My heart warms at her approval. It’s kind of exciting to have a crush. When I first started to like Patrick, I’d get this excited tingle in my stomach every time I was in his presence. Thank goodness that doesn’t happen anymore since we’re just friends.
Now I’ve started to get it again whenever I’m talking to Joe, which, as it turns out, is a lot. If we leave for school at the same time, we’ll walk over together and chat the entire way there. And since Patrick still isn’t talking to me, I’ve started sitting with Joe and the Newspaper Club at lunch. We’ve only had one more newspaper meeting, and even though Oliver and Rose were there, I got to help map out which student programs we’d try to interview at the festival. My belly does a little flip every time he smiles at me.
To invite Vicky to the festival with us? That’s just another example of his generosity. Always thinking of others, like how he’s making dinner for Subwayboy. I mean, can he get any more perfect?
I doubt it.
TWENTY-SIX
Sara
“Vicky,” I moan, flopping back on my carpeted bedroom floor. “I thought you said you were good at calculus.”
“Iamgood at calculus,” she insists, tucking her pencil behind her ear. “It’s not my fault you’re not understanding anything.”
“I can’t do this anymore.” I fling one arm over my eyes. It’s overdramatic, but whatever. Math turns me into a dramatic person. “We’re not getting anywhere.”
It’s nearing eight o’clock and we’ve only managed to study half of what I need to know for my pretest tomorrow. The upside? It’s a practice exam to help us prepare for our real test. The downside? I haven’t retained any information from tonight’s study session. And it’s not for lack of trying. I’m not distracted by Oliver or Joe or anything. I’m simply not understanding this.
If you’re wondering why I’ve never asked my accountant, good-at-math father for help with calculus, it’s because he’s the worst tutor in the world. Seriously, some people are not born to teach, and that man is one of them.
I made the mistake of asking him to explain algebra a few years ago, and he expected me tojust get it. Um, that’s not how my brain works. So our session ended with him tugging at his moustache in great frustration and me crying into my hands. And once he saw how upset I was, he scooped us two giant bowls of ice cream and insisted we watch this Fleetwood Mac documentary until I felt better. It honestly helped ease the tension, but since then I’ve been on my own when it comes to math homework.
“I should be the one complaining here,” Vicky mumbles.
“My life is over. Now I’ll never get to go to the festival with Joe, which means I’ll never get my first kiss from him. I’m going to die a Virgin Lips, never having known the sweet,sweetfeeling of his tender soft mouth against mine.” I peek from behind my arm. “Why did I have to be born bad at math?”
“Quit being so dramatic.” Vicky rolls onto her shins. “This test doesn’t even count.”
“For the thousandth time, Victoria.” I sit up and look at her. “Did you not hear my father when he said I could never go out again if I failed one more test? That includes a pretest.”
She’s already started packing her things. “Sorry, Sara. It’s getting late, but I’ve marked all the formulas on the study sheet for you. If you at least memorize those, you should do okay.”
“Wait, Vicky—”
As she heads toward my bedroom door, I leap to my feet, but she’s already slinging her backpack over her shoulders.
“Hey, maybe try making amends with Oliver?” She suggests as she opens my door. “Even if it’s awkward, he seems like a really good tutor.”
I pout, puffing out my lower lip, hoping this display will make her want to stay. It doesn’t. Instead, she laughs and says, “Good luck, girl. You can do this.”
Once she leaves, I pace around my room. Ugh! It’s useless. What am I going to do?
Well, I can at least buckle up and try. Vicky told me to memorize these formulas, which I can do. Easy! I don’t need stupid Subwayboy for that. What if I stay up late and teach myself the rest? Maybe he’ll come tomefor tutoring. That’ll show him.
Except—well. It doesn’t go well.
Dad comes in a little after ten o’clock and tells me I need to get a good night’s rest, and even though I sleep okay, I’m nervous the next day when I step into Mr. Day’s classroom and take the pretest.
Since it’s so early in the school year, Mr. Day’s only using this test to see how much we’ve retained so far, but still. The equations and formulas swim before my eyes, blurring together. I hear Oliver’s voice in my head, saying,Convergent or divergent? Which is it, Sara Lin?
I have no idea.
Our results are posted on the bulletin board outside Mr. Day’s class after lunch. Students congregate in the hall as they check their marks, but I hang back until the crowdclears. The test was difficult, but I did manage to memorize some formulas. Did I use them correctly? That’s the real question.
So far, the reactions seem excited. Someone even says, “That was easier than I expected!”
Maybe I didn’t do as bad as I thought?
