โI spend the next hour talking until my throat hurts.โ
Itโs not as if the school campus is even that big: We have three buildings in total, all designed in the same boring, rectangular style with white- framed windows and gable roofs, and spread out around the main oval.
The issue is more that thereโs a lot of explaining to do.
Like: why photos of the senior teachers have been cut out and glued to the ceiling. โItโs a gesture of appreciation and respect,โ I tell them, becauseย prankย is not the right word here. โAt Woodvale, teachers and students are on very close terms, and weโre encouraged to express ourselves in, ah,
creative ways. Every time we walk through these beautiful halls, weโre reminded that our teachers are always looking down on us from above. Like, um, angels. Or God.โ
Or why thereโs a massive statue of a green donkey in the middle of the hall when our mascot is meant to be a horse and our school colors are blue and white. โDonkeys are symbolic,โ I lie on the spot. In truth, our deputy principal, whoโd ordered the cursed statue, apparently just isnโt very
sensitive to either colors or animals. It could have been worse, I guess; she could have ordered a statue of a cow. โThey stand for determination and hard work and grit: all crucial school values we take to heart.โ
Or why the schedule on the bulletin board says our next assembly will
be happening at 9:00 a.m., 10:00 a.m., 10:20 a.m., 3:00 p.m., 3:35 p.m., and somehow also 8:00 p.m. โWe like to be very flexible,โ I say, ushering them along. โObviously there is onlyย oneย time for the assembly that everyone
knows about. Obviously this has been communicated well, because the communication at this school is flawless. Now, have you seen our drinking fountains? We have aย greatย filtration system . . .โ
Or why thereโs a construction site next to the cafeteria.
โI remember reading about this on the school website,โ the green-scarf auntie says with a small frown. Weโve stopped just outside the wire fences, and even I have to admit, the view isnโt great. Thereโs nothing but rubble and plastic coverings and a few scattered poles. As we stare, a literal tumbleweed rolls across the dirt. โItโs for the new sports and recreation center, no? I thought it was meant to be finished two years ago.โ
โRight.ย That.โ My smile widens in direct proportion to my panic. I donโt know how to tell her that, yes, the sports and recreation center was finished two years ago. But then there came a minor issue with the bathrooms. To be specific, the toilets were all built facing the side, instead of the door, so you couldnโt sit down on them without banging your nose. At first the school asked us to be grateful and flexible and view it as a learning experience, but after Georgina Wilkins got a bruise from the stalls and threatened to sue, they decided it was better to rebuild the center from the ground up after all. โThere were some small delays,โ I say, โbut only so they could make it even bigger and better. There are someย trulyย exciting features coming, including a mini golf course on the roof, a swimming pool, and three
private gyms. But as you know, excellence takes time.โ
The auntie considers this for a moment and, to my relief, moves on.
Weโve circled our way back to the school gates now. The students have started to trickle in, yelling goodbye to their parents from the curb, swinging their bags over their shoulders and messaging their friends. Julius is also there. Heโs standing before the aunties, his styled hair glinting in the rising orange light, with his perfect skin and perfect uniform and perfect posture. Just seeing him makes me want to put my fist through something hardโideally, his jaw.
โWeโll definitely be sending our daughter here,โ one of the aunties is saying. โIf youโre the standard for the students at Woodvale, then this is the perfect school.โ
I feel a black thunderbolt of rage, the electricity crackling down my spine. Itโs made worse when Julius catches my eye, like he wants to make
sure Iโm listening.
โItโs been a pleasure,โ he says smoothly.
โNo, no, the pleasure is all mine,โ the auntie returns in Mandarin, and my jaw unhinges. She was the one whoโd used English with me earlier. It probably means nothing. Or it definitely means she likes Julius more and
feels more familiar with him and trusts him even though there are pyramid scheme leaders more trustworthy than he is. โWe couldnโt have asked for a better tour guide. Really.โ
Still looking at me, Julius smiles. โIโmย soย happy to hear it.โ
I bite my tongue, swallow all impulses for violence, and wave to the aunties as they leave. The second their clacking heels have faded into the distance, I rush off to my first class: history. Unfortunately this is also the
first of my shared classes with Julius, and itโs not long before his footsteps catch up to mine.
โThat went well, didnโt it?โ he says, his voice drifting just over my shoulder.
โDid it?โ I say, shoving the glass doors to the humanities building open with maybe a bit more force than necessary. Iโm kind of hoping that itโll swing back and hit him, but of course, he catches the door easily with one hand and slides in after me.
โI mean that it went well forย me,โ he clarifies. โBoth of them are sending their children here. I bet Ms. Hedge will be pleased. She must have known I was the best person for this task, though I suppose you made some limited contributions as well.โ
I mutter something unrepeatable under my breath.
โWhat was that?โ I can almost hear the gloating smile in his voice. โNothing. I just said weโre going to be late if we keep talking.โ
โWell, unlike you, I have no problem with multitasking.โ
Go to your happy place, I will myself as I push open the next set of doors. In my mind, Iโm no longer walking these crowded halls, listening to the warning bell chime. No longer in this town, even. Iโve graduated, undefeated, as valedictorian and school captain, and gotten my degree from
Berkeley, and Iโve bought a huge house in a big city for my mom and my older brother, Max (ideally, he would have managed to actually find a job on his own after finishing his expensive sports university, but this is meant to be an achievable dream, not an alternate reality). In the new house, there are more windows than walls and at dawn the sunlight turns everything into gold. Weโll have vases full of fresh jasmines, and chocolate-covered
strawberries for dessert, and lunches outside in our own gardens. My mom will still run her bakery, but she wonโt have to work twelve hours a day, and we wonโt be understaffed anymore, and weโll only go to sneak out taro buns and tuna rolls warm from the oven.
Itโll be just us, and we wonโt need anyone else. Our lives will be better than they used to be with my dad around. Iโll do everything he shouldโve done, provide everything he should have provided. Iโll do so much that nobody will feel his absence lingering in our living room like a silent ghost anymore. Maybe Mom will even start smiling again.
All I have to do to make that life happen is push through these last few months. Turn in all my homework on time and ace every remaining test and make my teachers happy so I can keep my conditional offer of admission to Berkeley. Abigail always enjoys placing emphasis on theย admissionย part, but Iโm more concerned about theย conditionalย part.
So. Just a few more months of this.
Which sounds simple enough, but at the thought, I feel a pressure thatโs almost like a physical force, crushing my ribs. I have to steady myself
before entering the classroom, breathe in through my nostrils, bounce up and down slightly on the balls of my feet, the way I do before running a race. It doesnโt help that the room is too bright, too loud, everyone lounging around the clusters of desks and talking at full volume.
Julius pauses beside me. โWhat, not going in?โ The corners of his lips are curved in their usual condescending manner, but he studies me for an extra beat, like heโs trying to figure something out.
โI am,โ I say, ignoring the tightness in my chest and pushing past him.
Iโve made it all of two steps inside when a freckled face jumps into my vision. Rosie Wilson-Wang. Sheโs one of those people who know exactly how pretty they are, and uses it to her full advantage. Sheโs also the girl who copied my science fair project last year without telling me, then went on to receive an Aโplus for โinnovationโ and โcreativity.โ
โSadie,โ she gushes, which is a bad sign right away. Science project aside, Rosie and I are on amicable terms, but thatโs because Iโve made it my mission to be on amicable terms with everyone. Or at least appear to be.
โHey,โ I say.
โDid you come in with Julius?โ She peers over at him with what feels like unnecessary appreciation, then adds, โHeโs so great, isnโt he?โ
I donโt know whether to laugh or cough up blood. I guess itโs a testament to how well I hide my true feelings that nobody other than Abigail would even suspect how much I hate him. โMm,โ I muster.
โHis hair looks really good today.โ Her eyes trail after him as he takes
his seat at the front of the classroom. โLike, it looks so soft?โ Itโs somewhat concerning that sheโs chosen to vocalize this as a question. It implies a
desire to find out the answer.
โSorry,โ I say, trying not to look too disturbed. โWere you going to ask me something?โ
โRight, yeah.โ She beams at me. โI was just wondering if you could send me your notes.โ
โOh. Sure. For history, you mean, orโโ
โFor all our history classes so far this semester,โ she says quickly. โYou know, because of that exam coming up next month? And, like, sure, I could technically use my own notes, but your notes are so much more
comprehensive and organized.โ
โOh,โ I say again. โYeah, I guess I couldโโ
โPerfect,โย she says, squeezing my wrist. Her long acrylic nails scratch my skin, but I stay still. โYouโre such a saint, Sadie. A true lifesaver.โ
The compliment goes down my throat like syrup, warming me up from within. Itโs embarrassing how tight I latch on to these little pieces of
validation, how much I want to be liked, to make everyone happy.
Sometimes I think I would give them one of my own arms if they asked very nicely.
Rosie moves to her desk by the window where her tight-knit circle of
friends are sitting. All of them are gorgeous, most of them are dancers, and a significant, overlapping portion of them are influencers. Yesterday, one of them posted a ten-second video of themselves standing before a mirror and bobbing their head. It received seventy thousand likes, and the comments
were flooded with people begging to be adopted or run over by her Porsche. โBy the way,โ Rosie calls over her shoulder, โcould you scan your notes in color and sort them by date and topic? And could you add in your practice
essays too? Just send it all over to my school email by tonightโโ โHey, could you send it to me too?โ Her friend, the head-bobbing
influencer herself, winks at me.
โMe too, please, while youโre at it,โ her other friend chimes in.
I nod once, weakly, and they all turn their heads back to giggle about something on their phones.
โThanks,โ Rosie says, without glancing up again. โMuch love.โ
I swallow, her previous compliment threatening to make its way back up. But thatโs fine. Itโs no big deal. Certainly no reason to get worked up. I make a mental note to run to the school printers this afternoon before I head off to my momโs bakery. Itโll push back my already tight schedule by about thirty minutes, which means Iโll have to shorten my evening run to only
five miles or eat dinner while I work or maybe both, but really, itโs not an issue.
I take another deep breath, though it sounds strained to my own ears, and a little frantic, like someone whoโs been underwater too long coming up for air right before diving down again.
No big deal at all.
โข โข โข
Iโve already pulled out my notebooks and written down todayโs date when Abigail Ong waltzes in as if she isnโt seven minutes late.
I would ask her to at leastย tryย and be more subtle, but that would be asking the impossible. Abigail is basically a walking glowโinโthe-dark exclamation mark, with her platinum-silver hair and rolledโup skirt and platform combat boots, which are really just stylish stilts. They thud over the carpet as she makes her way toward me. Ms. Hedge has told her off
multiple times for not wearing proper school shoes, but then Abigail ended up writing a five-page thesis about why her bootsย didย in fact meet all the
requirements for school shoes, complete with a proper bibliography and everything. I donโt think sheโs ever put so much effort into any of her actual essays before.
โIโve arrived,โ Abigail announces to the class in general.
Our history teacher, Ms. Rachel, glances up from her desk. โThatโs nice.
Take your seat, Abigail.โ No other teacher would be so chill about it, but thatโs one of the reasons why Ms. Rachel is universally adored. The other
reasons being that sheโs in her twenties, she throws Christmas-themed pizza parties at the end of every school year, and her surname sounds like a first name, thereby creating the illusion that weโre on a casual first-name basis with her.
โIโm giving you half of this period to work on your group projects,โ Ms. Rachel tells Abigail. โOf course, seeing as itโsย dueย by nine oโclock, I would assume that youโre pretty much finished. But I like to be generous.โ
Abigail offers the teacher a mock salute, then drops into the chair beside
me.
โHello, darling,โ she says. She started calling peopleย darlingย ironically
last year, but it seems to have entered her permanent vocabulary. The same goes forย bamboozled,ย vexed, and the random, self-invented phraseย fumbled the birdie.
I finish underlining the date with my ruler so itโs perfectly straight. This is like my version of drugs. โHi,โ I say. โDo I really want to know why
youโre late?โ
โWhy else? My sister got into a fight with Liam again, so he canceled last minute. I had to walk two-point-five miles here in these heels.โ She
kicks out her boots for emphasis.
โHave you considered, I donโt know,ย notย relying on your sisterโs onโand-off boyfriend for your daily commute?โ
โLiam drives a Lamborghini.โ โSo?โ
โSo Iโm a fan of expensive cars.โ I snort. โYouโre such a capitalist.โ
โI like to think Iโm supporting the people contributing to our economy.โ โI rest my case. And itโs not like he bought that car with his own
money,โ I point out. โHeโs a fuerdai; his parents probably gave it to him for his twentieth birthday as a little bonus to go with his new villa in Sanya.
But money aside, I just feel like heโs sort of a red flag.โ Abigail raises a hand in protest. โHe isย notโโ
โHe has a literal red flag hanging in his car.โ
โOkay, but you say that about all men, everywhere,โ Abigail says. โYou donโt trust any of them.โ
Maybe sheโs right. I definitely donโt trust Liam, but I guess I should also give him some credit: Heโs the only reason Abigail and I are friends in the first place. When he started dropping Abigail off at school three years ago,
someone had misunderstood the situation and spread the rumor that Abigail was dating a guy way older than her for money. As with anything else at Woodvale, itโd traveled to basically everyoneโincluding the receptionists
โby the end of second period. Even though weโd never exchanged more than a few words with each other before, I hadnโt been able to resist stopping by her locker during a break to ask if she was okay.
She was, shockingly. In fact, she found the whole thing hilarious. I was surprised someone could genuinely not care what other people thought of her when her situation was my very worst nightmare; she was surprised that someone could genuinely care about a random stranger and sacrifice their own free time to comfort them.
So we spent recess chatting, and then the next period, and then the last hour of school, at which point it only made sense for us to exchange
numbers and continue the conversation at home.
โIโm telling you, heโs not a bad person. I have, like, perfect gut instincts when it comes to this stuff. Iโve correctly predicted the breakup of every
couple in our year level so far, havenโt I?โ sheโs saying. She rummages through her bagโI swear I hear something cracking inside itโand tugs out a blunt pencil, a crumpled worksheet from last year, a bag of sour worms, and her lunch for the day. It must have been packed by her mom; the bread crusts are removed, the carrots are cut in the shape of hearts, and thereโs a sticky note that saysย Youโre a star!ย Her parents are big believers in positive messages, but theyโre also just big believers in Abigail. Before visiting her house, Iโd assumed that kind of unconditional love and support only existed in old sitcoms. โOh, how was the parentsโ tour, by the way?โ
โI lost,โ I say bitterly. I keep my voice as quiet as possible, because Iโd rather die than let Julius overhear me admitting defeat.
โYou lost?โ Abigail repeats, laughing. โYou canโtย loseย a tourโโ โI can. I did. I have.โ
โYouโre so ridiculous,โ she says. I would be affronted if it came from anyone else, but Abigail only teases a very select number of people she
deems important. Everyone else might as well be background noise, flies, motes of dust; in her eyes, they simply donโt exist. โWell, at least you donโt have to worry about the group project anymore. Youโre done already, I gather, like the unreasonably organized person you are?โ
โOf course. You know my policy.โ Anytime I receive a deadline, Iโll set myself my own deadline at least a week before it. Thatโs why I spent the first two days of winter break completing my part of the project on Chinaโs Warlord Era, which includes a four-thousand-word research essay, a hand- drawn animation of the Zhili-Anhui War, and an interactive map of the
various cliques. The workload itself was stressful, yes, but Iโm only calm when Iโm ahead. โI just need my group to give me their summaries, and then we can submit it.โ
Abigail glances up and points at my group members, Georgina Wilkins and Ray Suzuki, who are coming over to our desk. โUh, they donโt look like theyโre holding anything. Should you be concerned?โ
I frown. Theyย areย both empty-handed, and as they squeeze closer past the desks, I can make out the sheepish smile on Georginaโs face.
A bad feeling digs into my gut.
Still, Iโm willing to give them the benefit of the doubt. โHey, how are you?โ I ask, because it feels rude to demand to see their summaries right away.
But Ray doesnโt seem to have any qualms about rudeness. โWe didnโt do it,โ he says bluntly.
I blink. He might as well have punched me in the stomach. โIโ You didnโt do . . . the summary?โ
โNope,โ he says, sticking his hands into his pockets.
โOkay.โ I can hear a faint ringing sound in my ears, building into a screech. I do my best to recalibrate. Stay calm. Stay friendly. Stay focused. โOkay. Okay, um. Itโs okay if you didnโt finishโmaybe just show me what you have andโโ
โI didnโt do any of it,โ he says.
Another punch, even harder than the last. If I were standing up, Iโd be staggering back.
โRight. And is there a reasonย why, or . . .โ
He looks me straight in the eye. โI donโt know. Guess I just wasnโt sure how. Or, like, what we were meant to be doing, you feel?โ
โThe summary,โ I get out.ย The summary I already wrote out for you, I add inside my head.ย Word for word. The one I asked you to copy down onto the template that I predesigned and printed and personally delivered to
your house in the winter rain on the first day of the midyear break so you could do it when you had time. That summary?ย โI thought . . . I mean, sure,โ I say, seeing his blank stare. โThatโs okay. What about you, Georgina?โ
Georgina makes a gesture that reminds me of a flower wilting. โIโm sorry,โ she says, pouting. โI tried to start, I promise, but, like, my face still
hurts from when I hit my nose against the bathroom wall?โ โI thought you said you were fine,โ Ray says.
Georgina shoots him a quick, pointed look, then turns back to me, her dark eyes shining with emotion. โI feel worse whenever I have to work on an assignment. Itโs, like, super unfortunate. I wish I could do more to help, but . . .โ
Stay calm, I remind myself. I clench the muscles in my arm so hard they hurt and then, very slowly, force them to relax again. I repeat this until I no longer feel like committing murder. โItโs not your fault,โ I tell her, eyeing
the clock. Only eighteen minutes left until the deadline. I have two
summaries to write up, which leaves just nine minutes for each. Eight minutes, if I want to take time to double-check everything before submitting. โYou know what? I can just do the rest myself. Totally cool.โ
I expect more resistance, but they retreat rapidly, as if theyโve just dropped a grenade in my lap.
But no time to worry about them. This isย myย project. This is my grade on the line. One mistake and my whole average will drop, and Berkeley wonโt want me anymore. I push my sleeves up as high as theyโll go, then open up my school laptop to find my notes. Just seventeen minutes left.
Briefly, as I stare at the tiny words loaded onto the screen, the dozens of
tabs pulled open, I feel so overwhelmed I could choke. The words fade in and out; my vision blurs.
Nothing gets in.
Then I notice Julius watching me in my peripheral vision, and itโs like
Iโve been zapped. Everything sharpens back into focus. I wonโt give him the satisfaction of seeing me struggle. I refuse to.
With deliberate, feigned calm, I pick up my pen and begin copying the summary down.
For those next seventeen minutes, I donโt move or speak or even lift my head until Iโve written down the last word. Then I release a sigh that travels all the way through my bones, down to my sore muscles and stiff fingers.
That was too close.ย Wayย too close. Next time it might be safer to just do everything myself.
โThanks, Sadie,โ Ms. Rachel says as she collects our project. โI canโt wait to read through this one; the Warlord Era is absolutelyย fascinating. It was one of my favorite subjects in college.โ
I act like this is news to me, a happy coincidence. Like I didnโt spend
hours searching her up online and reading through an old interview she did for her alma materโs student magazine, where she mentioned her interest in the Warlord Era. Like I didnโt choose this specific topic for the very
purpose of appealing to her personal tastes.
Abigail would affectionately refer to such behavior as myย sociopathic tendencies.
โIโm just going to pop into my office to put this away,โ Ms. Rachel tells me, nodding toward the pile of papers gathered in her arms. โIโll be five minutes. Could you keep an eye on the class for me while Iโm gone?โ
โOf course.โ
โGreat. I can always count on you.โ Ms. Rachel smiles at everyone like theyโre special, but somehow it still manages to feel genuine when sheโs smiling at me.
The second she steps out the door, the class dissolves into chaos. People slump back in their seats, kick their feet on desks, stretch their arms out in loud, open-mouthed yawns. Muffled conversations give way to open hoots of laughter and shouts across the room.
Before I can do anything about it, an alert pops up from my school inbox.
One new email.
My heart leaps. Iโm praying itโs a reply from Mr. Kaye, our math teacher; I sent him a desperate email after midnight yesterday about one of the bonus questions. Unfortunately I still have all my tabs open, and my aging laptop is clearly protesting; I have to click my inbox about twenty
times before the rainbow spinning wheel disappears. Then I glance at the name of the sender, and my hope whittles away into rage.
Itโs from Julius.
Just so you know, Ms. Rachel took a peek at our group project earlier and said it lookedโand I quoteโโphenomenal.โ Iโm saying this now so youโre not too shocked when our grades come back and mineโs higher than yours. I know how upset you get every time I win.
Best regards,
Julius Gong, School Captain
I snap my head up, my eyes going straight to him, but heโs turned away, chatting to the pretty girl sitting next to him. As he laughs, Iโm gripped by
the visceral urge to march up there and shake him by the shoulders, dig my nails into his smooth skin. I want to leave a permanent mark. I want him toย feelย it, to hurt. I want to destroy him.
โSadie.โ Abigailโs voice sounds a thousand miles away, even though sheโs sitting right next to me. โUm, thereโs a vein in your temple that looks like it should be examined by a health professional.โ
When I donโt reply, she leans over me and reads the email on my screen.
โDamn,โ she breathes. โThat boyโs really making it his life mission to get on your nerves.โ
I squeeze out a scoff that sounds more like Iโm being strangled. Across the classroom, heโs still laughing with the other girl.
Happy place, I remind myself.ย Remember your happy place. Your future.
But when I try to summon up the image of the giant house with the sunlit rooms and soft curtains, all that materializes is Juliusโs sneering face, his pitch-black eyes and haughty cheekbones and curved lips. Beautiful and horrible, like those vivid flowers you find blooming in the wild that are actually carnivorous.
So instead I spread my fingers over the keyboard and begin to type in a furious rush, stabbing out each letter with my nails. This is my last resort,
my sanctuary, the antidote to my anger. Because I know better than anyone that Iโm not really a saint. Nowhere close. I simply like to unleash all my
rage in my email drafts, where I can be as harsh and petty and unforgiving as I want, because I also know that Iโll never have the nerve to send them out. When I write, I write anything and everything that comes to mind.
Julius,
Just so YOU know, Iโm keeping your email as evidence so that when our grades come back and mineโs obviously higher, youโll understand how it feels to be slapped by your own hand. I canโt wait for the day to arrive. But also, even if it were a tie, I donโt think you have any reason to gloat. You managed to complete your project only because you have smart people like Adam in your group, and you have Adam in your group only because you gave the teacher that complete rubbish speech about wanting to switch things up and bond with new peers and so she let you choose.
Maybe the teacher and the parents you showed around this morning and everyone else at this school buy your bullshit, but I can see right through you, Julius Gong. Youโre attention starved and self-obsessed and unbearably vain and you wear your cynicism like a crown; youโre the kind of kid on the playground who steals a toy not because you want it but because somebody else does.
Also, your hairstyle is ridiculous. You might think it looks all natural and effortless, but I bet you spend entire hours of your morning styling it with a tiny comb so that the one singular strand falls over your left eye at the perfect angle. From the bottom of my heart, I really hope your comb breaks and you run out of whatever expensive hair products youโve been using to make your hair appear deceptively soft when Iโm sure itโs not, because thereโs nothing soft about you, anywhere at allโ
โMorning, Mr. Kaye!โ
The name jolts me back to reality. I peel my eyes from my laptop and spot Mr. Kaye walking past us down the corridor, a hand lifted in greeting.
I quickly save the draft. Itโs the fifty-seventh draft email I have; the majority of them are dedicated to Julius, but there are a few others written for classmates and teachers whoโve made my life especially difficult in the past.
โMr. Kaye,โ I call, shooting up from my seat so fast I bang my knee against the desk. โMr. Kaye, waitโโ I suppress a wince and rush out into the corridor after him.
โSadie,โ he says, regarding me with the strained patience of a grandparent humoring their overenergetic grandchild. Heโs probably old enough to be my grandpa, though itโs hard to tell, with his dyed black hair.
โSorry to bother you,โ I say. โBut did you get thatโโ
โEmail you sent?โ he finishes for me. Unlike his hair, his brows are a peppery gray. They rise slowly up his wide forehead. โYes, I did. Are you often up at one in the morning?โ
โNo, of course not.โ I often go to sleep later than that, but thereโs no reason to raise alarm. And the last thing I need is for this to devolve into a conversation about my unhealthy sleeping habits. I just want to know if my answer was correct or not. โFor question six . . .โ
โThe textbook was wrong,โ he tells me. โDonโt worry, Sadie, your
calculations were completely right. The answer should have been ninety- two. Iโll make a note of it in class, though I doubt anyone else except Julius has even touched the bonus questions.โ
The textbook was wrong.ย The most beautiful arrangement of words to ever exist. Itโs like someoneโs injected sunlight directly into my veins. Iโm so relieved, so euphoric, that I donโt even mind the mention of Julius.
โOh my god, thatโs amazing,โ I say, completely sincere for once. โThatโsโ Thank you so much, Mr. Kaye. I redid my calculations so many times; I tried, like, eight different methodsโโ
โIโll bet you did,โ he says, and this time the corners of his lips rise too, with mild amusement. โWas that all?โ
โYes,โ I babble, my face splitting into a beam. โYes, thanks again. You have no ideaโthis just made my entire day.โ
Iโm still beaming as I head back, my high bun bouncing, my footsteps light. So maybe the morning was off to a bit of a rough start. Thatโs fine. Things are good now.
I donโt even mind the fact that the classroom situation has deteriorated further, or that Rosie and her friends have pushed back a few of the tablesโ including mineโto shoot a video of themselves spinning on the spot for god knows what reason. I simply wait until theyโre done and rearrange the
tables myself.
โYour mood changed fast,โ Abigail says, seeing my face. โDid Mr.
Kaye give you a cash prize or something?โ
โEven better: The textbook was wrong.โ I let out a happy sigh. โI was right.โ
When I take my seat again, I notice, dimly, that my laptop seems to be in a different position. I pause, frowning. I could have sworn Iโd lowered the screen almost all the way down, not just halfway. But then Ms. Rachel returns with important information for our upcoming test, and I forget everything else. Iโm too focused on planning out my next move to beat Julius.