" she said doubtfully. "Well, what's the rush?" I said. Mom sighed. I had gone over to her apartment and we were sitting having coffee that morning. "That's just it," she replied. "He's the one who seems to be in a rush." "Just tell him that you want to think about it," I said, logically. "That's the thing," she confessed. "I Have told him that. That's what I've been telling him for the last six months, that I don't want to rush into anything." "And he's giving you a hard time about it? She frowned. "He's understanding enough..." she sighed. "But he keeps bringing it up, and I keep putting him off." "Are you afraid that you're going to lose him?" I questioned. She sighed again, and took a sip of coffee. "It's not that. Not really. It's just that...I have too many doubts. About him...about myself." "What sort of doubts?" I asked. "Oh...if he's just looking for a wife. Someone just to fill in...to do things for him." I could see what she meant. "And I have doubts about myself," she. Math Camp was supposed to be different; there, I would be respected and revered for my ability to solve first-order differential equations at age 15. People would push and shove to watch me integrate expressions. Math Camp was supposed to be different, but not half an hour after my mother kissed me goodbye, I was standing with my back to a wall, silently watching kids aged 10-17 run back and forth, greeting their friends and introducing themselves to each other. I sighed.After we received our cabin assignments and unpacked our stuff, a counselor cheerfully told us that there would be no classes on the first day, and instead we would play some games outside. We assembled on the field where we broke into teams for, as if anyone needed to guess, dodgeball. Kids, of course, are the craftiest of Earth's creatures, and thus had no difficulty spotting me in the crowd; soon enough, in a roar of Darwinistic bloodlust, a red rubber ball screamed toward me and into my cheek, sending my glasses.
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