The Last Rose: a romance novel

| January 17, 1994 |

Emi

Some days of torture went by. Maybe a week, Emi didn't care enough to keep track. All she knew was that she was currently in Mr. Gridley's class, filling out a worksheet, and having a mid-life crisis.

Yeah, she had a lot of those.

What in the actual beans and rice is going on here?! We didn't learn this! Oh my gosh – I'm actually going to pass out right now. I can feel my brain losing oxygen, brain cells are dying. Somebody save me. And that stupid son-of-a-gun kid with the mullet won't stop talking to Mr. G! I'm gonna lose it. He only went over stupid fractions and graphs – that's freakin Algebra 1, not even Pre-calc – and now were doing...I don't even know what we're doing! I've been waiting for five whole minutes. I can't take this. I'm gonna cry.

Oh my gosh – I cannot cry right now.

Emi looked at the stranger next to her. She hadn't even spoken to him all week or looked at his face, but...he seemed to get it. He had half the page filled out.

God bless America, this guy actually knows what he's doing! I have to ask him...but no, I haven't even breathed in his general direction all year. I don't even know his name! I'll have to start with "hey dude" or "broskie" and then he'll know! He'll know I don't know his name and he'll refuse to help me! What should I do? Keep waiting for Mr. G? Now way man, that grandpa is never going to stop talking...I'm getting dizzy. We have a freakin test on Friday. I'm gonna fail. My life is over.

She blinked, trying to focus her eyes on the worksheet, attempting to manifest the answers to float inside her brain.

It's not working! I'm gonna die! Oh my gosh – I'm dying. Wait – no, STOP. Stop Emi, this is not the end of your existence. You're going to live. You just need to ask this kid how to solve it. Just start with "hey" or something. Maybe he won't get offended, he probably doesn't even know my name either! Just go for it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it.

Oh my gosh. Do it.

"Do it."