The classroom buzzed with chatter. Ismael stared at the multiplication chart on the wall. The teacher called his name, but he just sat still.
He traced the 9s column with his finger. When his name was called, his pencil dropped with a soft tap. The class read the 9s table aloud, and Ismael stayed quiet.
At home, he practiced the 9s table while coloring. Nine, eighteen, twenty-seven — his voice faded at sixty-three. He colored the same square again and again until the paper wrinkled.
During math time, the teacher pointed to him. Ismael buried his face in his arms on the desk. The classroom hummed around him like a distant bee.
The teacher asked if anyone could help. Ismael's fingers tightened around his elbows. Slowly, he raised his hand.
The teacher crouched down beside his desk. She held up both hands. Watch this trick, she said.
The teacher counted on her fingers, curling them one by one. Ismael watched, then gasped when the pattern appeared.
Nine, eighteen, twenty-seven, thirty-six — the numbers lined up perfectly. Ismael counted along, his voice growing steadier.
The next day, Ismael raised his hand first. He recited the whole 9 times table — not a single number missed.
His classmates cheered. The teacher smiled wide. Ismael's pencil tapped happily against his desk.
Ismael sat a little taller in his chair. The 9s table was his now.
Nine times one is nine. Nine times nine is eighty-one. Ismael smiled. He could do math.