1
We learn from failure, not from success!
That’s what Mrs. Lieu has written in red at the top of myEnglish paper, above the C-plus. She’s quoting some book, no doubt. She likes to weave literary quotations into even the most mundane conversation. One time, a couple of girls in the front row were talking about their homecoming dresses, and Mrs. Lieu interrupted to inform them, “All that glisters is not gold.” We all spent the rest of the day trying to misuseglistersin a sentence.
I resist the urge to crumple up the paper and tell my teacher that actually, a C-plus isn’t afailinggrade. But I know what she means; it feels like failing. Especially since I worked hard on this assignment.
The room is in a state of grumbling dissent, and I look around to find everyone with their heads bent over their papers. I make eye contact with Henry Abbott across the room, who puts on a sillyexpression and pantomimes death by choking. My cheeks heat, and I pretend to collapse as though my grade has ended me too. Even Sage Wheeler, who’s on the path to valedictorian, has folded her paper in half to hide her grade.
“You okay?” I ask, leaning closer to her desk.
“This is bull,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I’ll have my dad call her. I’m not going to lose a spot in the Ivies just because Mrs. Lieu can’t read.”
“Um…” I frown, not really sure what to say to that.
“I’ve never gotten a B in my life.” Sage flicks a strand of short blond hair out of her eye and, as if to emphasize howtogethershe has everything, examines her acrylic nails, painted an autumnal brick-orange shade that perfectly matches her tank top.
“Right.” If we were at a bigger school in a bigger town, Sage and Henry would be in a separate class for the ultra-advanced. At Silver Creek High, they have to sit among us mere honors students and do separate assignments here and there.
Up front, Mrs. Lieu, either failing to read the room or thoroughly enjoying our collective anguish, flashes a broad smile. “Okay, everyone. I don’t usually do this, but since you all struggled so much with your papers, I’m going to give you the chance to rewrite them.”
“Yeah, you are,” Sage mutters smugly under her breath while the rest of us cheer.
I glance over at Henry again, who runs a hand through his brown hair in a gesture of relief. He looks at me, glasses skewed andhair a mess. He’s adorable, and still, I wish I could walk over there and straighten his glasses, smooth his hair. Maybe rough it up even more. At his smile, my heartbeat kicks up.
But Henry’s just my friend. Always has been, as much as I sometimes wish he’d see me as something else.
Asnapsounds, right in front of my face. I jerk back to find Sage reaching over. “Hello? Hayden, eww. Stop looking at that creep.”
“You know he’s my best friend,” I say.
Sage looks momentarily hurt, and I regret the slip of tongue. Not that she’s ever been mybestfriend; still, we were close. Her expression returns to disapproval. “Then why are you looking at him like he’s an ice cream cone?”
“That’s gross, Sage.”
“Okay, whatever. The point is you could do so much better than a murderer. Even a really hot one.”
“Thanks,” I droll. “But he’s not—”
“A murderer’sbrother, then, sorry.” She lifts her hands, absolving herself of any misgivings.
My jaw clenches.Thisis the reason she and I aren’t close anymore. Mariana Sanchez was her cousin, and despite the fact that the police ruled Mariana’s death an accident last October, Sage and the rest of this town refuse to accept it. They’re all convinced that the Abbott triplets were involved.
Class is almost over. Mrs. Lieu tugs on the collar of her blue and white pinstripe button-down as she explains the rewrite assignment.“You’ll choose anewprompt from the list. You have two weeks.”
This is met with groans. At the back of the room, Todd Ellison, quarterback of the football team, asks, “Can we make it three?” The sentiment is echoed by a couple of his teammates.
“If you have a problem with mymagnanimousoffer,” Mrs. Lieu says, throwing in a vocab word as she wanders over to her desk, “we can call the whole thing off.”
“Two weeks is great,” Todd says, stuffing his paper into his backpack.
At her desk, Mrs. Lieu shakes her head and mutters to the ceiling, “‘Lord, what fools these mortals be.’”
The bell rings, and after everyone packs up for lunch, Sage sidles up next to me on my way out. “Hayden, I didn’t see your name on the list for the student council retreat. You’re coming, right?”
I pull my long sand-colored hair over one shoulder and twirl it around a finger. “Oh, we might have auditions that weekend forThe Wizard of Oz,” I say, even though there’s no way we’ll pull together the numbers to put on an actual production. At our small school, I’m one of five members of the drama club. Whenever we attempt a performance, each of us plays at least two parts—sometimes we go triple or even quadruple duty.
Then there’s student council. Sage and I joined together freshman year as something to do once a week at lunchtime. We never planned on moving up in the ranks the way Mariana did—she was a junior class secretary with sights on becoming student body president. When Mariana passed away, Sage decided it was her newmission to take her cousin’s place as well as guilt me into joining her.Mariana would’ve wanted us to do our part to help the school, Hayden.But Sage never quite got the numbers to win the schoolwide presidential race over popular cheer captain Kennedy Russo and had to be content with senior class president.
