I don’t bring up the fact that there were only two minutes left of class on Friday when I bailed. Instead I mumble a faint, “Yes ma’am.”
“I expect to see you in detention at three thirty on the dot.” She leans back in her desk chair. “No exceptions.”
I swipe the slip from her desk and walk toward my assigned seat. Crap. Not only is my dad going to kill me, but I’m going to miss Earth Club with Lin.
My heart hammers with nerves as I sink into my desk. That’s when my eyes catch a blue slip sitting on top of the desk beside me. I look over to see Alex pulling his textbook out of his backpack. He glances over when he sees me staring, his eyes wandering to my own blue slip.
“Mrs. Donaldson didn’t go easy on you, either?”
I shake my head. It’s silly, but I feel like I might cry. I’ve never had detention before, and this is definitely not the way I want to start off the school year.
I can still feel Alex looking at me, so I preoccupy myself with pulling out my notebook. I can feel the tears well up behind my eyes.
“Hey,” he says gently. “It’s okay.”
I don’t say anything. I’m afraid my voice might break if I try.
Mrs. Donaldson walks in front of the board and begins to talk about linear equations. I can feel Alex’s gaze lingering on me for another moment before he turns to his spiral and begins scribbling down notes.
I try and absorb the information in front of me, but I’m too upset over receiving detention. The numbers and steps are a scrambled mess of incoherence. I write down notes anyway, hoping I’ll be able to make sense of them when I do homework tonight.
In my peripheral vision, I see Alex’s hand moving as he copies Mrs. Donaldson’s steps. He doesn’t look as tired as he did last week. No red eyes or dark circles are apparent. His dark curls are still effortlessly tousled on top of his head, but they look a little tamer today. Did he get a trim over the weekend? I’m not sure.
I’m also not sure why he decided to go allRebel Without a Causeon Friday. I overheard a few students talking about it in the halls this morning but other than that it seems like it’s old news, which is completely fine by me.
My blue detention slip stares at me from the corner of my desk. I hope it doesn’t affect my spot on the Wavettes. What if Coach Velasquez finds out and decides I’m a troublemaker? Ican’tget kicked off the team. This is going to help bring me closer to Whitney and Raegan.
I suffer through my last three classes and when the final bell rings, I book it toward A hall before anyone can see me sneaking into the detention classroom.
Room 112 is a craphole. This is where all the unloved, broken teaching materials are collected and left behind. There’s a large crack in the whiteboard that hangs on the wall. Nearly all the desktops have been vandalized with some kind of sharp object, declaring things likeMr. Harris sucks old man balls.Even the clock is permanently stuck at 2:14. Probably as some kind of mental torture to make our time here feel even longer.
The classroom is empty except for Alex. Mrs. Donaldson motions me to come to her desk and when I do, she hands me a thick packet. The front page reads:Algebra II Practice Problems.
“I expect you to complete as much of this as you can,” she tells me.
Great. More math. I take a seat a few desks away from Alex and set my book bag on the ground, then I start digging around in the front pocket for a pencil.
Mrs. Donaldson stands up. She heaves a canvas bag over her shoulder and looks between the two of us.
“I need to make copies for tomorrow’s lesson,” she tells us. “I’ll be right around the corner in the teachers’ lounge. You both are to stay put and work on that algebra packet. Do you understand?”
Alex and I mumble “yes ma’am” and bend over our work. I think of what Peach told me about her mom. How she said the DMV had to be one of Dante’s nine circles of hell. I think another layer includes being stuck in this classroom doing algebra for all of eternity.
I try and concentrate on the packet. Most of the problems are from lessons we learned last week. I’m able to get through a few of the easy ones, but the majority of them stump me.
I glance at Alex. He’s bent over his work, his thick brows furrowed together like he’s deep in concentration. But I notice he completes each problem relatively quickly. It must come easy for him. He’s already on the second page of the packet, which means he could have easily beat me in Radical Races on Friday.
So, why didn’t he?
I set down my pencil. Loudly. “Why’d you do it?”
Alex stops writing, then slowly turns to look at me. He has this expression on his face like it’s obvious, but obviously itisn’t.
He takes a moment before he speaks. “I don’t know… you choked.” He folds his arms and shrugs. “And, I don’t know.”
Humiliation sweeps over me. I can feel the heat starting in my stomach and rising to my cheeks. I shouldn’t care what Alex thinks of my intelligence, but I do.
“So you felt sorry for me? Because I’m stupid?”
