At school, everyone is talking about the Oracle. I catch snippets of conversation all through the day.
“Did you read the one from SS?”
“That the shoe chick?”
“Yeah, Sneaker Sniffer.”
“I wonder who that could be? Weird thing to get off on.”
I resist the urge to smile.
People are still talking about the site when I head to math help after school.
I’m helping a guy in grade seven apply the order of operations when a bag skids onto the table beside me. A book slaps down on the tabletop, then a phone, then a pencil. And finally, Kamryn flops into the chair across from me with a dramatic sigh. Two grade-seven girls at a nearby table stare as the goddess makes her entrance.
My heart does a complete somersault before coming back to rest in the center of my body. “Hi,” I say, before I can decide against it.
“This is stupid,” she says. Her eyes move around the room.
“Actually, it’s math help,” I say. The grade-seven kid chuckles.
Kamryn narrows her eyes and lets them rest on me. I force myself to meet her gaze. It’s green. And cold.
My love is like to ice and I to fire.
“I mean, being here is stupid,” she says. “It’s a waste of time.”
I can’t help it. My natural habit of arguing—honed from years of living with a jerk brother—surfaces. “Door’s over there.” I nod toward it.
I want to kick myself as soon as the words hit the air. How long have I wanted to get Kamryn in my orbit? And now that I have her sitting across from me, I suggest that she leave?
“I can’t leave,” she growls. “Stupid old Saddlebags won’t let me. She said I had to come. Otherwise I fail this semester.”
I steal a glance toward Ms. Hamilton’s desk, hoping she didn’t overhear. But she’s not even in the room. “Saddlebags?”
Kamryn fixes me with a withering glare. “Yeah, Saddlebags. That would be our fat, ugly math teacher with the huge butt that drips down the sides of her legs.”
I’d laugh at Kamryn’s words if her delivery weren’t so mean. The grade-seven kid beside me laughs again. Kamryn looks away, mad that her sarcasm is wasted on a couple of nerds.
“Listen,” she says and looks right at me. “Can you just show me how to do this? Then I can get out of here.” She flips open her binder and pulls out a sheet of paper. A pop quiz. Zero out of six. She slides the paper across the table at me and taps it with her pencil. Twice. Tap tap.
I look at the pencil. At the nicely shaped nails attached to the fingers that are holding the pencil. And I look up, at Kamryn’s face. Her stunning, beautiful, flawless face. She’s not looking at me anymore. She’s looking at the clock over my head.
Ice.
“Sure,” I say. “Just let me finish this problem with Matteo.”
Kamryn’s eyes slide back to my face. She looks confused. “Can’t you do it now?” She wiggles the paper a bit. “Come on, I’ve got to be somewhere.” She dips her chin a bit and raises one eyebrow, coaxing me. “Please?” She blinks twice and smiles. “You owe me anyway, from last week. At the 7-Eleven.”
I look at her. My tongue ties itself up in a knot. A hundred thoughts crowd my brain. That she’s perfect. That she shouldn’t try to butt in front of other people, because it’s not fair. That my shirt still bears the stains from her Coke Slurpee.
But, of course, I don’t tell her any of those things.
Matteo solves the problem for me. He’s a pretty cool kid, and he’s obviously not scared of Kamryn.
“Owen’s helping me right now,” Matteo says. “You’ll have to wait your turn.”
The girls at the next table send up a muted gasp at his daring. Who in their right mind sasses Kamryn Holt?
Kamryn’s face folds in and pinches up. Her lips thin as she turns to Matteo. “I’m sorry. Were you talking to me?”
“I was, yes.” Matteo nods. His voice is thin and nasal. He meets her gaze straight on. “I said that Owen’s almost finished showing me how these brackets work. Then I’m sure he’d be delighted to help you. Wouldn’t you, Owen?”
He’s absolutely right. But still, I feel caught.
I don’t answer.
Kamryn stares at Matteo for a few seconds. He stares right back. The room is silent as a snowdrift as she makes up her mind whether she’s going to admit defeat or escalate the drama.
She chooses both.
In one angry movement, her hand flashes forward. She snatches the paper Matteo and I have been using and crumples it. With a dismissive little hiss, she drops the wadded-up paper on the table.
She pushes her chair back from the table. “I don’t wait,” she says. She looks around the room. “I don’t need to practice math with a bunch of retards either.”
At the word retard, my anger flares. I have an autistic cousin. But even if I didn’t, I still hate people using that word as a put-down. Doesn’t matter how perfect they are.
Kamryn slings her bag over her shoulder. She gathers up her book and phone and flounces from the room. She slams the door hard enough to shake the windows in their panes.
The girls let out a collective breath. Matteo picks up his crumpled paper. My mouth, which had opened to say something about the retard comment, snaps shut.
“Wow, Matteo, you really made her mad,” says one of the girls.
“That was awesome!” whispers the other.
“She’s a cow,” Matteo says. “I don’t know why people let her get away with it.” He carefully flattens his paper against the tabletop and scoots his chair closer. He appears entirely unfazed by the whole interaction. The girls are eyeing him with a new appreciation.
“So, yeah, anyway,” he says to me, holding his pencil over his paper. “Do you mind showing me again? From the beginning?”