In sixth-grade math class, Vera becomes friends with a girl
whose light hair is as straight as her own dark hair is curly.
Jane’s right front tooth was chipped
when she fell from a tree.
After Vera shows her the star maps
in her speckled notebook,
Jane searches for graph paper in her father’s desk.
She finds a protractor and slide rule that they experiment
with when Jane’s mother invites Vera to stay for supper.
In the middle of the meal, she asks,
How was school? Vera, what’s your favorite subject?
Math, she replies.
I was terrible at math. Jane’s mother laughs lightly,
unembarrassed, almost proud.
Jane’s brother wrinkles his nose. Yuck. I hate arithmetic.
No one scolds or urges the boy to give numbers a chance,
the way his father praises vegetables
as the little boy hides peas under mashed potatoes.
Vera doesn’t suppose anyone means to be unkind.
But she’s stung by how they suggest what she loves
is odd, unworthy, inexplicable.
She glances at Jane, who looks down at her plate.
Doesn’t anyone in her family know
math is Jane’s favorite subject too?