You Asked for Perfect(17)

“Are you going to apologize?” Sook asks.

We’ve been in the car for five minutes, but I’ve been immersed in the CalcU app. “Huh?” I look up. Sook’s hair is swept up into a bun, and she’s wearing clear-framed glasses. Her nails tap the steering wheel. “Apologize to who?”

“Um, to your best friend, for ditching our plans yesterday and not even texting me back. I was worried, you know. I almost texted Rachel.”

“Oh, crap.” I run a hand through my hair. “I spaced out. I’m sorry. I’ve been busy with…” I trail off. “I forgot. I’m a jerk, and I’m sorry.”

“Didn’t you get my texts?”

“I saw one…” I have this bad habit of ignoring messages when I’m stressed. They just sit there, stacking up on my phone. “I didn’t read them. I’m the worst.”

“Yeah, well, you are.” She sighs and runs a finger over her eyebrow, smoothing it down.

“I’m sorry, really,” I repeat. “How can I make it up to you?”

Sook twists her mouth. “Tinder Hill date this afternoon? I can tell you my news, finally! And I’m working on a new song that could use special inspiration.” There’s a devious glint in her eye. Inspiration means pot. It can make music pretty freaking magical.

With this upcoming test, I don’t have free time, but this is my best friend, and I did ditch her. “Sure, yeah. Right after school, though, okay? And what is this news of yours?”

“You’ll have to wait until this afternoon.” Sook nods. “We’ll pick up some inspiration from my dealer on the way.”

Sook’s dealer is the least sketchy person to ever sell drugs. A hippie in her midthirties, Beatrice grows a small crop of marijuana alongside her favorite wildflowers and legal herbs. This past summer, she gifted lavender berry teabags with every purchase.

Sook turns on to the main road.

“Is everything okay with you?” she asks.

The calculus test is Friday. If I fail, it will literally be impossible to get an A in the class. If I don’t get an A in the class, I won’t have a perfect record. If I don’t have a perfect record, I’ll be a less appealing applicant for Harvard. If I’m a less appealing applicant for Harvard, I won’t get in. If I don’t get in—

“Ariel?”

I clear my throat and muster a small smile. “I’m great. Totally great.”

*

I spend math class biting a hangnail and using the sum total of my concentration to avoid eye contact with Amir. I want to apologize, but if I apologize, I’ll have to explain, at least partially, what’s going on with me. And if I tell someone that this failed quiz could rewrite my entire future, the situation will become more real than I can handle.

When the bell rings, Amir stands and slips out of the classroom before I can close my notebook. Perhaps he’s also on Mission Avoid Eye Contact. As I gather my things, Mr. Eller calls me forward, beckoning with a single finger.

Dread curls in my gut. Most of my classmates are still in the room. I feel their eyes on me, wondering what the teacher wants. I glance back at Pari. Her expression flickers—hunger.

My chest is tight as I scoot as close to Mr. Eller as possible, hoping he’ll keep his voice down. “What’s up?”

“You looked a little lost in class again today, Ariel. Did you sign up for some tutoring?”

He’s speaking softly, but there are so many people around. Someone could hear. “I’ve got a tutor,” I say. “It’s all good. Thanks.” I turn before he can ask anything else and rush out of the room, hurrying down multiple hallways. Before I know it, I’m in front of the guidance office.

Ms. Hayes is smiling at something on her computer when I knock on her door. She glances up at me, eyes bright. “Morning, Ariel! Come look at this!”

Only one coffee cup on her desk today. My shoulders relax a bit. I sidle around the desk and look at her screen. It’s a GIF of a basket of puppies that tipped over, and they’re scrambling and running around the yard. “Adorable, right?” Ms. Hayes asks.

I grin, thinking of Ezekiel. My shift this weekend can’t come soon enough. “Really cute,” I agree.

She scrolls to the next GIF and asks, “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company this morning? Calculus going a bit better? I knew you could do it.”

“Uh, yeah, well…” I scratch behind my ear. “I got a tutor.”

“Excellent! Who?”

“Well, it didn’t really work out, so I’m studying on my own again.”

Her smile fades. “I’m sorry to hear that. What happened?”

“We, uh, didn’t work well together.”

“That’s too bad,” Ms. Hayes says. “Is there someone else you can reach out to for help?”

“Not really…” I run a hand through my hair. It’s getting long, even with the curls. “Isn’t there another option?”

“You can’t drop the class. Students can’t drop a math or science course.”

“What? Drop a class?”

She stands and scans her corkboard, then yanks off a piece of blue paper and passes it to me. “October twenty-first. Here, you can keep that. It’s the last day a student can withdraw from a course. You can’t drop calculus, but you could drop another class to lighten your workload and make more time to study. An elective, like…” She types into her computer. “AP Spanish Literature.”