Exponentially Speaking

Louis Bailey is on a mission.

It started in Calculus yesterday. All over something that he hadn't quite picked up on before.

Mr. Newcomb was in the middle of something or other that was taking two-and-a-half boards to prove when he said the fatal sentence.

"And 8 to the power zero is, of course, one."

Louis's hand slid silently into the air behind Newcomb's back. Oblivious to the tempest brewing in the seat next to mine, Mr. Newcomb went on scratching out numbers and letters across the board, working towards a full three.

Louis never dealt well with being ignored.

There was the telltale scrape of his chair being pushed back and he stood at his desk, clearing his throat meaningfully as he rose. Every other body in the class straightened in its chair. They knew the signs by now.

Newcomb turned and was noticeably taken aback by the sight of a student standing at attention in his classroom.

"Yes, Mr. Bailey?"

"Pardon me, Mr. Newcomb, but could you please remind me what an exponent is?"

Convinced that he had a smart alec on his hands, Mr. Newcomb put down his chalk and crossed his arms.

"Do you mean to tell me, Mr. Bailey, that you've made it all the way to Calculus without knowing what an exponent is?"

"No, Mr. Newcomb. Of course not. I just want to clarify something. Would you please just explain what an exponent is? Just to make sure I'm not mistaken."

Rolling his eyes, Mr. Newcomb rattled off his response. "Exponents tell how many times a number is multiplied by itself. Five to the exponent two is five times five. Six to the exponent four is six times six times six times six times six. Does that refresh your memory?"

Louis nodded thoughtfully. "That rings a bell."

Mr. Newcomb turned back towards the board thinking the discussion was over, but Louis wasn't finished.

"Then how could eight to the power zero be one?"

"Pardon me?"

"Well, according to what you just told me about exponents, eight to the exponent zero would be eight times itself zero times. That would be nothing. So how could it be one?"

Again the teacher crossed his arms. "Well, Mr. Bailey, you'll recall that when you divide exponential numbers with a common base, you subtract the exponents. Five to the power six divided by five to the power four is five to the power two. Do you agree with that?"

Louis was polite enough to think it through, just to be sure.

"Yes, I agree."

"Well, then eight to the power of five divided by eight to the power of five would be eight to the power zero. Do you agree with that?"

"Yes, I agree."

"And any number divided by itself is one. Do you agree with that?"

"Yes, I agree with that."

"And, just to confirm it, Mr. Bailey, do you agree that eight to the power of five and eight to the power of five are, in fact, the same number?"

"Of course."

"Then that, Mr. Bailey, is why eight to the power of zero is one."

"I see," said Louis.

"Then we are in agreement, Mr. Bailey?"

"No, Mr. Bailey, I don't think we are."

Mr. Newcomb was clearly annoyed at this point, having thought he had proven his point adequately.

"Why not?"

"You see," said Louis evenly, "you still haven't explained to me adequately what exponents are. If, like you said, the exponent tells us how many times a number is multiplied by itself, then eight to the power zero cannot be one. It would have to be zero."

That was when Mr. Newcomb got a little huffy, said that the rest of the class probably didn't want to waste their time listening to a meaningless debate, told Louis to sit down, and went back to his blackboard proof.

I doubt anyone could have cared less. They knew they'd just witnessed the start of a new campaign.

Dietary Me

I'm steamed rice.

Up to now, I've probably given you the impression that I'm a loner with no friends, that when I walk the halls of The Slammer, I do so with my head down, solitary and sad.

That's not the case. I have friends. I get along well with people. Really I do.

It's just that I'm steamed rice.

You know what I mean.

Nobody ever says, "Ooo! Let's hit that Thai place downtown! I'm dying for some steamed rice!"

Oh, they like the rice just fine. It's quite pleasant; it doesn't offend the taste buds in the least. But it's really just on the sidelines of the main attraction, and you only really notice it when it's slathered in something exciting.

Like I said, I have friends -- quite a few of them -- and they're what really gets the attention while little old rice here is along for the ride.

Louis Bailey is the Angry Chicken to my steamed rice. We've known each other since we were three years old and he's been hot and spicy ever since. He led a revolution in our nursery school -- actually a revolution complete with a sit-in and poorly-spelled construction paper picket signs -- to replace Kool Aid with actual juice. And know what? He won. He led a troupe of snotty-nosed, drooling toddlers (some of them still in diapers) to a snack time victory. About three times a year he gets all up-in-arms about some perceived injustice or other and somehow gets half the student population on-board and riled up over it. Last year he successfully convinced the school board that the student parking lot was so filled with pot holes that it was a safety hazard and likely to result in litigation when someone inevitably got injured or damaged their vehicle. It was repaved within two months. The irony? Louis doesn't even have his license. A month later he was working on getting student radio set up in the cafeteria over lunch period.

Elizabeth Mackenzie's more like Butter Chicken. She's smooth. She's the type who does well in school, plays on half the sports teams, and is always asked to dances and dates, but takes it all with an air of, "Whatever." We met in grade school at the city library. I spent some of the summer when I was 10 hanging around the library while Allie went to camp and Stanley was still a bun in the oven and Beth came in every two days with a pile of books to exchange. She'd plunk them down, take a step back, look up at my dad behind the counter and say, "Alright. What've you got for me today?" and Dad would trek over into the children's section and set her up with a new pile. She read every one. Anyway, one day, as she was following Dad over to the stacks, she said, "You coming or you just gonna sit there all day every day?" without even looking at me. I jumped up and did as I was told. In time, we started talking and it just stuck.

Then there's Wayne Baxter. If I had to identify him as food, I'd have to say he's Soy Sauce: salty as all get out, but pretty universally enjoyed. He's gruff, he's mouthy, and he's opinionated, but he's not mean. He just doesn't edit. By all accounts, he should have ticked off most of the senior class by now, but they all come bouncing back for Baxter their Buddy. Go figure.

And that's where you find me. Beside these three, mostly, and others too, but I'm just the steamed rice. Their the ones that get remembered -- and they should, they're the memorable ones -- and I'm just served up on the side. But hey, at least I get to be on the plate, right?