You Asked for Perfect(3)

It’s just hard to relate to someone who works so hard to be unrelatable.

My gaze flicks over his fitted jeans and plain white V-neck before focusing on my desk. It hasn’t escaped my notice that his once-gawky body has filled out with lean muscles.

I shake my head as the second bell rings. “Okay, everyone!” Mr. Eller calls for our attention. “Phones and books away. Hope you studied!”

Quizzes pass down the aisles. One lands on my desk. “Twenty minutes,” Mr. Eller says.

I scan the page. Only ten problems. My shoulders tense. When it comes to keeping a perfect GPA, less isn’t more. Ten problems mean I can only get one wrong if I want an A.

I want an A.

My pencil wavers above the paper. I take a tight breath and glance around the room. Heads are bent, hands writing.

It’s only a quiz…

How much are quizzes worth in this class? I close my eyes and try to visualize the syllabus. Ten percent? Fifteen? I can’t remember. Someone coughs in the front of the room.

Okay, I studied. It’s fine.

I start working on the first problem, hesitating a bit at each step, double-checking every number. I’m forgetting something. Am I forgetting something? I rub my eyes. I should’ve slept more.

Pari leans back in her chair. My heart skips a beat. For a moment, I think she’s already finished, but she’s just stretching.

My pulse thuds in my ears. Light yet piercing like the Mozart piece we’re playing in orchestra. All around me, everyone scribbles on the page. Pari stretches again. In the seat next to her, her boyfriend, Isaac, flexes the stress ball he always has out during tests. Amir yawns and scratches his dark stubble.

I can do this. I have to do this.

I crack my knuckles. I crack my neck.

Then I bring my pencil back to the page and pick up the pace. With each answer, I gain confidence. It was beginning-of-semester nerves, nothing more. I’ve got this. I’ve always got this.

I finish the quiz with time to spare, then lean back and exhale. My right hand shakes lightly. I breathe again. Relax. Less than a year to go. Almost there.

Mr. Eller calls, “Time. Pencils down.” I go to pass up my paper, but he turns on an ancient projector. “Switch quizzes with the person next to you.”

Next to me. The two girls on my right switch papers, which means I’m left with Amir. Of course I am.

“Ariel?” My name is smooth between his lips. The proper pronunciation with the hard Ar. Not like The Little Mermaid.

My foot shakes as we switch papers. I look down at his quiz. He uses a pen in math class. The confidence irritates me.

Mr. Eller slides the transparency sheet onto the projector. But the answers don’t look familiar. Is it the wrong slide?

Wait, no. I stare at Amir’s quiz. Every answer matches his neat handwriting.

His answers are right. But I don’t recognize most of the numbers. My pen slips in my damp hand. If his answers are right, and my answers don’t match his…

Amir looks up at me with an unreadable expression. Oh.

“Trade papers back when you’re ready,” Mr. Eller says. “We’ll go over any questions you have so you’re prepared for the test next week.”

Without looking at him, I shove Amir’s paper in his direction, then hold my hand there, waiting for mine. When I get my quiz back, I can’t help but look at the score. Only five out of ten correct. That math I can do. Fifty percent.

I failed.

I am failing calculus.

Dunkin’ Donuts coffee swirls like acid in my stomach.

I can feel Amir looking at me. But if I look back, this grade becomes real. And it can’t be real because I can’t fail calculus. I can’t even get a C in calculus because I’ll lose the valedictorian spot. And worse, if Harvard defers my decision and puts my application in the regular admission pool, they’ll see my fall semester transcript. They’ll see a bad grade, my dropped GPA, and they’ll reject me.

The bell rings. Everyone stands and collects their things.

“How’d you do?” Pari asks, turning toward me.

I swallow hard. If she finds out I failed, she’ll know she has a chance again at valedictorian. She’ll bear down, steal my spot. I’ve got to keep this quiet.

“Yeah, how’d you do?” Isaac asks. He’s wearing his football jersey for the game tonight. His white skin is tanned from summer practice.

Amir sits at his desk, messing around on his phone, but I can feel him listening. “I did well,” I lie. “Only missed one. Wasn’t paying much attention. You guys?”

Isaac shrugs. “Nice. Missed two, but I guess I’ll take it.”

“One hundred percent,” Pari says.

“Of course.” Isaac rolls his eyes. “Perfect Pari.”

She lightly punches him in the arm. “Shut up.”

Isaac winks at her, then turns back to me. “Coming, Ariel?”

“You guys go ahead,” I say.

They both leave, and then it’s only Amir and me.

He gathers his things and heads down the aisle. I shuffle behind him, keeping his pace with a few feet of distance. I wait until he turns out of the classroom before dropping off my quiz. Then I speed walk out to the hall in case Mr. Eller sees my grade and asks me to stay after class.

In the hallway, heart pounding, I look left and right, before spotting a glimpse of his medium-brown skin. Amir turns the corner, and I chase after him. I’ve got to ask him to keep this to himself, but if I do it in public, that kind of defeats the purpose. When I’m only steps behind him, I whisper-shout, “Amir!”