Professor Math wrote carefully on the board:

| x |

Josh Jollyrancher stood beside him like a disappointed lemon.

“This,” Professor Math said calmly, “is absolute value.”

Obesseus leaned forward.

“…Why the chopstick number in breadstick jail.”

Josh closed his eyes. “They are not breadsticks.”

“It two long crispy bars,” Obesseus said. “They imprisoning the x.”

Professor Math adjusted his glasses. “Absolute value means the distance from zero.”

Obesseus gasped.

“THEY MEASURE HOW FAR CHOPSTICK NUMBER ESCAPED.”

“No,” Professor Math said. “It simply makes negatives positive.”

Obesseus froze.

“…So if number sad, they force it to smile.”

Josh hesitated.

“…In a way.”

Obesseus pointed at the board.

“You put negative number inside breadstick cage… and when it come out, it happy?”

Professor Math nodded weakly. “Yes.”

Obesseus stood up dramatically.

“THAT EMOTIONAL MANIPULATION.”

Josh grabbed the chalk.

| -5 | = 5

“There,” he said. “Simple.”

Obesseus stared.

“So five go in mad… and come out pretending nothing happened.”

The classroom got quiet.

Professor Math began sweating.

Obesseus slowly reached into his pocket.

He pulled out two actual breadsticks.

He placed them upright on his desk.

He set a meatball between them.

“This absolute meatball,” he declared.

Josh shouted, “STOP MAKING EDIBLE EXAMPLES.”

Obesseus lifted the meatball.

“When meatball inside breadstick… it safe.”

“That’s not the concept!”

“But if meatball negative… breadstick hug it until positive.”

Professor Math blinked.

“…That is disturbingly close.”

Josh erased the board frantically.

Obesseus pointed at the bars again.

“So absolute value is breadstick hug that erase sadness.”

Professor Math sighed.

“…Yes.”

Obesseus smiled proudly.

“Math just comfort food.”

The lights flickered.

The vertical bars on the board began stretching.

They grew taller.

Longer.

Crunchier.

The x tried to escape.

The breadsticks snapped shut.

The classroom trembled.

Obesseus grabbed his gravy bucket.

“If breadstick cage try to take my numbers, I respond with sauce.”

Gravy flew.

The bars dissolved.

The x rolled away free and emotionally balanced.

Josh collapsed into a chair.

Professor Math stared at the empty board.

“We should never have used vertical lines.”