Like To Be You ✓

eleven

I'm on the edge of my seat, watching Miss Gina walk back and forth as she explains the naming of hydrocarbons containing benzene. This is basic shit, I think. I did this two years ago.

My eyes dart to the door, then my watch. It's stubbornly stuck on 1:59 pm. God-fuckin-dammit.

I look up, only to see Miranda scowl at me. We're in the same class?

"Will you stop doing that?" she hisses.

"Doing what?"

"Bouncing your leg. Stop it."

I glare back at her and bounce it harder. Before she can murder me with that tiny pocketknife she always carries around, the bell rings, and then Tyler and I are pushing each other within the doorway of the classroom. I push him through it, making him stumble ahead, and make a dash for the second floor.

He's hot on my heels, and when I round the turn on the staircase, he runs ahead. Damn soccer players and their speed. But then again, I'm on the track team, one of the best, so I pass him in the upper hallway, which is already crowded. The crowd parts and I feel like Moses separating the Red Sea.

The door to room 89 opens with a bang as I enter. I nearly introduce my face to the slippery marble floors when I try to stop, but Tyler catches my shirt and pulls me back.

Mr Blackwell stands with a half-eaten sandwich hanging from his mouth as he watches us. Four students are already seated, and now their eyes are wide as they watch us.

"That was quite an entry---" Mr Blackwell begins but I'm already harassing him with questions.

"First off, what was that question paper?" a smile forms on his face. This man is the devil in disguise, and I'm certain of it now. But he can be a nice devil. "I couldn't solve it, how do you think the others will?"

Mr Blackwell raises an eyebrow at that. He pulls the sandwich away from his mouth and begins chewing.

I clear my throat, trying to be humble. I can feel Tyler controlling his laughter behind me. "I mean, your two best students couldn't solve it, how do you expect the others to?"

"Who said you're the two best students?"

"Because..." What do I say? He knows we're the best of the best. Why is he doing this? Why did I even say anything? I'm close to panicking and laying on the floor.

"Because the principal said that our grades are excellent and that we're candidates for the valedictorian. Also," Tyler points at himself and then me, "Walking abacuses."

Mr Blackwell shakes his head at us. "Sit down, abacuses."

"Oh, wait! We could do only one question--- the fifth one. And we have different answers."

"Negative two." Tyler pipes up.

"Two." I growl out.

Tyler gives me a look. "Negative two."

"Positive two."

Mr Blackwell sighs. He rummages through his bag before pulling out two thin booklets and hands them to us.

"What?" I flip through the pages. They're filled with numbers and symbols and a whole lot of confusion.

"You both are wrong." Mr Blackwell says. "It's root five."

My cheeks flame in embarrassment. That's it. I hate math. 

I turn on my heel and walk to my seat. I don't say anything for the rest of the period.