Improvisation Read Free

always offered the correct answer if manipulated properly. Simple. Logical.
    Jan reviewed the old material and answered a few questions before she collected homework and turned to new business. She usually loved teaching this section—another one of her preemptive strikes against the age-old When will I ever use this? math question—and she struggled against her mental fog. Her students needed her to be engaged and present. Tonight, when she was away from her obligations and the structured script of her lesson, she would fall apart. But not now.
    She passed out sheets of heavy drawing paper and soft pencils. “This week, we’ll be examining the link between geometry and art. Later on, we’ll study some actual paintings, but today, I want you to be the artists.” She paused for the expected groans from the teenagers. “Don’t worry, you aren’t being graded on skill, just participation. I want you to draw a sketch of me, full-length, standing next to my desk. Just try to make an accurate drawing, and don’t use this as a way to get revenge on me for last week’s pop quiz.”
    She stood in the front of the classroom, with one hand resting on her desk. The lesson had the benefit and challenge of frequent breaks while the students worked, and she needed to use those moments to recharge and refocus, not to dwell on the uncertain future. So she tried to stay still while her class squinted first at her and then at their drawings, erasing and redrawing almost every line.
    “Eyes on your own paper, Christine,” she said.
    “But his is funny,” Christine said, gesturing at her boyfriend’s drawing. “Your head looks huge .”
    “I’m sure Tom is just symbolically representing the size of my brain,” Jan teased, taking the brief moment while the class’s attention was on the couple to surreptitiously glance at her vibrating cell. Another message from her old college friend Brooke, not the doctor. The lesser of two evils. “Don’t worry, we’ll get a chance to see everyone’s pictures once you’ve finished.”
    “You owe the jar a dollar,” Alex said from his seat in the front row as she started to collect the sketches. “You checked your phone.”
    Jan sighed, fished out her wallet, and crammed a dollar bill into the jar on her desk while the class erupted into giggles. Apparently, she hadn’t been as subtle as she had thought. She had a strict no-phones, no-texting policy in class, and the year-end pizza parties paid for with the fines were sometimes extravagant. This was the first time she had contributed, and she planned to have Brooke reimburse her for the dollar. It was, by far, the least Brooke could do, given the favor she was asking.
    “We’ve learned how to describe shapes by giving values to their dimensions. Now, we’re going to express the relationship between two shapes as a number.” Jan launched into the lesson on ratio and proportion, hoping it would do double duty of getting her mind off both her dad’s health and Brooke’s messages about Tina’s impending visit. Numbers and logic. Easily definable and orderly. They had always helped her in the past, giving her a sense of calm and structure and distance. Why not now, when she needed them most?
    “What are some ways we can compare two people mathematically?” Jan listed the students’ suggestions on the whiteboard. Height, weight, strength, GPA. “Excellent. And what are some comparisons that can’t be expressed as a ratio?”
    Beauty, popularity, kindness. Jan wrote the list of nonquantifiable traits. Vague and indefinite. Her mind half on the class discussion, Jan let the recollection of Tina Nelson occupy a small part of her thoughts. Tina had a classic beauty that could be measured by a scientist. Proportions, height, angles. All symmetrical and pleasing, but the addition of indefinable qualities of confidence and sensuality made her truly charismatic. Tina had been scoping out the bridesmaids while she played the violin at