Brett
Marcus was waiting for me Thursday with a math worksheet and absolutely no faith in my abilities.
“You practiced?”
I stopped beside the little table. “Excuse me?”
“Fractions.”
“You told me my slap shot sucked on Tuesday. Now you’re questioning my math skills?”
Marcus shrugged without looking up from his worksheet. “You didn’t know how to divide fractions.”
“I looked it up.”
That got his attention.
“You did?”
“Yeah. Sit down, smart-ass.”
He grinned and scooted over.
I had spent twenty minutes the night before watching videos about dividing fractions, which was a sentence I planned to take to my grave. It worked, though. Ten minutes later, Marcus had finished the problems without needing another kid to rescue either of us.
He held up his fist.
I bumped it.
“See? I’m more
