Math IA

that in mind, Barry settled back in his chair, pen poised ready to write out his newest stroke of genius. Yet, it was at that very moment, that the all-too-familiar smiling face reappeared at his desk. “Excuse me?” the American chirped. Barry sighed and set his notepad aside. “Yep?” It was then, that the smile had finally morphed into a look of confusion. “There doesn’t seem to be anyone else here.” “Shocker,” Barry muttered. The papers shifted through his shuffling fingers once more. “So, um who checks my passport?” Barry’s eyes rolled so far back into his head that he thought he might catch a glimpse of his brain. “Look mate - you know what? You seem like you’re struggling, so I’ll help you out. Clearly, I’m the only one here, so I’ll say it again. Bags and passport please. At Redrock, we do ‘em together.” The American’s lips flipped into a U-turn smile. “Oh, I get it! I love how you Aussies do stuff all different! It’s so much fun!” Barry found the form and plucked his pen up from the wasteland of his desk. “First things first, have you got a name?” “Finn Foster. Utah born and raised, out here for Australia’s Next Top Fisherman. On my way to Tasmania to compete. Nice to meet you...” He squinted at the paper name badge pinned onto Barry’s breast pocket with a safety pin, “...Barry.” Barry’s head rattled with the chuckle that escaped his lips. “I only asked for your name, mate. And everyone calls me Bazza.” Finn rummaged through his bag, producing his passport and sliding it onto Barry’s desk. “So, you’re a fisherman then?” Barry inquired. His eyebrows crooked upwards as Finn hauled his bursting bag onto the desk. “That’s right. I-”

Before Finn could finish his sentence, Barry jumped up. “Woah, woah, woah, what are those?” he interrupted. For the first time, the smile evaporated from Finn’s face. “My um... fishing rods?”