Of course it would be her. Of all the people in our school who were falling behind in math class, it would be her.
No big deal, I told myself, it's not like she knows you. Just roll with it.
I tried to help her, but she seemed rather bored and uninterested, gazing off into space and making loopy circles with her pen on the edge of her paper.
"So," I said, emphatically, as if I was acting in a middle school play, "if x is five in this case, based on everything we just talked about, what is y?"
Her pen stopped moving, in the middle of a complicated looking squiggly symbol and she looked up at me. "Twelve," she said, in complete deadpan. "Can we go now?"
"Um, I...we weren't exactly..." she was already gathering up her books, and before I could protest she was at the door.
She stopped before she left, and looked at me over her shoulder. "Thanks a lot for the help," she said, somehow coming across both sarcastic and flirtatious. She gave me a wink and then was gone.
I put my pen down on the table and rubbed my eyes, suddenly feeling very tired. This was going to be a disaster.
YOU ARE READING
Dreams
General FictionEthan dreams of Maribelle, the beautiful and popular dancer, every night, but in his dreams she's not the same person as she seems to be in reality. Meanwhile, Maribelle struggles with facing an image of herself she has painted, one that she feel...
