Of All The Things I Didn't Say

Chapter 5

I was finding my classes easy but math class was particularly getting on my nerves. Why were letters in equations anyway?! Was the person drunk while writing these? Just woke up the next morning, looking at their drunken work and just shrugging their shoulders saying, "meh", in hopes that the future generations would figure it out. I wish we didn't.

"And that is how you would solve for x", our teacher said, turning back to us from the giant equation on the board. "Does everyone understand?"
That's not English. I thought. It's some sort of math language, I can't read it. So nope, I don't understand".

"Yes", I nodded to the teacher, the rest of the students nodding along with me. But of course we all knew that we had not a clue.

"Good", the teacher said sitting down in his desk. "If you have any questions, just come up to my desk. Don't hesitate to ask".

Yeah...will do.

English class came up faster than I thought it would, and the teacher went around the room collecting our first written poems.
"I'm very impressed with these poems you guys", Mrs. Parker said. "Some of these are very powerful". She patted my shoulder as she quickly took a glance at mine.
She pulled me aside that week I lost the game for our school. She tried to get me to talk but I felt as if I no longer had a voice. I had nothing to say. She did get me to smile, for the first time in days; but that was about it.

"I want you all to turn to page thirty-five in your books. And read those few poems", she explained and handed us a piece of paper. "And once your finished, answer these questions and then hand them in. It's due by the end of class, tomorrow".

I flipped to the page of the poem book and started to read the first poem; Back on the street. I assumed it would be about a teen kid, living back on the streets after being kicked out from foster-care but I was mistaken. It was about someone starting from scratch all over again. Back to the drawing board, that saying popped in my head as I read the poem.

I was just about to read the next poem when my phone buzzed. I half expected it to be Zara, complaining about how boring these poems were. Only it wasn't Zara...it was Mason.

So what did you write about in your poem? He texted me.

My brows crossed in confusion. Why would he even care? And I'm sitting three feet away from him?! He could have easily just turned his head and asked me that very question. I looked up at him, but his head was in the book, not even paying attention to his phone.

Why? I asked him.

Just curious.

I looked up at him again, just with my eyes and he ever so slightly turned his head to me and raised his brows, waiting for my answer.
I rolled my eyes, playing along.
About the time I lost the big basket ball game last year.

Oh yeah, I remember that. He typed. He sent me another one before I could answer. Don't blame yourself too much. You played great.

I couldn't help it, my cheeks flushed at the comment and those stupid little butterflies swarmed into a fierce battle inside my stomach. I wasn't quite sure what to say. Do I thank him? Or do I disagree with him? It was a little bit of both I guess.
It would only be polite to thank him for it, but I didn't agree with him.

I had lost the game, I didn't play well. If I had played well then I would have won.

Thanks:) but I was still pretty disappointed in myself. I so could've done better.
Oh god did I actually just send a smiley face?!