If it wasn’t for the tiny bit of self preservation I have left, I would slam my head onto the table right now.

Apparently hearing the incoherent roaring within my skull, the librarian loudly shushes us all.

My laptop screen goes red. Wrong again. As always.

It’s not like I’m bad at maths. I know 1+1 makes 2 and 27x3 is 27+27+27 which is… 54+27… Which is 81. I think. And that used to be enough. But not anymore…

The quiet kid who’s name I’ve forgotten glances at me, looking away from their textbook. I wonder if they struggle too.

I don’t wonder for long though, because a message pings at the bottom of my screen. A message calling me to the one thing I am good at, that I’ve always been enough for, where I would even say I excel.

I pack up my bag quickly and duck out the library, nodding my thanks to the somewhat scary… highly terrifying librarian.

The walk down the road to duck inside the Jennings farm doesn’t last long, five minutes tops. The bikes are lined up.

Roaring of engines, thundering, missing helmets, this is a race, this is a race, and I’ll win.

Top of my class or not, I’m the best driver here, or at least, fastest.