The Billionaire Throuple

Nehemiah Jones

[Two weeks later]

I'm in trig, sitting in the same back row desk I always do. It's in the corner farthest from the door, and Mrs. Miller's desk, to make sure I don't get called. Like always, the move works like a charm, but I regret it not that she's handing back tests 'cause I'm gonna be the last one to get theirs back.

The suspense is killing me and I'm nervous 'cause I studied my heart out for this one. I did it all, no shortcuts. I carried the book around like the game ball and stayed all up in Sammy's inbox. I even took it to Bart's. I didn't care how it looked, so I dunno how I'll take it if I failed.

Andreas is a kiss-ass when it comes to school, so he's front and center. I keep a close eye on him to see how he reacts. I figure since we got the same tutor, that might ease my mind a little, but he's too busy texting.

Seeing him on his phone ain't a surprise, but I thought for sure he'd be the first one looking at his test. When he found out he bombed the last one—that he did worse than me—he acted like a goddamn fool in front of everybody. It was so bad. He was calling bullshit, talking about lawyers, demanding to see the principal.

I didn't think he had it in him.

I hung back while he was arguing 'cause trig's our last class and I saw an opportunity. We were cool back then, but we weren't in each other's phones or nothing. So, I waited. I knew they weren't gonna change that score over no tantrum. If they did, I was gonna wile out too.

They didn't.

I rolled up on him as he was leaving out and put him on to getting tutored by Sammy. He said he'd let me know, so I didn't think I'd hear back, but he followed me on the Gram that night and I been happy ever since.

Mrs. Miller is taking her sweet time passing out these tests. I'm over here staring bullets. She's getting up there in age, probably in her forties, but she can walk faster than she is and she's too young to be licking her damn thumb to split pages already.

I let out a loud sigh 'cause I'm ready to get this over and done with. If I failed, you'll never catch my black ass in this building again. On God. I look around to see who got their scores—other than old boy who's tapping out the next bestseller—but they all got on poker faces.

I pull out my phone to peep my messages. I know I gotta couple, but I really don't be keeping up with them in class. Whenever I do, all of sudden, Mrs. Miller gotta problem with phones. This time, if she comes over and tries to take it, I'll snatch that whole fucking stack of tests outta her hands.

I prop my elbows up on the table, not even trying to be sneaky. She turns her head, but she don't say anything. She knows what's up 'cause I got that look in my eye. Either that or I failed. Guess I'll find out soon enough.

My brother Scooter sent a video of a couple dancing in front of their stove. Buddy goes for the ass smack and flings boiling water on himself. The caption reads, 'never leave a pan-handle out'. I feel bad for laughing. I should've never shown that boy Reddit, but fifteen is old enough to make his own choices. Lord knows, there are worse things he could be looking at.

I write, I'm a scoop you. Be out front, to let him know I'm picking him up after class.

I got a message from Sammy: Good luck on your results. You won't need it though. He sent a picture of himself blowing a kiss. It's cute, so I write, I like your face and send the fingers crossed emoji.

He's growing on me, so I really hope I don't fail 'cause I dunno how I'm gonna face him. I hate disappointing people. It makes my chest tight thinking about it.

My last message is from CW: Can we talk somewhere, please? My heart stops. My phone slips through my fingers and falls on my desk. There are so many things running through my mind right now.