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His group waves as they stand to dump their trays.
“Bye Prom Queen,” Ethan bends down and whispers in my ear, tickling my senses.
When most of our table has scattered, Stephanie begins giggling.
“What’s so funny?” I ask.
“How could you not see the daggers Ethan and Austin were staring at each other while you talked to them both?” she asks, shaking her head. “That’s not even all of it. The truth is, you’re bringing squads together. Did you look around the table? Half the table was taken by the brainiac’s and the other half by the dancer pops and their boys. How funny is that? It’s like you’re the mediator for the different squads at our school.”
“I am not,” I say. “And they weren’t staring daggers at lunch. You’re just exaggerating.”
“Sure, you just keep telling yourself that,” Stephanie says, as she continues to smirk.
“Knock it off.” I push open the doors and see Ethan waiting for me. He grabs my books out of my hands.
“Can I walk you to class?” he asks. Then he starts to make his way down the hall.
I look at Stephanie and point. “He took my books.”
Stephanie grins. “Then go get them back,” she says.
I catch up to Ethan, who is going in the opposite direction of his own class.
“What are you meeting nerd boy for after school?” he asks.
“Academic Decathlon tryouts,” I say. “And why do you keep saying Austin is a nerd, like that’s a bad thing? He’s exceptionally smart, and proud of it.”
“Academic Decathlon, huh? What makes you want to try out for it?” he asks, ignoring my question completely.
“I’m not sure if I do. But my mom thinks it will help bring me out of my shell, so I guess I’m trying out.”
“Don’t do it if you don’t want to,” Ethan says. “My dad wanted me to play baseball. But it was never really my thing. I’m happier making vids and helping people laugh. I’d rather have fun than chase a ball and run around a diamond a bunch of times.” Ethan stops just outside the classroom door and hands over my books. “Good luck,” he says. He leans in close as if he’s about to kiss me. My heart quickens.
“Team Ethan,” he whispers right above my lips.
I shove him away and laugh.
I sit near the back of the classroom and pull out my Chromebook. I open the study guide Austin sent last night. I glance over the questions again, for the thousandth time. It would be really easy to just delete the guide and go home with Stephanie after school. I could text Austin and tell him I changed my mind. I scroll through the study guide and answer each question quietly to myself. I get all the answers right. Why am I afraid to try?
I’ve never tried out for anything before in my life. My mom always had me in dance when I was little, but the first year I had to tryout in order to make the team, I gave it up. I don’t even have my driver’s license yet because I’m too afraid to take the driving test. I passed all the written tests two years ago. But the possibility of making a mistake, and having people see my mistakes, paralyzes me with fear.
My finger hovers over the delete button. Then I close that tab and open to where the rest of the class is supposed to be reading. I take a couple deep breaths. I can do this. I need to do this. I sit up straighter and try and catch up to what the teacher is saying, but my mind is racing. I find myself staring at the clock on the wall, watching each minute tick by.
After school, I make my way to Mr. Graves’ classroom. My mouth is dry and scratchy. I stop at every drinking fountain along the way, but nothing seems to quench my parched throat. I walk past multiple prom posters, reminding us how many days are left to find a date. I don’t need more pressure right now. I look down as I walk. Several people say hi to me but my brain doesn’t register who any of them are. My eyes are focused on the door at the end of this never-ending hallway.
When I step inside, Austin is waiting for me. “You really came,” he says, smiling.
I set my bag on top of a nearby desk. My hands are shaking. I grab the back of the chair for support. I feel like my knees could buckle at any moment. “Did you think I wasn’t going to?” I ask.
“I figured there was a 50/50 chance,” he says. “I know I manipulated your mom into making you try out. I’m really sorry about that. But I’m not sorry you’re here,” he adds. The tips of his ears redden.
“I’ll let you know afterwards if I’m sorry I came,” I say.
The room slowly fills with two more girls and four guys. They begin pushing the desks into a circle and sit down. One kid pulls up a funny video on his phone and the others gather around to watch. Austin moves closer and watches over their shoulders. I sit at a desk near the door and pull out my Chromebook again. My stomach is flipping. I glance through the questions for the millionth time. Everyone bursts out laughing. I look up. Austin walks toward me.
“Come on, Emma, you gotta see this.”
I stare at the next question. “I’m okay,” I say, shaking my head.
