His new pants itched like crazy. He was trying to focus his attention on the board. X to the third power less y to the negative third. Okay, what happens next? His pants just continued to itch. He’d never had problems with corduroy before.
They were greenish brown in color with only superficial use apparent to the naked eye — a couple flicks of unwound cotton here and there. They’d been such a good deal at Savers, it was a wonder anyone had brought them there in the first place.
Get yourself a new pair of pants, Mom had said. Do you even have another pair of pants, she’d said. You aren’t judging yourself because you’re letting everyone else do it for you. Don’t buy new pants for you, buy them for me. The neighbors are starting to talk.
It was tough for James to find new pants that he liked. But these cords were instant winners the moment he laid his dark brown eyes on them. They made his eyelashes flutter like a damn butterfly.
But now? These beautiful, flowingly loose and voluptuous cords were quickly becoming an enemy set on ruining his education. How was anyone supposed to learn exponents with pants that itch so much? He could see his peers starting to judge him for it. And, contrary to what his mom had said, he was actually starting to judge himself too.
James sure does scratch his crotch a lot, said Molly. Sure, she didn’t say it out loud. But she might as well have. He could see it in her eyes. The way she glanced at him then rolled those pretty blue pearls upward and then away, back towards the chalk board. As if anyone in class really wanted to look at the chalkboard. What good are exponents anyway?
So, the solution was clear. He had to be bold. He had to be determined and not only make a decision, but convert those ideas into action ASAP. Just like that time with the birdhouse and the little birdie that didn’t want to go inside. His mom had hesitated. His brother Paul had too. James had known just what to do though. Sometimes you need to force the issue. And putting that wild bird right in the birdhouse was the way to go. He was a real man of action.
James stood up at his desk. He cleared his throat loudly, adjusting his collar. His left hand scratched inside his oversized pants pocket.
The din of classroom chatter quickly hushed and was transmuted into the ineffable thrum that comes with hundreds of eyeballs moving in unison. The teacher paused, her arm midway through scribbling something on the board.
“I. Well, I think I have red ants in my pants,” said James.