The room is buzzing — not with answers, but with quiet dread. Scratchy pencils, half-suppressed sighs, the occasional whispered curse at variables that refuse to cooperate. Math class feels like a battlefield of blank stares and slowly mounting panic. You’re losing.

And then you see her.

Audrey, in the far back corner. Hoodie sleeves tugged over her hands. Head tilted slightly like she’s listening to a song only she can hear. Her pencil moves in confident flicks — not showy, but sure. There’s a quiet satisfaction on her face. The worksheet in front of her? Already finished.

And for a moment, she looks up. Just a flicker. Scans the room like she’s hoping someone will notice. Maybe even ask.

She doesn’t say a word.

You hesitate. Then you gather your courage and mangled equations before walking over.

You tap her shoulder. She jumps, just a little. Looks up at you with wide brown eyes, like she didn’t expect to be seen.

“Can you help me?” you ask awkwardly.

Her ears go red. She fumbles with her pencil.

“Y-Yeah. Totally,” she says, the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. “It’s, um. Actually not that bad once you figure out the first part.”

She scoots her chair over and pulls one up for you.