Free Jessica's Guide to Dating on the Dark Side by Beth Fantaskey Page B
Authors: Beth Fantaskey
transcendental numbers," our math team coach, Mr. Jaegerman, announced, rubbing his hands together with arithmetic glee.
All five of us mathletes leaned over our notebooks, pens poised.
"A transcendental number is any number that is non-algebraic—not the root of any integer polynomial," Mr. Jaegerman began.
Mike Danneker's hand shot up. "Like pi."
"Yes," Mr. Jaegerman cried, jabbing chalk at the board, writing the symbol for pi. "Exactly." He was already sweating a little. Mr. Jaegerman was bald, and slightly overweight, and wore polyester, but he had an admirable enthusiasm for numbers.
I wrote the symbol Π in my notebook, wishing we weren't wasting time on theoretical concepts. I preferred to practice with practical problems, as opposed to dealing with abstract ideas.
"Pi is an excellent example of a transcendental number," our teacher continued. "The ratio of the circumference of a circle to its diameter. We're all familiar with pi. But we usually just stop at 3.14 when we use it. As we all know, though, pi is actually much longer. And although we humans have figured out pi to roughly the trillionth digit, there is no end in sight. It is infinite, 'unsolvable.' And—this is the mind-blowing part—the numbers form no pattern."
He scribbled on the board. 3.1415926535897932. . . "It goes on and on, randomly. Forever."
We all paused, drinking this in. Of course, as students interested in math, we'd all thought about pi before. But the idea of those numbers streaming across galaxies, across time ... it was very confusing. Unnerving, almost. Impossible to grasp.
"And of course"—Mr. Jaegerman broke our reverie—"a transcendental number like pi is, by definition, irrational."
He paused to let us catch up, and I carefully printed the word in my notebook. Irrational.
The word seemed to stare back at me off the page. In the back of my mind, I heard my mother saying, "Jessica, there are things in the world that you can't explain ..."
But you can explain them, my brain objected. Even pi is explainable. Sort of Numbers are solid. Real.
Except numbers that snaked their way to eternity. Eternity. Now there was another concept I couldn't grasp.
Souls linked for eternity. Lucius had said that one time when he'd brought up the betrothal ceremony. Lucius, the least rational person I knew. Vampires and pacts, they are irrationals. Like pi?
"Miss Packwood?"
My name jolted me back to reality. Or what I thought was reality. Why did it all seem so uncertain suddenly? "Yes, Mr. Jaegerman?"
"You seemed a little daydream-y." He smiled. "I thought I should bring you back to reality."
"Sorry," I said. Reality. Mr. Jaegerman obviously believed in it. He certainly wouldn't believe in unreal things. Like vampires. Or eternal destinies. Or "disgust turned to lust."
Reality was the taste of my plastic pen in my mouth. The sight of the hideous design on Mr. Jaegerman's tie. The feel of the smooth desk under my fingertips.
Yes. Reality. It was good to be back. It was where I needed to stay.
When I focused back on my notes, though, I realized that I had doodled a rough sketch of a very sharp set of fangs in the margin of my notes. I hadn't even realized I'd done it.
Clutching my pen, I scribbled out the drawing, smothering it in ink, until every line was completely obliterated.
Chapter 14
DEAR UNCLE VASILE,
I write to thank you for releasing the money from my trust, as requested, and for so expeditiously shipping my weapons collection and other miscellaneous furnishings, carpets, etc. I fear I couldn't have endured one more day with those doe-eyed "folk" dolls staring at me from every cheerful, plaid-covered corner of this room. It was like being surrounded by a multicultural army of midgets, all waiting to attack some night as I slept.
I have done the Packwoods the favor of disposing of the entire collection, with the
All five of us mathletes leaned over our notebooks, pens poised.
"A transcendental number is any number that is non-algebraic—not the root of any integer polynomial," Mr. Jaegerman began.
Mike Danneker's hand shot up. "Like pi."
"Yes," Mr. Jaegerman cried, jabbing chalk at the board, writing the symbol for pi. "Exactly." He was already sweating a little. Mr. Jaegerman was bald, and slightly overweight, and wore polyester, but he had an admirable enthusiasm for numbers.
I wrote the symbol Π in my notebook, wishing we weren't wasting time on theoretical concepts. I preferred to practice with practical problems, as opposed to dealing with abstract ideas.
"Pi is an excellent example of a transcendental number," our teacher continued. "The ratio of the circumference of a circle to its diameter. We're all familiar with pi. But we usually just stop at 3.14 when we use it. As we all know, though, pi is actually much longer. And although we humans have figured out pi to roughly the trillionth digit, there is no end in sight. It is infinite, 'unsolvable.' And—this is the mind-blowing part—the numbers form no pattern."
He scribbled on the board. 3.1415926535897932. . . "It goes on and on, randomly. Forever."
We all paused, drinking this in. Of course, as students interested in math, we'd all thought about pi before. But the idea of those numbers streaming across galaxies, across time ... it was very confusing. Unnerving, almost. Impossible to grasp.
"And of course"—Mr. Jaegerman broke our reverie—"a transcendental number like pi is, by definition, irrational."
He paused to let us catch up, and I carefully printed the word in my notebook. Irrational.
The word seemed to stare back at me off the page. In the back of my mind, I heard my mother saying, "Jessica, there are things in the world that you can't explain ..."
But you can explain them, my brain objected. Even pi is explainable. Sort of Numbers are solid. Real.
Except numbers that snaked their way to eternity. Eternity. Now there was another concept I couldn't grasp.
Souls linked for eternity. Lucius had said that one time when he'd brought up the betrothal ceremony. Lucius, the least rational person I knew. Vampires and pacts, they are irrationals. Like pi?
"Miss Packwood?"
My name jolted me back to reality. Or what I thought was reality. Why did it all seem so uncertain suddenly? "Yes, Mr. Jaegerman?"
"You seemed a little daydream-y." He smiled. "I thought I should bring you back to reality."
"Sorry," I said. Reality. Mr. Jaegerman obviously believed in it. He certainly wouldn't believe in unreal things. Like vampires. Or eternal destinies. Or "disgust turned to lust."
Reality was the taste of my plastic pen in my mouth. The sight of the hideous design on Mr. Jaegerman's tie. The feel of the smooth desk under my fingertips.
Yes. Reality. It was good to be back. It was where I needed to stay.
When I focused back on my notes, though, I realized that I had doodled a rough sketch of a very sharp set of fangs in the margin of my notes. I hadn't even realized I'd done it.
Clutching my pen, I scribbled out the drawing, smothering it in ink, until every line was completely obliterated.
Chapter 14
DEAR UNCLE VASILE,
I write to thank you for releasing the money from my trust, as requested, and for so expeditiously shipping my weapons collection and other miscellaneous furnishings, carpets, etc. I fear I couldn't have endured one more day with those doe-eyed "folk" dolls staring at me from every cheerful, plaid-covered corner of this room. It was like being surrounded by a multicultural army of midgets, all waiting to attack some night as I slept.
I have done the Packwoods the favor of disposing of the entire collection, with the
Similar Books
Prospect Street
Emilie Richards
Conquer (Control)
M.S. Willis
Cooking up a Storm
Emma Holly
Always Us (The Jade Series #8)
Allie Everhart
For Always
Danielle Sibarium
A Thousand Deaths
George Alec Effinger
Broke:
Kaye George
Wytchfire (Book 1)
Michael Meyerhofer
Untimely You
K Webster