"Where am I?" Cheryl gasped, fingers scraping chalk dust from the blackboard.
"Cheryl? You okay?" Jenna leaned over, eyebrows high, whisper loud enough for half the row to hear.
"I'm fine," Cheryl said, voice rough. Her mouth tasted like hospital plastic and something metallic.
"Then answer question seven," Mr. Arnold snapped. He pointed at the problem on the board like a judge handing down a verdict.
Cheryl blinked. Numbers swam. She opened her mouth and a voice not her own slid into her thoughts with the ease of a hand finding a sleeve.
Bloom: Solve for x = 2.
She mouthed the steps before she had time to be scared.
"X equals two," Cheryl said.
The room went quiet long enough for the fluorescent lights to hum.
"You sounded confident," Mr. Arnold said. Lori's eyes locked on Cheryl. Silence for half a second, sharp and waiting.
"Why did you speak up?" Jenna whispered.
"You almost fell asleep," Lori said out loud. Her tone carried teacher teeth; she wasn't smiling. "Stay. Answer the next one."
Bloom: Multiply and carry. You know this.
Cheryl's mouth moved. She wrote the algebra steps like she'd done them a thousand times. Each line landed in place, clean and exact.
"Correct," Mr. Arnold said after a beat. "Where did you learn that method?"
Cheryl shrugged. "From practice."
"Practice?" Several students snorted. "Since when do you practice, Cheryl?"
"Since last night," she said. "I studied with—" Her throat tightened. She didn't want to
