Pizza Numbers.Yeah… best math class of my life.

I swear.

Sometimes, when math doesn’t make sense to us,

our teacher gives us “everyday life” examples.

That’s what she calls them.

One day, she walked into class with a pizza. A real

pizza. We couldn’t believe it! It was warm and

smelled amazing.

Then she said,

“Okay, someone come up and eat this pizza. Who’s

it gonna be?”

Unbelievable, nobody ducked under their desk or

hid behind a book. We all just stared at her with

our arms up. Pipino’s arm was spinning like a

windmill! And mine was the same! But not

Osuke’s… he’s allergic to tomatoes.

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In the end, she picked me! Awesome!

And there I was, grinning like crazy, standing at

the board—not scared of the question, not scared

of messing up, not even scared of looking

silly—just ready to eat that pizza.

The teacher cut the pizza into four slices. Exactly

the same size. Then she said,

“Matew, please—have as much pizza as you want.”

Like I was helping her out or something. But

really, she was doing me the favor!

I ate two out of the four slices. I wanted more, but

I got a little shy. Then she said,

“Matew, grab some chalk and draw a line. On top,

write how many slices you ate. On the

bottom,write how many there were in total.”

So I did it. Easy. I wrote a 2 on top and a 4 on the

bottom. Like this: 2/4.

The teacher said that number was called a

“fraction.” I didn’t care what it was called. The

word just sounded kind of fake—like something a

robot or Uncle X made up.

From then on, I called them pizza numbers. Best

numbers ever.

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When I got home, I told them everything and said,

“We should eat more pizza so we can practice

pizza numbers in real life. That way I’ll get better

at math. I think I can make that sacrifice.

Seriously, I don’t mind.”

My mom looked at me and fired back,

“You’ve got some nerve.”

And yeah… I guess I do.

At home, when we have pizza, Dad always cuts it

into six slices, all the same. If I get one, that’s 1/6.

I ask my sister to give me hers. If she gives it to

me, then I eat two out of six— 2/6.

Sometimes she does. Other times she’s like,

“Go to h—”

Yeah, you know where. Not saying it.

I never ask Mr. Smardum for a slice. I already

know his answer… and mine. Plus, Mom would

probably get mad and ground me—then no pizza

at all. That’d be 0/6 for me.

But one day, I’ll eat six out of six. 6/6. The whole

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thing. All mine. The whole pizza just for me!

My Uncle X talks about some guy named

Pythagoras, like I’m supposed to know him. He

says fractions are super important for

understanding music. Yeah. And the universe.

There he goes again with his stuff. Just like when I

was little and he asked me what came first—the

chicken or the egg.

If I said the egg, he’d say there’s no egg without a

chicken. But if I said the chicken, he’d say there’s

no chicken without an egg.

But one day, I’m gonna ask him what came

first—the pizza or the pizza numbers.

If he says the pizza, I’ll say “nope,” it came after,

because it was invented to explain those numbers.

If he says the numbers, I’ll say “nope,” because

they were invented so no one would fight over

pizza.

Can’t wait to see what Uncle X says to that. Ha!

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(Read another full chapter: " Bet you didn’t know you’ve got eleven fingers! ")