Blair frowned. She slammed her book shut and flung it against the wall, creating a deafening crash which echoed all through the house. Thankful that her mother wasn’t there to hear it, Blair grimaced. She took a few deep breaths, closed her eyes, and clutched her hands into tight fists.

 Nothing helped. She was still angry.

Blair took a pillow and pounded it with both fists, even daring to let out a few childish screams.

  “Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!” She yelled, tears of anger smarting in her eyes.

Mr. Tickles looked at her disapprovingly from the chair, his white whiskers gleaming in the lamplight. Blair glared at him. “You wouldn’t understand. You’re a cat. You don’t have to learn this crap.” She tossed the smushed pillow against the wall and flopped down on the bed. “Oh, Tickles, I’m so selfish. Why do I complain about algebra when I have everything in life I ever wanted?” She dropped her face into her hands wearily. “I know I shouldn’t be this way. Learning is supposed to be a privilege, this great opportunity. I’m learning. I even have good grades right now. So why do I still feel so useless?”

Mr. Tickles was not overwrought with sympathy. He flicked his tail and turned his back on her. Cats were no help. Neither were dogs. Neither were friends, parents, or brothers. Blair glanced at the Book on her shelf, knowing it was too long since she’d read it. Oh well. It could wait a little longer. She turned back to her algebra two book, the pages now crinkles and even drearier looking.

  She read the problem over again. And again. It was gibberish, too foreign for her to understand. Blair scrawled out the last two answers, fairly confident that they were wrong, and slammed the book shut a second time that night, dreaming of a day when a missing math assignment would no longer haunt her.