April 22 – Monday / St. Ivy High – Class 1-A
The Morning Weight
Final exam week had arrived—and St. Ivy High wore it like a cloak soaked in stress.
Jay stepped through the school gates and felt it immediately. The air was still, almost reverent, like the building itself had gone silent to listen for failure. Students moved slower, bags heavier with printouts, cheat sheets, and dread.
The tension wasn't new. But for Jay, it felt different.
He wasn't nervous.
Not because the math exam was easy—he hadn't even seen it yet—but because something inside him had finally stopped shaking.
Not fixed. Just… cantered.
Class 1-A was quieter than usual when he walked in.
Tyler sat at his desk chewing a pen cap. Sofia was flipping through her notebook with sharp eyes and a caffeine-fuelled twitch. Amaya was adjusting the pink ribbon on her pencil pouch again and again. Emma stood by the board, checking the time and biting her lower lip.
Jay took his seat.
No words.
Just presence.
And somehow—that was enough.
The Final Countdown
At exactly 8:10, the door opened.
Mr. Brooks walked in carrying a stack of envelopes and a thermal mug that said: Grading is my cardio.
He said nothing at first. Just set the stack down, pulled a marker from his pocket, and wrote one word on the board:
MATHEMATICS
Then turned to the class.
"You've had the whole year to prepare," he said, voice even. "And exactly two hours to prove you didn't waste it."
A few students groaned.
Brooks raised a hand. "No, no. Don't waste your drama yet. That's for history class. Today, we deal in absolutes. Numbers. Logic. The language of pain."
He pulled out a sheet and read.
"No calculators. No phones. No notes. If you look at your neighbour's paper, I will fail you so fast, you'll reincarnate into next semester."
Jay smirked slightly.
Brooks began passing out the test papers, face unreadable.
When he reached Jay's desk, he paused. "Try not to finish it in ten minutes this time. You'll scare the others."
Jay blinked. "No promises."
Brooks gave a thin smile and moved on.
III. Pencil and Pulse
Jay glanced down at the paper.
Twenty pages.
Algebra. Geometry. Probability. One long-form proof. A logic puzzle hidden at the end like a mine.
He picked up his pencil.
Exhaled.
Then began.
Numbers flowed.
Not because it was easy. But because he'd trained for this—every late-night study hour, every strategy exercise back at the estate, every calm moment over coffee with Emma. It all layered into a rhythm now.
His mind locked in.
Ten minutes in, he was two pages deep.
Twenty minutes in, he'd reached the first curveball: a disguised inequality problem hiding behind messy language.
He smiled faintly.
Nice try, Mr. Brooks.
He kept going.
The Room, Alive
Around him, Class 1-A wrestled their demons.
Emma worked with surgical precision, eyes sharp, jaw tight.
Amaya leaned back once, rubbed her temples, then re-focused with the determination of someone who refused to fail.
Sofia sighed audibly every five minutes, muttering things like, "Numbers are a scam," and "How is this real life?"
Tyler stared at one question for so long, it looked like he was trying to make it apologize to him.
But no one gave up.
No one walked out.
Jay felt it—this quiet, shared pressure. This storm made of pencils, breath, and silence.
And it didn't crush him.
It steadied him.
The Clock Strikes
"Thirty minutes," Brooks said from the front.
Jay had reached the final section.
He wasn't racing.
He wasn't dragging.
He just moved.
Focused.
Steady.
Until—
"Pencils down," Brooks called at last. "Fold your paper. Slide it forward. Don't make me come to your desk. I'll do it, and I'll frown the whole time."
Jay placed his test on top of the growing stack.
Done.
Letting Go
Lunch wasn't loud.
But it was alive.
"I lost half my soul to that exam," Tyler groaned. "There was a triangle that mocked me. I swear it blinked."
Emma rolled her eyes. "It was a Pythagorean question. You had the formula taped to your desk for a week."
"Didn't stop the betrayal."
Sofia leaned back in her chair. "If I pass, it's purely due to my hatred for Brooks."
Amaya sat quietly, eating a bento with a slightly dazed expression.
Jay said nothing for a moment.
Then smiled.
"I think we all survived."
Emma looked at him. "You, okay?"
He nodded. "Actually… yeah."
VII. Nothing But the Next
The day ended.
No grades.
No announcements.
Just the lingering tension of knowing that tomorrow it would happen again. Another subject. Another two hours. Another test.
Jay packed up his things slowly.
Emma lingered near the door.
Sofia didn't tease him this time—just gave a small wave.
Amaya offered a faint smile as she passed by.
Tyler clapped him on the back. "One down."
"Four to go," Jay replied.
But this time—there was no dread.
Only clarity.
And the quiet satisfaction of knowing:
He was in this now.
All the way.