“At math,” he says, then pauses. “In general, you’re... more than decent.”
“Are you flirting with me, Ares?” I ask.
I’d hoped to make him smile, but I’m still surprised by the sheer pleasure and relief that floods through my body when he does. As if a single smile from him could mean that much. “You always think everyone’s flirting with you.”
I fix him with a coy look. “Well, most of the time, people are.” And then, ever so casually, I add, “I mean, I’ve had ten guys ask me out to prom already.” I haven’t brought up prom since last week, and I watch him carefully for his reaction, but there is none.
“Oh? And what did you say?”
“I haven’t agreed to go with anyone just yet,” I tell him.
“I see,” he says. That’s all. Not even a perfunctory question about who’s asked me out.
My heart falls. It doesn’t seem wise to press him further tonight—it’s late, he’s exhausted, he’s in a strange mood after bringing up his brother—but I’m gripped by the terrifying possibility that all my efforts so far to change his heart have only endangered mine. And with the night of the blood moon looming, I can’t help feeling like I’m walking directly into flames.
20
Chanel
When I walk into the math classroom, Ares is the first to notice me.
“Good luck,”he mouths.
I nod and try to smile like it’s no big deal, but the truth is that I can’t remember the last time I felt so tense before heading into a test. There were no nerves beforehand, because I knew how I would do: badly.
Now it’s different. Now there’s a chance that I mightnotdo badly, that all the time I threw into this, all those study sessions, might not be for nothing. Basic economics, really. The greater the investment, the more desperate you are for returns. And maybe there’s also a part of me that wants to prove to myself—and to Ares—that I can do this.
I slide into my seat, then double-check all my equipment before zipping everything up in the Gucci cosmetic case I’ve been using as a pencil case. Around me, everyone is arranging their calculators or looking over their notes at the last minute,their pencils and rulers spread out on their desks. A few people swallow audibly when Ms. Hoang starts making her way around the room to pass out the tests.
When she approaches me, she stops and sends me a stern look over the thick blue frames of her glasses. “I hope you do well, Chanel,” she says as she hands over the test booklet.
“Thanks,” I say, my stomach clenching.
This would be so much easier if I were actually smart. I remember the days before Alice left, when I’d glance over and see her studying on her side of the dorm room, her head down, her pen moving in a blur across the page. She’d earned the title of Study Machine for a reason—in fact, I was certain that even machines couldn’t compete with her. I had no idea how she did it.How do you stay so focused?I wanted to ask her.How does your brain manage to work so fast? How do you just always know the answer?
But I can also imagine Alice’s voice inside my head now, full of warmth and conviction.Remember that you’re Chanel Cao. You’re iconic. You can do anything.
I take a deep breath and write my name down carefully in the top corner, with my signature loops around theCs and a little heart after theO.
Then I flip the test open to the first page.
Our results are released the next day on Airington’s school bulletin board. Out of habit, I search for my name at the very bottom, but it’s not there. Not in the second or third last row either, and I’m just wondering what the hell I’m meant to do if I actually fail this class when I spot my name in the middle row.
“Oh my god,” I whisper.
“Chanel,” Ms. Hoang calls, making a beeline for me down the corridor. “Oh my goodness, excellent, excellent work on the test. Your improvement is incredible.”
“Wait. Are you serious?” I ask, trying not to sound too excited. “There wasn’t a mistake with the grading?”
“No, you did wonderfully.” She smiles at me. It’s the most a teacher has ever smiled my way for reasons actually related to school, and not because I was flattering them.
“Thank you,” I say, grinning, unable to believe it. Everything suddenly feels malleable—possible. Changing people’s impression of me, changing myself, changing fate. The future. Why not?
“Guess your math mentor was pretty decent after all.” Ares’s voice floats over from behind me. “Good job.”
“Okay, but you can’t takefullcredit,” I say, turning around.
He offers me the hint of a smile. “No, I definitely can’t.”
