⏱ ~3 min reading
Oleg was looking at his math notebook. There was a problem on the page—about a train that left a city at speed, and a second train that left another, and when they would meet. Oleg read it three times. Then again. The letters seemed to dance, and the numbers circled.
"I can't," he muttered under his breath.
Outside the window, spring rain was falling—thin, gray. Mom had left a glass of tea on the windowsill—the steam rose and melted. The apartment smelled of damp brick and a slightly damp umbrella drying in the hallway.
Tomorrow at school — independent. The teacher warned: there is no point in copying, because everyone will have their own version. But she also checks the homework. And whoever doesn't do it — minus.
Oleg wasn't stupid. He was just... tired. He had just finished swimming practice - his arms were aching, and so was his head.
His friend Nazar was excellent at math. Nazar had definitely done it. You could write to him in messenger: "Send a photo of how you did it. I'll rewrite it.".
Oleg picked up his phone. Clicked on the chat with Nazar. Started writing: "Drop...".
Stopped.
He thought - what will happen tomorrow at the independent test? He will sit down. They will give a task. Another one - about buses, or about the swimming pool, or about the operation of two pumps. And he will not understand again. Because what he could understand now - he did not understand. He simply copied.
«What if they call me to the board,“ Oleg thought, ”and say: explain. What will I say? »I don’t know how I did it, I have Nazarov’s answer”?”
Oleg deleted the message. He put the phone in the drawer. He closed the drawer.
He opened the notebook again.
He began to read the problem - slowly, one sentence at a time. He drew small cars on the side. He showed with an arrow where one was going. With an arrow - where the other was going. He wrote down the speed of one. The speed of the other. He underlined it.
Made a mistake. Erased. Tried again. Made another mistake - divided by the wrong speed. Erased. He looked up - it was already dark outside the window, his mother came in to see if he had fallen asleep over his notebook.
— Help, son?
"No, Mom. I'll do it myself. If I get stuck at all, I'll ask.".
Mom kissed him on the top of his head. Her cream smelled like rose and vanilla.
Oleg sat down again. He reread it again. And suddenly — click — it was as if a small lock in his head opened. He understood. The two speeds — together, are how many kilometers per hour the distance is eaten up. And the distance — is given. He divided. The answer came out.
Oleg checked. It matched.
He smiled to himself. He said loudly—in an empty room—"Alone!"«
He wrote it down neatly in his notebook. He closed it. He went to the kitchen — his mother gave him a warm cheese bun and tea.
Tomorrow at school the teacher brought independent work. Oleg's assignment was not about a train - a ship. Oleg read it. He drew a small ship in the fields. Arrows. Speeds. He divided it.
Done.
When they handed out the notebooks, Oleg saw an A. Next to it — in pencil — the teacher wrote: "Well done, you're alone.".
Nazar leaned over:
"I thought you were going to copy me.".
"I wanted to," Oleg said honestly. "But then I thought: it's my mind. I'm developing it, not yours.".
Nazar laughed:
"Then I'll sleep with you. Just kidding. I'll do it myself.".
Their notebooks lay side by side—two equal, honest notebooks. And Oleg suddenly realized that this is true joy—when the inside is full of one's own answers.
💡 Someone else's mind won't make you smarter.