“You know,” he says, nodding back to the guys in the corner, “if you hadn’t shown up, today would’ve been an easy day. Like, super easy. Coach isn’t even here.”
“So you don’t want to?” I grin, knowing what’s coming next. Because Darius is always game.
“I’m good for it. I’m just saying I could’ve been lazy.”
“Nah, this summer was torture. I can’t be doing lazy.”
I hate getting knocked down. I’m someone who needs to be constantly moving, be doing something—anything. All summer, even when I wasn’t supposed to be exercising, I found something to do. Because on the days when I didn’t and was home from vacation withnothing else going on, what was left? Being alone. General restlessness. And a ton of depression naps. (Not that I’d admit those to anyone.)
I wake up the next morning feeling like I got hit by a truck.
What is this strange achy exhaustion?
Wiping the crust from my eyes, I roll out of bed and manage my morning sit-ups, but they’rerough. I take a warm shower, hoping that will help me feel better, but it does the opposite. Now I’m so tired it’s difficult to keep my eyes open. If I were anyone else, maybe I’d try to call in a sick day.
But I’m the guy who brings home the perfect attendance award every year. I know that’s kind of cringey, and it’s definitely not something I go bragging about. Yet, at the same time, it would suck to break the streak at this rate.
Anyway, a nurse would take one look at me and think I’m clearly not sick, assuming I’m faking to get out of school.
Maybe I pushed myself too far yesterday. It didn’t feel like it at the time, but maybe my body isn’t ready to jump back into the usual routine. It’s annoying how quickly we lose muscles if we’re not using them. Which isexactlywhy I didn’t want a forced break all summer. After the coastal hikes, I should’ve hit the hotel gym with my parents, but I hadn’t wanted to let on that the elevated climbs somehow left me more tired than it did them. I’m going to have to fight to get back my gains.
I get to school all right, but everything still feels a littleoff. Even though my legs aren’t exactly sore, I’m walking slowly. Like I’m fighting through the air to get where I want to go.
During first period, I zone out through most of the AP Chemistry lecture. Mr. Miller is going over the chapter he assigned as homework.I read the pages last night, but it’s like nothing got absorbed. Quietly I flip through the textbook, trying to refresh my memory. Especially because Mr. Miller is the type of teacher who calls on people randomly.
“A mole is an important unit of measurement.” Mr. Miller writes 6.02214076×1023on the board. “Who can tell me what this number is called?”
Oh, that’s an easy one. It’s Avogadro’s number. Whew, good thing I’ve already got the answer if he calls on me.
“Jackson.” But then Mr. Miller keeps rambling with his question. “It converts between the mass of a substance in grams and the relative atomic mass. So, what do we refer to this by?”
Shit. What was the name? Ijusthad it. On the tip of my tongue. I literally just had it.
Crossing his arms, Mr. Miller pushes me for an answer. He takes his class very seriously and is quick to get strict. “We’re waiting, Jackson…”
“Please come back to me later,” I say, sitting stiff as I stare ahead.
“It’s the name of thenumber.” Mr. Miller won’t let me go despite my struggling here. I flip back a page in the textbook, trying to quickly find it. “Don’t look it up,” he snaps.
“I’m sorry.” I shrug, not knowing what to do. I lost the answer.
“This is why we do the homework, class. You must come prepared. Otherwise, I don’t think you’re worth a spot in my advanced section.” Mr. Miller gestures to me specifically. “Last year, Jackson was one of my best students. But skip the homework and see how easy it is to look like one of the stupidest.”
Shit. I could evaporate on the spot. Gritting my teeth, I’m surprised how offended I feel. I’mnotstupid. Am I not allowed to have a bad day? Not in Mr. Miller’s class, apparently.
My other classmates seem to be shrinking in their seats as well,worried they could be the next victim. I’m still racking my brain for the answer, but it vanished into a black hole.
“Anyone else?” Mr. Miller asks, tapping his foot. “Or should we do a pop quiz to make sure you all did the reading?”
Someone behind me nervously calls out, “Avogadro’s.”
Right, that’s what it was.
The bell couldn’t ring fast enough. I’m ready for this day to be over, and thankfully, I manage to keep a low profile in the rest of my morning classes.
I need to think of some other excuse to avoid the soccer guys at lunch again today. Yesterday was a real low: I circled the cafeteria and ended up hiding out in the bathroom. I’m sure their jokes will blow over soon, but honestly, I’m embarrassed about the whole thing. I let them down.
I swing by the student council room. Though I’ve never run for office, I’m support staff, and there’s always something I can take on. I find a stack of orange flyers promoting this weekend’s 5K fundraiser, one of the events I help organize every year. We have a good number of sign-ups, but this will encourage last-minute joiners and remind everyone to show up this Saturday. There’s a note on the stack that says they need to go up Wednesday, so I grab them.
