When people usually say to you, “Hey, you look good; have you been working out?” you feel good, probably because you’ve earned it, and you really do look good. But when anyone asked me that question, it just made me feel miserable—and it reminded me of how worried I was about my grades. So you can imagine me being asked that first thing in the morning wasn’t the greatest way to start the day.
“Yeah, something like that,” I grumbled in reply and thought of my spiraling GPA. I stalked through the hallway, passing the few students loitering on the second floor before class. Then I noticed Natalie walking in the opposite direction. I instantly changed course to catch up with her.
“Well, well,” I said. “This is a surprise. When was the last time you were at school?”
“I show up,” Natalie said. Then after a pause of thought, she added, “Sometimes. I just don’t stay for the whole day.”
“You should, you know,” I said. “At this rate, you’re gonna get held back.”
Natalie pushed her bangs out of her eyes and puffed her breath in a way that made it sound unconcerned. “High school is a waste of time.” She turned and leaned over the railing of the balcony, watching the other students, our peers, clustered in large clouds of people. She looked utterly bored. More than that, though, she had the same look as someone who was watching ants crawl. “The only reason I bothered to show up today was because it felt like something might happen,” and she turned and grinned at me.
“About that,” I said, my words faltering on my lips. I wanted to tell her that I couldn’t keep running out of class all the time, that I couldn’t just drop everything because she wanted me to at that moment. I wanted to tell her that all our secretive work was driving me crazy. Sure, it had been fun at first, but I couldn’t do this all the time. But then I remembered the look she had on her face as she looked at the other students—as if she was above and beyond it all. I bit my lip. “Never mind,” I said finally.
Natalie frowned at me for a brief moment and then smiled it away. “Well, I’ll see you later, right?” she said and slapped me on the arm as parting. Her words were more of a statement than a question. I watched her blonde head disappear into a stream of other students. I sighed and made my way to class.
Natalie and I were complete opposites. Where I was on the taller side and overweight by anyone’s standards, Natalie was small, thin, and pixie-ish. Natalie was blonde and had big blue eyes. I had dark hair and eyes. Natalie was flexible, fast, and athletic. I could be fast too, considering my bulk, but could only last as long as my lungs or legs would allow. Perhaps the only things we shared in common was our haircuts, our friendship, and of course, our secret.
The first thing that happened in first period was the returning of our tests from last week. When Mr. Mathews, my teacher, put my test face-down on my desk, he let his hand linger. “If you could spare a moment, after class, I’d like to talk to you,” he said quietly and then moved on.
Ah, crap. That’s never a good thing to hear when getting a test back. I held my breath as I turned over my paper.
65%
There it was, written in red ink in the upper right corner. I quickly flipped the paper back over on my desk. I swallowed the groan of despair that was rising in my throat. This was a midterm test and weighed heavily on my overall grade. A “D”! I couldn’t be getting a “D” in my class! I ran a hand through my hair.
“Not so good?” said a voice.
It was Laura, a girl I’d had a crush on for several years but never really talked to and had the fortunate luck to sit next to in this class. She was sweet and one of the smartest kids in our grade. For the most part, Laura was a girl of few words. She kept to herself but I never got the impression she was introverted. She had beautiful long dark hair that shone like water and grey eyes that were mesmerizing to look at. Not to mention she was rather large-chested….But I digress.
I blushed hard—I could feel the heat on my cheeks. “Yeah,” I mumbled.
“Maybe you’ll do better on the make-up test,” Laura said.
“Maybe,” I said, although I kind of doubted it, based on my current record. Not to mention that I was missing about a third of the notes that had been used for this particular test.
I couldn’t help later, glancing down at her paper when she lifted her hand to flip her hair over her shoulder (providing me with an unobstructed view of the curve of her breasts). A 92%. She probably had one of the highest grades in the class.
