Chapter 8
Dishing out awkwardness
Bayo left Mrs. Christian to her delusions and went to find the cleaning tools. He was sure that the woman had lost her mind.
As he searched for the cleaning equipment, Bayo discovered the library. He was awed by the enormous array of books that filled the shelves.
He snatched five books at random, feeling their weight strain his muscles.
Bayo hesitated, his fingers lingering on the pile of books. The restroom's quietness taunted his dilemma. He pondered his options with a wrinkled forehead. He had failed to locate the cleaning tools again, an annoying game of hide and seek.
His steps were tentative as he navigated the unfamiliar territory, the sense of being lost gnawing at him. Yet, fortune favored his persistence, and the sought-after supplies appeared, almost as if by magic.
As Bayo returned to the restroom, he faced a look that seemed to blame him.
The brief unease vanished as the woman recognized his harmless mistake. With a gesture of sympathy, she directed him to the toilet, where Mrs. Christian's chore was waiting — a wordless acceptance of his accidental diversion.
As Bayo opened the textbook, he faced a flood of scribbles, or so he thought. In fact, they were intricate mathematical formulas that looked utterly baffling to him.
Being a first-year student with little grounding in mathematics, Bayo felt overwhelmed.
The initial mathematical problem he had solved for a classmate, which Professor Robert had used to punish him, had been a stroke of luck. And now, that stroke of luck has become the root of all his problems.
How was he supposed to tackle this new mathematical challenge before him?
Bayo's lack of mathematical experience and understanding was a significant obstacle. Mrs. Christian was supposed to help him by selecting the fundamental concepts, but she deemed it unnecessary because she believed it wouldn't make a difference.
That's why she asked him to be productive in the restroom instead of wasting time.
As Bayo focused on the problem in the textbook, a vivid blue screen materialized in his mind, dividing into fourteen rows. The mathematical problem comfortably settled in the eighth row.
Although the one in the textbook came with a solution, Bayo couldn't comprehend it.
However, the split screen from the seventh to the first rows flickered rapidly, simplifying the math problem.
However, Bayo struggled to understand the simplified solutions in the seventh to third rows. The second screen was somewhat manageable, but Bayo remained unclear. However, the first screen catered to Bayo's current level of understanding. It simplified every perplexing term and component, facilitating his comprehension.
Bayo imagined that the fourteenth row, with its elaborate solutions, reflected the professor's vast wisdom. However, the first row, with its basic version on the split screen, echoed the novice grasp of a first-year student.
This ingenious split-screen setup provided Bayo with a convenient way to navigate this complex textbook despite his initial struggles with a weak foundation in math. Guided by the split screen, Bayo tackled the math textbook's challenges, eager to master them with fresh insight.
Bayo rose with a sigh, declaring, "Time to multitask." He glanced at the cleaning supplies, planning to clean the restroom while absorbing the information in his mind.
When Mrs. Christian returned to the restroom, she noticed that Bayo was not there, but the place and everything around it sparkled and smelled much better.
Mrs. Christian stepped away from the restroom, her presence soon gracing the quiet sanctuary of the library. There, Bayo was perched, surrounded by a sea of books, yet conspicuously absent were his calculation tools.
Her eyes sparkled with unspoken jest, "Bravo, what a stellar performance!" The humor in her voice attempted to bridge the gap her words could not fill.
Bayo, absorbed in his scholarly bubble, seemed impervious to her comedic efforts, his indifference a fortress against her intrusion.
She leaned in, her voice a whisper of mock concern, "Yet, the scent of diligence lingers, doesn't it?" A smile played on her lips as she brandished a vial of fragrance, a whimsical solution to a nonexistent problem.
His gaze was sharp, a silent wish for her absence, his mind flirting with thoughts best left unspoken.
"A little breathing room, if you please, Mrs. Christian?" His request, tinged with disgust, made no effort to mask his feelings.
With a finger snap and a wry smile, Mrs. Christian quipped, "Ah, the virtuous flinch." Her hand reached out, stopping just short of his chin, a gesture frozen in time.
Bayo's restraint was palpable; the temptation to react held firmly in check.
Mrs. Christian mused over the formidable challenge Philip had imposed on Bayo to master the heap of math textbooks in a week. She concealed this from him, finding no value in disclosing the unattainable due date. But it was also a scheme for her ulterior motive.
"You seem to be making quick work of these," she observed casually, lifting a book from the pile that Bayo had already devoured.
By the time the clock struck seven, and the Computing Laboratory was almost deserted, Bayo made his way out. He had barely finished reading ten books.
Still absorbed in his task, Dr. John maintained his impassive expression but inwardly praised Bayo's work attitude.
"Did the library prove to be too much for you?" Dr. John inquired, a faint smile playing on his lips. Bayo couldn't quite decipher if it was sly or sarcastic.
Bayo nodded. If only he could ask Dr. John to prevent that eccentric lady from frequenting the library, it would make all the difference.
Bayo arrived promptly at 7 am the following morning. He was relieved that he could now easily find his way to 79 Garden Street. As he lingered in the corridor, he observed the halls appeared unlocked, but the main offices remained shut. The place seemed neat, implying that the cleaners had done their job.
Ten minutes later, Mrs. Christian appeared. Bayo greeted her, although she seemed indifferent towards him. She remained silent for a while, leaving Bayo unsure of her thoughts.
Mrs. Christian eventually opened the doors and walked away, leaving Bayo puzzled by her behavior. Shaking his head, he entered the library.
Bayo's fingers flitted between books in a passionate quest for knowledge. Oblivious to the sands of time slipping through the hourglass, he remained unaware of the seven-day ultimatum that hung over his literary odyssey.
Dr. John's hard love approach wasn't out of hatred for Bayo; he wished to push him to unlock his hidden potential.
Bayo had just begun to immerse himself in the pages before him when Mrs. Christian made a dramatic entrance, her arrival punctuated by the sharp report of her hand against the wood. "Eager for my company, weren't you?" she quipped her words, a playful dance around the truth she hoped for.
Playing the courteous host in his imagination, Bayo pretended to be pleased by Mrs. Christian's company. Yet, in the shadowed corners of his thoughts, he entertained a fleeting fantasy of retribution for her incessant invasions — a fantasy where the desk became an altar of cathartic release. Such musings, however, remained safely locked away in the vault of his imagination.
"Is the day not young for such exuberance, Mrs. Christian?" Bayo's smile was a masterful masquerade, veiling his genuine sentiments.
Mrs. Christian raised an eyebrow, a silent testament to her irritation.
As Bayo readied a reply, she cut the air with a swift gesture, "Spare me the formalities," she interjected sharply. "Is it you who christened me thus?" Her feigned vexation barely concealed the satisfaction of her machinations unfolding as intended.
Bayo, attuned to the undercurrents of her expectations, offered a mute nod, his silence a fortress against further engagement. Mrs. Christian's hand tensed a mirror to her inner turmoil, reflecting a desire to shake him from his perceived obtuseness. Yet, restraint prevailed, her clenched fist unyielding only to the air.
She casually picked up a book and sang a tune, hoping to divert his attention. It was a clever trick that caught Bayo's eye.
Bayo bore the brunt of her playful charade for minutes before his patience waned. "Is silence too tough on your teeth, Mrs. Christian?" he inquired with a barbed tongue, his vexation no longer shackled.
"Betty, if you must," she corrected with a flourish of her digits, "and reserve it for our solitary moments."
Bayo harbored no such intentions, his thoughts a silent vow of solitude. Yet, he masked his ire with a sly grin, "Am I to overlook your presence without these theatrics?" His voice, devoid of warmth, was an echo of paternal chagrin.
She displayed a mix of childishness and bewilderment, a face that amused rather than charmed Bayo.
"Ever shared an embrace with a lady fair?" she ventured, her assumption of his inexperience hanging in the air.
Bayo, caught off guard by the bold query, found himself at a loss. Her hand rose, halting further discourse, "A daunting prospect, perhaps," she mused, a tinge of feigned sorrow in her tone.
Yet, her remorse was a masquerade, swiftly replaced by another probe, "Or perhaps a dance with a damsel?"
Bayo's refusal spoke louder than words, his calmness shaken by her probing questions. She delighted in the distraction she'd created while Bayo lost himself in a maze of numerical puzzles.