Owen. He’s going to find Owen, the need to celebrate and high-five with his best friend winning out over walking out with me.
I shoot him a thumbs-up and pick up my bag weighed down by the contents of my locker: worn-down pencils and filled-in notebooks, the little makeup case packed with fruity-flavored lip-gloss and roll-on perfume I convinced my mother I had to have at school.
Andrea and Callie, two chorus friends who cried literal tears the day I told them I was enrolling in Pebblebrook instead of the local high school just next door to Butler Middle, fall into step with me as I make my way toward the door. They chatter on about summer plans, sleepovers and beach trips and lazy days spent lying in the grass by the lake slathered in coconut-scented sunscreen. A bright feeling opens up in my chest, all freedom and sunshine and friends and laughter.
“Mara?”
I turn, meeting Mr. Knoll’s pool-blue eyes. My ears bleed red, just like they always do whenever my math teacher looks directly at me. He’s tall, broad shoulders stretching wide under a cerulean button-up and skinny gray tie. His sandy-blond hair falls over his forehead, all at once effortless and perfect. He smiles at me and my belly flutters.
“I need to speak with you for a moment,” he says.
Andrea’s and Callie’s hands fly to their mouths, giggles trapped underneath.
“Okay,” I say, shoving Andrea’s shoulder playfully with my own as I walk around her.
“See you at my house at six, right, Mara?” Callie asks. I nod, promising to bring the M&M’s and my collection of High School Musical movies to our sleepover tonight.
Mr. Knoll wishes them a good summer and cracks some joke about getting into trouble or staying out of trouble or something completely expected and inane. I’m too busy wondering why he wants to talk to me, my mouth drying out as I remember all the times my friends and I have joked about how cute he is. I shake myself and laugh, because gross. He’s a young teacher, but a young teacher is still ancient.
He closes the door behind my friends and then makes his way to his desk. He rifles through some papers. Then, after picking up a few, he walks across the room and sits on the table he uses for small groups sometimes. I follow him, turning my body to face him, waiting. He sets the papers next to him and braces his palms on the table’s surface, looking at me. There’s a little smile on his face, the faintest quirk of one side of his mouth.
“Excited about the summer?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
“Big plans?”
I shrug. “Just . . . the normal stuff, I guess.”
“The normal stuff can be fun.” He waves his hand around the classroom. “Anything’s better than being cooped up in here any longer, right?”
I laugh. “Pretty much.”
“I loved summer when I was your age. I still do.”
I nod, shifting my bag’s strap higher up on my shoulder.
“So,” he says, that tiny smile taking its place again. “Mara.”
I swallow. “Is . . . is everything okay?”
He sighs, concern spilling into his expression. He picks up the papers next to him again, the smile dipping into a frown as he flips through them. “I’m afraid not.”
“What . . . what’s wrong?”
He holds the papers out toward me. “Tell me about these.”
I take them, my eyes scanning what look to be my last three tests, three As circled in red next to my name.
“What about them?”
“They’re yours, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And you worked hard on them? Gave them your best shot?”
My mouth twitches. “Yes.”
