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I turned toward him and then inwardly winced at the small round bandage above his upper lip, one that, instead of matching his skin-tone, was a bright green. I hadn’t gotten the chance to see him this morning before classes started, so the sight came as a cringing surprise. “Did you try shaving again?”
He seemed proud of himself. “Ididshave, thank you very much. One little nick this time. I’m getting better.”
Last week, Alex claimed to have found facial hair along his upper lip. I told him that, with a head of hair as dark as his, he’d be able to tell if he was growing a mustache. He made me touch the skin there, and despite my less than stellar findings—smooth as a piece of paper—he took it upon himself to shave. Apparently every four days.
“Judging by your lack of excitement, I’m assuming things didn’t go well with the principal,” Ava said as she leaned forward, giving me a sympathetic frown. Her recently-dyed pink hair was tied up into two space buns today, her go-to style. “She’s not going to reinstate the valedictorian stuff, is she?”
My shoulders slumped. I’d texted our group chat all weekend about it. Ava even went as far as helping me create the beast of a script I hadn’t gotten the chance to read, and Rachel stayed up late last night, listening to me practice. All for nothing. “She practically said my dreams of a valedictorian speech are a thing of the past.”
“That’s so lame,” Rachel said with a huff. “You said she knows it’s important to you, right? It’s like she’s tryingto punish you.”
It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.
“You know I’d write about it in my blog if it were more…” Ava trailed off, probably already regretting how her words sounded.
I knew what she was going to say, though.If it were more interesting. “Interesting” was relative. Readers of her school-centered gossip column, Brentwood Babble, really only cared about one subject—all the dirty secrets of their favorite popular crowd, the Top Tier. Consisting of jocks and rich kids, the Top Tier liked to live as if they were A-List celebrities, and Ava’s blog helped perpetuate that. As soon as something hot fell into her lap, she typed up an article and posted it for the entire internet to see.
The last time we celebrated, she’d had over seven hundred registered visitors.
Despite my corrupted concentration, I tried to go back to my worksheet, focusing on the swirl of letters and numbers.Name the derivative of the function f(x)=4cos2x+logx+x.
“I can’t wait until the game Friday,” Rachel said, leaning her cheek into her palm. “I already have my posters made up.”
“In support ofConnor Bray?” Ava asked, adding a sing-song lilt to the last two words.
I couldn’t help but frown at my best friend’s latest crush. Out of all the guys at Brentwood High, she had to pick the top of the Top Tier boys, someone who was more obsessed about popularity and sports than anything meaningful. Then again, she wasn’t alone. I’d be hard pressed to find someone who didn’t worship the guy and his forearms.
“Shouldn’t you be supporting your brother instead?” I asked her. “He’s on the team, too.”
Rachel’s smile fell into something more serious, and she lowered her voice. “I’ve been holding off saying it. At least until it was, like, legit. Until he confirmed it with me. Reed quit the football team.”
“But your brother was one of the best players!” Ava said with a little gasp. “Was it because he was passed up for quarterback?”
“I don’t knowwhyhe quit. He won’t tell me.”
Alex let out a soft sigh. “It’s his senior year. If I was on the football team, no way I’d quit.”
I closed my eyes briefly, trying to block out the conversation.Name the derivative of the function—
“Is it okay if I put it on my blog?” Ava asked, her thumbs already typing.
“Yeah, go ahead. I doubt he’ll be mad about it.” Rachel’s lips quirked up into a small, wistful smile. “But, yeah, my signs are for Connor. They’re going to catch his attention for sure.”
Or the attention of Connor’s possessive girlfriend.
“He’s pretty dreamy, right?” Rachel asked Ava. “Have you seen his butt in those football pants?”
“Itisa nice butt,” Alex agreed thoughtfully.
I loved my friends, but the fact that our conversations devolved into guys’ butts made me ready to stab my pencil in my eye. Out of all the topics to talk about, they always decided on football and boys and popularity. Then again, they probably felt the same whenever I delved into explaining equations and functions. Not that I dove into that conversation often, unless I decided I wanted to bore my friends to death.
“Maisie,” Ava said, calling my attention to her. “Can I send over an article for you to proof after your tutoring?”
Mrs. Diego asked me last week if I would be able to start my tutoring up again this year, since it was something I’d been doing the past two years now. More often than not, I met with freshmen who weren’t willing to put the effort into learning Algebra. It was only the second week of school and I already had three students to meet with to make sure they start the year off on the right foot.
Teaching math was exciting to me, almost as fun as working through equations. Something about tutoring made my heart so full. Especially the moment where the math equations suddenlyclickfor the student—it’s a victory for both of us.
“You can if you want,” I told Ava. “You know you don’t need it, though. I never find anything.”
