A collective shuffling sounds as everyone pulls out their essays.
I stare expectantly at Sara. “Well?”
She cranes her neck to make sure Joe’s still chatting with Rose, then says, “Okay, so this morning—”
I’m two seconds away from being fed up. “No, Sara—my homework. Did you finish it?”
She gasps, her face paling. My heart stutters, because this reaction tells me everything I need to know.
“Shoot, Patrick,” she whispers. “I forgot about your homework.”
“Sara,agh!”
Whirling away, I slip into my desk and frantically search for a single sheet of paper. How could she do this to me? We agreed she’d do my homework because she lost that stupid bet!
Once I find a pen, I furiously scribble my name at the top. Then I start writing. Okay, I can do this. My favorite vacation. Where would that be?Think, Patrick. The Grand Canyon! Yes! That will have to work.
Sara looms over my shoulder. “Oh! Don’t forget to mention the mountains. And the Colorado River, right? Describe its splendor, Patrick! You can do it.”
I grit my teeth. This is not helping. My hand cramps, but I keep pushing.
“Any last papers?”
I spring to my feet. “Here!”
Sara’s eyes are on me as I race to the front of the room and slap my essay on Mr. Day’s desk. So what if it isn’t three hundred words? At least I’m turning insomething.
Mr. Day scrutinizes it. “What’s this?”
“Uh—the homework?”
“I asked for a typed paper, Patrick.”
My heart sinks. Ugh—Sara! I spin around to glare at her, teeth clenched, and find her fiddling with the hem of her cardigan. An apologetic look crosses her face as I move past her to take my seat, and as Mr. Day begins his lecture, she pulls out her phone.
A second later, my pocket vibrates. I peek at the screen.
Sara: Hey
Sara: Uh, sorry?
Yeah, right. Like she means it! That’s a pathetic excuse for an apology. All she cares about is Joe. If I fail English, it’s her fault.
Another vibration. I look again.
Sara: Dude, I forgot, okay??
Sara: Why are you so mad?
Sara: I’m sorrryyyyyyy
Sara: That was a stupid bet anyway
I make a gigantic show of turning my phone off, throwing the stink eye at her while I do. Her mouth falls open, eyes narrowing in anger.Pfft, what’s she mad about? She’s the one who’s at fault here. So I flit my gaze away and ignore her for the rest of class.
When the bell rings for lunch I don’t wait around for her to catch up with me. Sure, it’s petty, but I end up sitting at a crowded lunch table to avoid her. There’s no room for her to join, but I don’t care. I have a right to be mad. Also? The last thing I want to hear is howcoolandniceandamazingJoe is. She should have been preoccupied with doing my homework, not focused on stupid Joe. A bet’s a bet—and she lost.
Sara looks crestfallen when she realizes there’s no room for her at my table, and that’s when we both hear it.
