The tutor's mathematical lessons always involved the most exciting gear: a sack of colorful blocks of all shapes and sizes; prisms and protractors; a gaily painted abacus and a rusty old merchant's scale. You would have given anything to get your hands directly on the materials, as McKenna could.

Instead, you assembled your own collection of like-sized stones and whittled tools to drill the half-remembered lessons on your own, learning how to fashion the shapes in your mind into images and objects for all to see. [+Stagecraft]

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You scratch your back, looking into the bowl. You are motivated, no matter what your parents may think—just not to do this.

Only so much time remains in the day, and the rest of your family are otherwise engaged. You shift your weight, deciding what to do.