The night before the make-up exam, the air in Hossam's room was thick with a potent cocktail of fear, pizza grease, and desperation. This was it. The final study session. Their last stand against the tyrannical forces of Advanced Algebra.
Bassam stood before the whiteboard, which was now a chaotic tapestry of equations, frustrated scribbles, and a single, dramatic drawing of a skull Hossam had added during a particularly confusing moment. Bassam's eyes had a wild, sleep-deprived gleam, and a muscle in his jaw twitched rhythmically.
"Okay," Bassam began, his voice hoarse. "For the tenth, and I swear to you, the final time. The quadratic formula. What is it?"
Zaid, Karam, and Hossam sat in a row on the floor like chastened schoolchildren.
"x equals... negative b..." Zaid started, hesitan
