“Yeah,” I admit. “But I just got divorced, and I have to think about the kids, so . . .”
I let the sentence trail off. It’s a weak argument.
“I guess,” Sophie agrees, but I can tell she’s not convinced. We finish the cookies and she goes home shortly after, leaving me alone with my thoughts. And my fears.
I told Luke I wanted to take it slow because of my kids, and it’s true, but it’s not the only reason. The bigger reason—the one I don’t want to admit to myself—is that I’m afraid to trust Luke with my heart. Luke and I have always had a connection, aclick, that’s hard to explain and even harder to find. Two halves of a whole.
It was never like that with Troy, and I think that made it easier for me to survive the divorce. When I learned Troy was cheating, it was more of a hit to my ego than to my heart. Sure, my heart was bruised a little, but mostly I was hurt and humiliated.
But if I start a relationship with Luke Carlton and it doesn’t last, my heart won’t be bruised, it’ll be broken. Luke has the power to destroy me in a way no other man could.
I lie awake for a long time.
The following morning is hellish. Liam refuses to put on pants and Claire can’t find her backpack, so we’re late getting out the door. Claire’s late to school, Liam’s late to preschool, and I’m exactly two minutes late to work.
And of course, the students notice. As I rush in, Vanessa Abernathy glances at the clock and mutters, “finally.” Her friend Kaitlin Carmichael giggles.
I launch right into the lesson, but Vanessa and Kaitlin continue whispering and giggling until I reach the limit of my patience.
“Did you have a question, Vanessa?” I ask.
“No, Ms. Lawrence,” she says, insolently. There’s an emphasis on the Ms., and it comes out a drawn-outMizz.
“Okay. Then do you want to tell us how you would approach the problem?”
“Actually, I do have a question,” Vanessa says. “What’s the point of this? Like, when are we ever going to use calculus?” She pops her chewing gum defiantly, and I have to stifle a laugh. Vanessa’s like the stereotypical bitch of every teen movie, but she doesn’t realize she’s a cliché.
And I’m done putting up with it. I deserve to be here.I’m good at math, and I spent half an hour preparing this lesson. I’m not going to let a seventeen-year-old brat like Vanessa Abernathy intimidate me.
I sit on the edge of my desk. “That’s an excellent question, Vanessa,” I begin. “And the truth is, I don’t know if you’ll ever use calculus. You can’t predict what knowledge is going to be helpful to you in the future and what isn’t. When I was your age and studying math, I never dreamed I’d ever be teaching it. I planned to found a tech start-up.”
A few of the girls giggle, and I try not to be insulted.
“I’m not kidding,” I tell them. “I studied computer science at the University of Toronto. But instead of a career in tech, I got married and had a baby. My husband earned a great salary as a lawyer, and I was a stay-at-home mom for nine years. I don’t think I used calculus once. If you marry well, you could be set for life.”
I have everyone’s attention now, probably because this isn’t where they saw this talk going.
“But there’s always the chance your marriage won’t last,” I continue. “It happened to me. My marriage ended when my husband had an affair with my daughter’s figure skating coach.”
I see eyes widen around the room. I’m not sure if they’re shocked that my husband left me or that I’m willing to tell them about it. “So we got divorced, and I got a fair deal in the settlement. I was lucky. My husband pays me enough support that I don’t have to work.”
The room is silent now. I don’t think I’ve had such a focused group since I started teaching.
“But I’m still thankful to have this job, and I wouldn’t have it if I couldn’t teach calculus,” I tell them. “I like being able to earn my own money. It’s something that doesn’t come from my ex. And this way, if my ex-husbandloses all his money in a Ponzi scheme, I might still be able to support myself.”
“What’s a Ponzi scheme?” Kaitlin asks, and I see some confused looks around the room. We should really teach basic financial principles before worrying about calculus. In a way, Vanessa has a point, but I’d never admit it to this class.
“A Ponzi scheme is a kind of fraud,” I explain. “You give your money to a company to invest, and they promise a really high rate of return. It seems too good to be true, and it is. Because instead of investing your money, they use it to pay dividends to other investors. And eventually, they run out of money and the whole thing collapses. People have lost millions in these schemes.”
“That’s horrible,” Kaitlin comments.
“It is,” I agree. “And everyone thinks they’re too smart to be a fraud victim, but a lot of smart people get scammed. So even if you have a trust fund or plan to marry rich, it never hurts to have an education. Math may come in useful in ways you never expected. Maybe one day you’ll be dating a tech billionaire, and your knowledge of calculus will set you apart from all the other women vying for his attention.”
This draws a laugh.
“Or her attention,” I continue. “Because maybe that tech billionaire will be a woman. Maybe it’ll be one of you, and maybe you’ll have used your knowledge of math to make it happen. Or maybe you’ll make a discovery that will improve people’s lives. Or become a teacher and inspire the next generation.”
I set my whiteboard marker on the desk with a click that sounds loud in the silent classroom. “But the reality is, once you finish high school, most of you won’t use calculus again. So what’s the point?” I pause for a moment, lettingmy gaze wander around the room. “Maybe the point is just to stretch your brain.”
