There was an hour left to the school day, and as anxious as I was to get home, part of me was aching for some bite of triumph, a wash of success that would make me feel as if I had accomplished something that day.  I was feeling defeated, trampeled over, as mangled as a body trodden on by a thousand hooves.  When Harvey is around, my need to feel productive disappears as quietly as a deep shadow being cleared by a pass of clouds.  The darkness of worry that pulls at me while I work in the school is pardoned and cast away immediately in his presence.  At the same time, I am thrilled by the feeling of stress; it is my motivation, my impetus for feeling like I matter in the world.  If I spent all my days in bed with Harvey, I fear that I would wake up one day and wonder if I was important.  Of course, Harvey thinks so.  But would I think so?  And is it vain to want to feel as if you make a difference, or is that desire an evolved trait which encourages us to help others?
    "I don't care," Lisa said.  She had her head down on the table and was staring off at the wall.  She looked as if she was about to go in for some kind of surgery--placid from an over secretion of nerves, helpless, and defenseless.  "It doesn't even matter.  Mr. S. doesn't care if I fail or not."
    I sighed.  We had been working on the same worksheet for over an hour.  And so far, we had only managed to solve two of the forty-six problems.  And the assignment was due the next day.
   "It does matter," I said.  "Math is important."
    She snorted.  "No, it's not."
    "Your education is important.  And we all want to see you succeed."
    "Yeah right.  Nobody cares."
    I picked up her worksheet and walked over to the scanner.  I made a copy and brought it over to the table.  Then I found another pencil and sharpened it.  I sat back down.  She was still facing the wall, with her head on the table, but her eyes had followed me around the room.  "You don't care,"  I said.  "But the rest of us do.  Most of all, me.  And since you have to do the homework, I'm going to do it too."
  She lifted her head from the table.  "Can we just do this tomorrow?"
  "It's due tomorrow.  And we're going to do it now.  I'm supposed to be leaving at four, in an hour, but if we make it through five more problems by then, I'm going to stay and work on this with you until we finish it.  Okay?"
   "Why?"
   "Because that's what I want to do." 
   She rolled her eyes.  I picked up my pencil and pointed at the problem we had stalled at.  "Read this for me."
   And Lo and Behold, she read it.  We got through seven problems in the hour, but even if we had only gotten through one I would have stayed.  I had made up my mind to stay late, and that's what I was going to do, even if she walked out and left me to work on the assignment without her.  I don't feel that kind of tenacity everyday, but at school I take advantage of it when I feel the obstinacy overwhelm me.  We only got through twenty-five problems of the forty, but it was more work than Lisa had done in the last month.  And when I got home and collapsed on the bed, I felt needed and pleased.