Blame Gravity

Chapter 1

There is an astounding amount of proof for why I am better than everyone. 

First of all, I've won every single spelling bee I've attended. Except for the one where James Miller won, but we won't talk about that, not to mention that it only happened once.

Second of all, I have an IQ of 157.  I got a test done about a year ago, and these were the results, which make me obviously much smarter than everyone else.

Third of all, I am an incredibly fast reader. Last year, I achieved my Reading Goal of 560 books on Goodreads. 

Fourth of all, I am unable to communicate with people my age, which, according to excessive amounts of research and scientific results, indicates that my intelligence level is just higher, and that, even if I tried, they wouldn't understand half of the things I was saying. Let's bounce that up to 78%, according to my earlier experiments.

Fifth of all, I discovered that Santa wasn't real when I was 3, simply because the evidence wasn't adding up.

Sixth of all, I'm the best student in the whole school.  I have perfect grades and I've never gotten anything less than an A, usually without studying.

I could go on and on, which would be quite boring, I think, both for the listener and me, and so I'll just stop going on about how perfect I am, even though it's nothing less than true. 

Today is a boring day. Art, P.E., Mathematics, French, English, I.T., and another Math class. Easy A's.

The Art teacher is a middle-aged man with the name Joseph Smith. We call him Mr. Smith, except for Emma, who calls him Joey. They are kind of like buddies, I guess. Emma loves drawing and painting. She wants to be a fashion designer when she grows up and Mr. Smith supports her in that entirely. She's also the only one who pays attention in class and is interested in the topic. I like art, but I must admit I'm not the best at drawing. Neither is James, so that makes me feel better about it. But it also motivates me to pay attention and makes me waste two hours a day watching art tutorials on YouTube.  

Overall, the lesson is quite boring, and half of it consists of James peaking at my drawing while giggling irritatingly, which only causes me to whisper-yell at him about how he's shit at this and he really shouldn't laugh at something that I'm better at. He only giggled harder at that. Asshole.

P.E. is delightful because we play volleyball, which is, like, the only sport I'm good at. It was hilarious seeing James struggle and then pretend that it was on purpose. 

Mathematics is more interesting.  I love numbers and I'm great at it. 

Right when I zone out for a moment, Mrs. Anthony calls on me.

"Lucy? Can you do the equation, please? You were paying attention, weren't you?" she asks in her wondrous British accent, which I could listen to all day.

"Of course, I can," I say quickly, trying to sound calm and collected. The equation is 4(x + 4) + 3(x -3) = 2(x -3) + 12.

That is upsettingly easy.

I quickly do the math in my head and shout out "0.2 is the answer, Mrs. Anthony."

She nods approvingly and goes back to explaining something that I already know, while I continue to think.

The next class will be French. Oh, Lord, I hate the French teacher. She's the embodiment of every middle school English teacher, except we're in high school, and she teaches French. She always tries to make the lessons "fun" and "enjoyable", which only makes them less fun and less enjoyable. She has a native French-speaker-husband who's, like, 20 years older than her, and when she's sick, he comes in instead of her. He's very kind, but he's not a teacher, and that's quite embarrassing. It's also kind of sad that I know French better than her. Oh, well. At least I have good grades and some interesting (and, honestly, hilarious) discussions with Ms. Arquette. 

I look up, and I see Mrs. Anthony's disappointed eyes. Only James' proud hand is in the air, which means nobody else knows the answer. I quickly shoot up my hand. 

And now, I see the panic in Mrs. Anthony's eyes, as she has to choose one of us, and as she knows that this will result in a few more feuds between me and James. Eventually, with an apologetic expression, she chooses James. He looks at me with a pitying face, then he smiles and answers the question.

I only now study the board.  Another equation. I sigh. Aren't we tired of solving equations day after day? As I study my classmates' panicked faces, the answer dawns: no. No, we aren't. Maybe we never will be.

"x = 74, Mrs. Anthony, " he says in his annoyingly confident voice. 

I burst out laughing. He's wrong. 

"Well, James, that's actually not the answer. Could you answer it, maybe, Lucy?"

I nod and try to contain my laughing. I feel James' huffish eyes on me, but I try not to think about it. That'll only make me laugh more.

"x=64, Mrs, Anthony, " I say, stressing the "60". 

Mrs. Anthony nods approvingly and turns back to the board. 

This must be incredibly embarrassing for James. Our eyes meet. I see the anger in his. I smile. 

Suddenly, I feel fear. I remember what he did to Ben last year. Oh, God, I hope I don't meet the same fate. 

Now that I think about it, I don't even know why they fought, in the first place. All I remember is that Ben couldn't walk for a week and his left arm broke. It was really scary. I tried not to compete with James that week, but he was expelled anyway, so it wasn't a hard thing to do. I should shut up, probably. Then he won't beat me up.

"Class is over!" I hear Mrs. Anthony yell, in parallel with the bell. James looks away, and so do I. 

After class, at the lockers, he comes up to me. 

"Canmore," he addresses me. 

"Miller," I answer, and we look each other in the eye. 

I sense that there is so much he wants to say, but he just ends in: "Nice calculation, Canmore."

I nod. "Thanks."

He fixes his hair and then looks away. "I should go. Don't wanna be late for Spanish."

Right. He has Spanish next class. Oh, how I hoped I could outperform him for another hour! "Yes, of course. Hurry up, Miller."

He nods and leaves. 

What was that? He sounded so... sad? Disappointed? Angry? I don't know what it was, and I don't like that. 

I put my books back in the locker and take out the ones for French. Then, I run to class.

A/N: Please leave a comment if you like it so far! I'll try to update as often as possible. Thanks for reading!<3