The Carter Project ✓

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MATH WAS AWFUL.

          I mean, even for someone who boasted pretty high academic performance, I still struggled rather severely with math. Maybe just a lot less than other people, something I could glean from the fact that a girl sitting two desks ahead of me was texting under her desk and a boy right behind me was snoring softly right into my ear.

          But the worst part about math would've been the best part to me a week ago. That part being how Landon used to sit in the seat diagonally behind me. Landon Wells and I had met in this class, in a sense, at least. We had known each other since the beginning of high school and we were once on different clubs — I was on mock trial and he was on Model UN with Rita — so we would usually see each other on days after school when we had practice.

          But it wasn't until fate — and Mr. Gamble, our trigonometry teacher — decided at the beginning of junior year that he wasn't going to put the rows and columns in alphabetical order but by no scheme at all,  that Landon and I found ourselves more closer than ever. Pretty soon, we found ourselves wanting to jump ship from our separate clubs and join the debate team — and jump into a relationship with each other as well. Long nights spent together highlighting key points in our binders, poring over articles and riffing arguments off of each other was like sexual chemistry for us and they way he would kiss me when I stumped him only made me even more determined to get better.

          And of course, somewhere along that line of pure perfection, something had went wrong completely under my radar. Clearly it had to have been with me, because I knew that together, we could fix anything else besides that. Now we were in math class trying not to look at each other when it only felt natural for my neck to turn his way.

          In the surreptitious glance of him I did catch, he seemed to be going toe to toe with Mr. Gamble as far as copying down the words that came out of his fast-talking mouth. The man could talk a mile a minute — which was the speed of Landon's sloppy penmanship — and I remembered how I would have to discipline myself to pay attention in class because I couldn't read his handwriting for the life of me.

          Now I would probably never read that handwriting. Sure, there was a point in high school where most ex-couples find grounds to become friends again, but it didn't feel like Landon and I would get there. At least not until I knew the real reason why he broke up with me.

          Was I even ready for that? Who the hell knew?

          I decided to focus back on my notes before I would find myself needing to awkwardly ask someone else for help in this class. Maybe it was just my imagination, but I swore on everything that I could feel Landon's eyes on me.

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EVEN LUNCH WAS a chore now without Landon.

          St. Thaddeus had a rotating class schedule specifically designed so that roughly one-third of the school would be free during each lunch period while everyone else would still be in class. Of course, that still meant there were tons of people in the cafeteria at a time, but less of a chance for me to be able to sit down with my friends.

          I usually spent my lunches without friends in the library, but I was way too hungry after just having a banana in the morning for breakfast.

          Thankfully, with the tuition we were paying, St. Thaddeus decided there was enough room in the budget for a good catering service to provide our lunch options for us. I had heard the tales of awful school lunches from my grade school friends who had branched out to public school and I instantly felt grateful to my parents for pushing their Catholic school agenda on me.