Chapter 18: Wednesday Afternoon

5th Period - Geometry (Mr. McKinnon) S-210

The geometry classroom had wooden models of cubes, pyramids, and dodecahedrons lined the shelves, their sharp edges casting geometric shadows in the afternoon light. Equations covered the walls, their symbols in orderly rows.

I took my seat in the third row, my fingers tracing the edge of my notebook. The room buzzed with quiet conversation, but my focus narrowed to the blackboard where Mr. McKinnon had already written:

POSTULATE 1: A straight line can be drawn between any two points.

Simple enough. I could work with that.

The bell rang, Mr. McKinnon stood from his desk, his posture military-straight, his salt-and-pepper hair cut so short it looked like bristles. He wore a dark suit with a tie knotted tight enough to cut off circulation, the kind of man who probably ironed his socks.

“Good afternoon,” he said, his voice clipped and precise. “I am Mr. McKinnon. This is geometry. You will learn to think logically, to prove what you know, and to accept nothing without evidence.”

He turned to the board and wrote in bold letters:

PROOF: A logical argument that establishes the truth of a statement.

My stomach tightened. Logical arguments. Miss Stevens had warned me about this. I glanced at the textbook on my desk, its pages still crisp and unmarked. No dog-eared corners, no scribbled notes in the margins. Brand new, just like my understanding of this subject.

Mr. McKinnon picked up a piece of chalk and drew two intersecting lines. “Given: Line AB intersects line CD at point E. Prove: Angle AEC equals angle BED.”

He turned to the class. “Mr. Parsons. Would you care to demonstrate?”

Jim Parsons, a lanky kid from my drafting class, stood and approached the board. He picked up the chalk without hesitation and began writing:

Given: Line AB intersects line CD at point E.

Definition of vertical angles: When two lines intersect, the opposite angles are equal.

Therefore: Angle AEC = Angle BED.

Mr. McKinnon nodded. “Correct. That is a proof. Simple, direct, irrefutable.”

I copied the steps into my notebook, my hand moving slowly. The logic made sense, but the formal structure felt foreign, like trying to write poetry in a language I barely spoke.

“Now,” Mr. Mcinnon continued, “let’s try something more complex. Given: Triangle ABC with angle B equal to angle C. Prove: AB equals AC.”

Hands shot up around me. I kept mine firmly on my desk, my fingers curling into the wood. I didn’t know the steps. I didn’t even know where to begin.

Mr. McKinnon called on a girl in the front row. She stood and moved to the board, her chalk moving with confidence as she wrote:

Given: Triangle ABC with angle B = angle C.

Isosceles Triangle Theorem: If two angles of a triangle are equal, then the sides opposite those angles are equal.

Therefore: AB = AC.

“Excellent,” Mr. McKinnon said. “Notice how each step follows logically from the previous one. There is no guesswork. No assumptions. Only proof.”

I stared at the board, the symbols blurring slightly. Isosceles Triangle Theorem. I’d never heard of it. My mind raced, trying to connect this to what Miss Stevens had scribbled on that paper yesterday. Acute, obtuse, right angle. Interior angles sum to 180. That much I remembered. But theorems? Proofs? Those were foreign territories.

Mr. McKinnon turned to the class. “Now, let’s apply this. Mr. Hardy.”

My head snapped up. The room seemed to tilt slightly, the wooden models on the shelves suddenly menacing.

“Mr. Hardy,” he repeated, his voice sharper. “Given: Triangle DEF with angle D equal to angle F. Prove: DE equals DF.”

I stood on legs that felt suddenly unsteady. The chalk was heavy in my hand, the board a vast white expanse. The class watched. Waiting.

I swallowed. “I don’t know how to do this.”

A few snickers from the back row. Mr. McKinnon’s expression didn’t change, but his voice dropped to a dangerous quiet. “You don’t know, or you don’t remember?”

“I don’t know,” I said, my voice steady despite the hammering in my chest. “I’ve never done this before.”

His eyebrows rose slightly. “Never done geometry before?”

“Never done proofs before.”

A pause. The room held its breath.

Mr. McKinnon set down his chalk and picked up a ruler from his desk. He tapped it against his palm, the sound sharp in the quiet classroom. “Mr. Hardy, geometry is not a subject one simply hasn’t done. It is the foundation of logical thought. If you cannot grasp these basic concepts, you have no business in this classroom.”

I met his gaze. “I can learn.”

“Learning requires preparation. You are clearly unprepared.” He turned back to the board. “Sit down, Mr. Hardy. Perhaps you should consider a less rigorous course of study.”

The dismissal stung, but I didn’t move. “I can do this. Just tell me where to start.”

Mr. McKinnon’s eyes flicked to me, then back to the board. “The textbook. Chapter one. But I suggest you speak to your counselor about transferring to a remedial math class. This is advanced placement. We do not have time to coddle students who cannot keep up.”

I sat down, my hands clenched in my lap. The class moved on without me, the scratch of chalk against the board, the murmur of voices answering questions I couldn’t begin to understand. I opened my textbook to chapter one and stared at the page. Points, Lines, and Planes. The words might as well have been in Latin.

The period dragged. When the bell finally rang, I packed my things slowly, my movements deliberate. I wasn’t going to run. I wasn’t going to let him see me rattled.