I stare at him, waiting for the real answer.
“Fine, I came to pick you up.”
My brows knit in confusion. “You never do that.”
Suddenly, the door across the hall opens and Mr. Yang steps out, briefcase in hand, wearing his usual work slacks and navy sweater.
“Oh—morning, Mr. Yang!” I say, a cheerful lilt in my voice.
Mr. Yang smiles, bowing his head sightly before walking to the stairs.
I’m familiar with almost all our neighbors since Dad and I have lived in this apartment building for a while. Mr. Yang is quiet, kind, and somewhat elusive. He doesn’t have kids and will sometimes talk to Dad about old-school rock music—or yacht rock, as I call it—though you’ll never catch me admitting it’s grown on me. I often hum Queen under my breath while studying, and Patrick always tells me to knock it off.
Patrick snaps his fingers overdramatically. “Oh! You know what? Now that I’m here, you might as well pay me for last night’s bet!”
Panic zips up my spine. “Patrick.Don’t talk about that in front of people.” I nod toward Mr. Yang’s retreating figure, lowering my voice. “That’s the real reason you’re here, isn’t it? You punk.”
He cackles, eyes gleaming, and I take this as an opportunity to race toward the elevator like I’m fleeing a crime scene.
Patrick’s footsteps fall behind me. “Hey, wait up! What about the money?”
I increase my pace, slyly ignoring the last part. “What?I can’t hear you. Hurry up, we’re going to be late!”
Dad gave me fifty bucks for my birthday. It’s all I have, so the last thing I want is to give any of it to Patrick. That schemer. Maybe he’ll forget, take pity on my embarrassing moment, and realize I’ve already lost my dignity—I don’t need to lose my money too.
FOUR
Patrick
A bet’s a bet. If Sara thinks I’ll forget about the money, she’s wrong. And outrunning me won’t stop me from nagging her about it!
FIVE
Sara
As Mr. Day drones on about fractal curves, all I can think about is howfractalsounds likepterodactyl. Then I try to remember how to spellpterodactylin the corner of my notebook. It definitely starts with apand—ugh. I should pay attention. How is calculus a requirement to graduate? It’s soboring. I might perish from boredom. In fact, I might become the first girl toeverperish from a mind-numbing calculus lesson, and that will forever be my legacy. Here lies Sara Lin, bored to death by fractal curves.
Eagle Gate High isn’t bad overall. There are around one hundred students total in my senior class and, for the most part, everyone is nice. Except Rose, who—much like her name suggests—has some thorns alongside her sweetness.
It’s funny, because this place felt sogargantuanwhen I started as a freshman. Eagle Gate is a red brick building with multiple floors and stairways, but it’s not so bad once you know where you’re going. (Once I came back from the bathroom and walked into the wrong classroom, which was mortifying, but not as mortifying as my encounter with Subwayboy yesterday.) There are huge windows in every classroom that invite in natural light, and I always try to sit near one so I can pretend I’m outside whenever my mind wanders. Which is pretty frequently, especially in calculus.
Will Ieveruse this stuff in the real world?
“Psst, Sara Lin.”
Glancing to my left, I lock eyes with Tammy Yokoyama. She’s this sweet, shy girl who wears these oversized retro glasses every day. We met our first year here in English and have been friendly ever since, sometimes eating lunch together and talking in depth about our favorite K-pop idols.
“I heard you almost had your first kiss last night.”
“Tammy.” I’m horrified. “Why would you bring that up right now?”
“Because I’m bored,” she whispers. “And, hey. It’s your first rejection. Did he really call you a weirdo?”
From the desk directly behind her, Patrick snickers.
I lean in, voice low. “Oh my god, Tammy, how do you even know about—?”
She grins. “Patrick told me.”
