the first place?

This is not a task that will be asked of many people in their lives, and yet proficiency in this task is required if you ever want to have a non-minimum wage job.

Meanwhile, most people will at some point in their lives be called upon to comfort someone who is experiencing an overwhelming emotion. Many people will be placed in a position of authority over children. Some will be placed in a position of authority over people who are neuroatypical, or who have experienced trauma, or who have learned maladaptive coping skills, or who for some other reason may display behavior which is not immediately comprehensible to an outside observer who doesn’t seek understanding.

We live in a world where cops and doctors were certainly required to be able to solve quadratic equations at some point to be allowed to progress in their education and credentialing, but where they probably/demonstrably weren’t taught how to deescalate a person who is emotionally flooded to the point of violence (see this post: TW for gif of police violence on a minor). Where they weren’t taught about helpful vs. unhelpful language, or what constitutes instigating and triggering.

We live in a world where empathy and emotional cognizance are electives, but higher math is required.

Why is that?

I think these kids who are frothing-at-the-mouth angry would really benefit from Conflict Co-Regulation being a mandatory part of public school curricula.

[sohyxn]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀LOVE ADVICE

01.⠀love expert!?⠀;⠀in which y/n help her desk mate, kim minjeong with some love advice.

the fluorescent lights of the classroom buzz overhead, casting a sterile glow over the rows of desks.

you, with your nose buried in a textbook, are trying to decipher the complexities of quadratic equations. math isn’t exactly your favorite subject, but you’re determined to ace the upcoming test.

“yn!”

what now? you grimace internally.

“hey, yn!”

“earth to yn!” a bright, bubbly voice breaks through your concentration.

you look up to see kim minjeong, your desk mate, waving her hand in front of your face.

minjeong, with her infectious smile and playful energy, is the epitome of sunshine.

when you first sat down next to her in class, you thought she was just another bubbly desk mate. her laughter was loud, and her bright personality seemed to fill the entire room.

you had no interest in befriending her ; after all, you were focused on your studies and avoiding any distractions.

but as the days turned into weeks, somehow you found yourself drawn into her orbit just like everyone else does.

“what’s up, minjeong?” you ask, a tight smile gracing your lips, clearly annoyed.

“I need your advice,” minjeong says, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “you’re the love expert, right?”

you chuckle. “sorry, what? I’m nowhere near a love expert. where did you hear that from?”

“oh, come on! yunjin told me you helped her with zuha!” minjeong claims.

“well, i wouldn’t call myself a love expert, but i'm a good listener, i guess.”

“okay, so you know karina, right?” minjeong asks, her cheeks turning a delicate shade of pink.

you nod, your mind still focused on the quadratic equation you’re trying to solve.

yoo jimin or everyone knows as karina is the captain of the cheerleading squad, with striking beauty, impeccable style, and unmatched charisma. students whisper her name in awe, and her presence commands attention wherever she goes. so it's practically impossible to have not heard about the campus goddess.

“so I want to ask her out,” minjeong continues.

yeah no shit sherlock.

“and I want to make her fall in love with me,” she adds, her voice laced with determination. “but I’m not sure how to do it.”

you hum, trying to focus. “how about starting a conversation with her? you know, some small talk — ask about her day, her well-being, and give some compliments here and there. girls usually love those.”

your mind drifts back to the math problems.

“arghh, that’s so hard!” minjeong groans. “what if I wrote her a note instead?”

your interest piques. “a love note? that could work. just keep it light and fun.”

"right! I could do something cute—like, ‘hey, i think you’re amazing, and I’d love to grab coffee sometime!’” minjeong’s eyes light up with excitement.

“exactly! just make sure it sounds like you,” you encourage, feeling a sense of pride for her creativity.

minjeong scribbles down her thoughts on the crumpled paper, her brows furrowed in concentration. “what if she doesn’t like notes? what if it’s too cheesy?”

“then just be yourself! If she doesn’t appreciate your style, she’s not worth it,” you say, trying to bolster her confidence.

“okay, okay! I’ll do it!” minjeong beams, determination flooding her voice.

as she folds the note carefully, your heart flutters. you can’t help but feel excited for her.

“thanks, yn! you’re the best! i will pay for your lunch!!” minjeong says, her energy infectious.

you smile, but inside, you know your life is going to be harder than usual.

🏷️⠀──⠀@gayforalll @ringelar @wintersgff @kiazell @sixflame438 @kimminjiissosjdirbidnsjje