“Aaaaaand pencils down!” Ms. Beatty, my math teacher, claps her hands twice, then snaps her fingers three times. It’s the special signal that we need to pay attention. Ms. Beatty says she does it because there are always different types of learners in her classroom. Some learn visually, some need more explanation, and some need to do things for themselves until they can grasp a concept.
She’s really great at understanding things like that, which is why Ryan Halpert always gets to take tests in the front corner of the room, so he’s not distracted staring at the other kids. It’s why Kristy Liu got an extension on her homework all last week when she had a dance competition.
(It’s also why Ms. Beatty probably would have given me extra time on the test if I’d told her I was a ball of distraction today.)
Except I didn’t. Because if I did, she’d let her eyes go all crinkly and ask me if I also wanted to talk to Mrs. Styles, the school counselor. That’s what she’d probably be required to do as part of the “teacher code.” That’s the same code that also makes all the staff members put those cheesy posters on the walls of their classroom—like the one of the kitten hanging from a tree branch. Or the bright yellow one where the owl says I BELIEVE IN WHOOOO YOU ARE.
(Insert eye roll here.)
Except maybe I should have made up some excuse. Because while the rest of my classmates are putting down their pencils (or in Ryan’s case, spinning it in his hands like he’s a baton twirler), I’m still staring at number three on my quiz.
3. Calculate the slope of the line when x = 16 and y = 4.
I should know the answer to this. We’ve been studying this stuff for the past week. But right now all I can remember is that the slope of a line has something to do with its “rise” and its “run.” But what does that mean? The only rising I want to do is out of this uncomfortable chair. The only running I want to do is out of this classroom and somehow back in time, back to last week, when things were different.
Back to last year, before Mom changed.
I’d also settle for running around the bases of a softball diamond. Because as much as I am stressed about tryouts and how much time the All-Star team will take up, I still love softball. The emotions twist together like a braid of hair, so similar, so distinct, and so utterly entangled.
“Ms. Conway?” Ms. Beatty is next to my desk now, her hand held out expectantly. “Your paper, please?”
I look at my paper again, the blank line after question number three taunting me. The blanks lines next to questions number four through twelve do the same. I have the sudden urge to throw my pencil across the room. Up to the ceiling, maybe. I wonder if its point would stick up there, like I’ve seen happen in TV shows.
I close my eyes and huff out a breath. I put my pencil down and give Ms. Beatty my barely-written-on quiz. My “earned an F for sure” quiz.
“Sorry,” I say quietly.
Ms. Beatty arches one eyebrow questioningly but moves on to Claudia, who quickly gives up her test and leans toward me.
“That wasn’t so bad!” she exclaims, wiping her forehead exaggeratedly. “I think I actually studied too much last night.”
Thanks, Lady Brags-a-Lot. I press my lips together to keep the words inside. It’s not Claudia’s fault that I both forgot to study and couldn’t concentrate during class. I don’t have to be mean, too.
“How’d you do?” she whispers.
I shrug.
“Oh, good call.” Claudia makes a zipping-her-lips motion. “We don’t want to get in trouble for talking about the answers now.” She nods authoritatively. “We’ll recap later, at lunch.”
“I don’t want to talk about it at lunch!” These words do burst out of my mouth, this time with the force of a cannon. My eyes widen.
So do Claudia’s. “Okaaaaay.” She blinks a bunch of times and I wonder if she’s about to cry. Did I hurt her feelings?
No. I didn’t do anything wrong. She was being way too nosy. Super nosy. Who cares how I did on the quiz? It’s not like one quiz matters. Not when there’s so much other important stuff going on.
I should apologize, though. For the outburst, I mean. I’ll explain the rest later.
“Sorry.” I tap my pencil on my desk. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“No problem.” Claudia smiles, but while her lips tilt up, her eyes are still flat and tentative. She’s wearing a mask.
Something I’m becoming way too familiar with.