* * *
"I knew there was food in here!" I proclaim proudly as I get in the car, noticing the plate of brownies carefully relocated out of the danger zone to a safe spot in the front seat.
"Yep," Mrs. Anna laughs. "They're for an employee's birthday at work. And if either of you even thinks about touching them, I will pull this car over and throw you both out!"
The three of us laugh. She's clearly willing to go to battle to defend those brownies, and since I just devoured two omelets in record time, I'm not willing to draw my sword for them right now. Lucky for her.
"Well, thanks for the brownies you sent over for me yesterday, Mrs. Anna," I smile.
"You're welcome, honey." She glances at me in the rearview mirror. "I'm just sorry Mr. Brett and I couldn't make it."
"It's okay."
Mr. Brett is Becca's dad. He works long hours as a chemical engineer, and since Becca is an only child, she often has a big house all to herself.
"So, are you ready to see Bryson again?" Becca whispers, leaning toward me.
I frown and grin, confused. "I guess?why?"
"Because he likes you, I'm telling you!" she says with wide eyes. "He was checking you out all last week. And I know you like him."
"Becca?" I pause, shaking my head. "I'm an overly shy junior and he's a senior who's probably going to be captain of every sports team at our school. We have nothing in common. Besides, why would he want me when he has a group of cheerleaders to choose from?"
"Um, maybe because you're hotter than every cheerleader in the group," Becca replies, looking like she wants to smack some sense into me.
Don't get me wrong, I wish Bryson did like me. And I would love to have a boyfriend, but my genius complicates things, as usual. I couldn't keep a huge secret like that from someone I'm dating. I don't know if a guy would even date me knowing I'm that much smarter than he is. Still, Becca insists he likes me and I should go for it. The problem is, genius or no genius, I don't know how to go for it. I've never had a boyfriend, and the thought of approaching someone like Bryson Turner makes me want to run and hide in a hole somewhere.
I've never really even had an interest in dating until this past year or so. And still, it's not like I'm dying to date, but the experience would be nice.
Becca's mom pulls in front of the gym and stops as Becca and I get out. "Y'all have a good day!" she yells.
"HOME OF THE GRIZZLIES" is the massive sign above the gym door that stares you down as you walk in, with a picture of a cute grizzly bear next to it. I know it's intended to strike fear into our opponents, but it doesn't to me. It just makes me want to play with the cute bear.
The high school side of Stargate contains approximately five hundred high-schoolers, and the other side has about eight hundred elementary and junior high students. The gym is where the high-schoolers gather in the morning to wait for the first bell.
As we walk in and head for our usual spot on the fold-out bleachers, I notice Summer standing on the other side of the gym with her friends. She spots me at the same time and looks at me with the same grin as last week. A grin which implies she knows something?that she might somehow know my secret. I nervously look away as Becca and I take our seats.
Becca shakes her head. "Don't worry, Dor; she doesn't know a thing. She's just being an idiot." I nod, peeking over at Summer as Becca continues, "And if I find out she does know something, I'll drag her around the back of the school by her hair and persuade her to keep her mouth shut."
I chuckle nervously. "Thanks, but I don't want it to come to that."
"Well, maybe this will take your mind off things." Becca grabs my face with both hands and turns my head toward the gym door, just as Bryson walks in.
"Maybe a little," I smile.
He doesn't even make it four feet into the gym before Summer and her friends begin casually making their way toward him, trying to get his attention.
Despite being a junior, Summer typically hangs out with the senior cheerleaders, and ever since Bryson showed up about a month or so before Becca and I did last year, they've constantly been trying to get him to notice them.
Even though I don't like the way Summer and some of the other cheerleaders look down on everyone, I find it difficult to hate them. I find it difficult to hate anyone, really. Becca, on the other hand, would love nothing more than to hang them all by their feet and torture them till there's nothing left--her words, not mine. Sounds cruel, I know, but Becca's pretty hardcore sometimes.
Surprisingly, Bryson just flashes them a quick smile and keeps walking as he scans the crowd of students on the bleachers. He finally looks in our direction and smiles while looking right at me, then turns away and takes a seat with his friends. My stomach immediately fills with butterflies.
"There is no way he likes me," I mutter, mostly to myself. A guy like Bryson Turner could have any girl he wants. Besides being tall, built, and gorgeous, he doesn't align himself with any cliques. He's friendly with everyone, even though I've never really spoken a word to him.
Becca laughs, her head falling back. "What more proof do you need?"
"I don't know," I moan, grinning and covering my face with my hands. When I look back up, I catch another glimpse of Summer, and the thought of her discovering my genius comes rushing back, replacing the butterflies in my stomach with a familiar feeling of nausea.
Noticing I'm upset and knowing exactly why, Becca puts her arm around my shoulders. "She doesn't know anything; trust me. If she did, she would have told the whole school by now."
Becca does have a point, because Summer's not the type to be merciful. And if she realized the only thing stopping the pit bull sitting next to me from giving her a tune-up--which is Becca's expression for beating someone up--is me, she would probably immediately apologize and be my best friend.
"Yeah, I guess you're right," I nod.
Just then, Becca points at Bryson as he gets up and begins walking toward the water fountain. "Now's your chance to go talk to him, now that he's away from his friends," she says excitedly.
"Oh my God," I sigh, a wave of nerves flushing throughout my body.
"Come on, hurry!" she pressures me, shooting an urgent glance at Bryson as he reaches the fountain.
I spring to my feet. "Okay, okay, I'm going," I say. But I honestly have no idea why I got up, because there's no way on Earth I'm actually going to say anything to him. I guess I'm just trying to make Becca happy.
Noticing the girls' bathroom is like five steps from the water fountain, I figure I'll just walk that way and see if he says anything to me.
As I get closer, I notice my strides getting smaller, as if my body is trying to stop me. But I stay strong and keep trudging ahead, almost feeling sick at this point because I'm so nervous.
And just as I get within talking distance to him, the bell rings.
I quickly turn around and start walking back. As I look at Becca, she makes a sad face and shrugs. I have to confess, I was much more relieved than disappointed.
3
The Plan
I'm still trying to calm myself down from what just almost happened. As I make my way to my locker, I realize I might know a lot of things, but I know absolutely nothing about guys--how to approach them or talk to them or anything. I would trade my genius in a heartbeat to be able to interact with guys the way other girls do. I mean, why is it so hard? It seems like it would be easy to talk to another human being, like riding a bike, or writing a novel, or reviewing one of my dad's cases. Why is something seemingly so simple, so difficult for me? I don't understand it, and I hate not understanding things, but it is what it is, I guess.
"Don't worry; it's not easy for anyone," Becca says, as if she knows exactly what I'm thinking.
I chuckle as we open our lockers. "Good, glad I'm not the only one."
Since we only have two classes together this year, being able to get our lockers next to each other was a big deal. It provides a rallying point for us to talk between class
es.
As the halls begin to clear out, we start fast-walking to our first-period geometry class.
"Wait, tell me the plan, crazy!" Becca says just as we reach the classroom door.
"We're gonna be late," I reply. "I'll text it to you in class."
I figure this way, she can't hurt me in a classroom full of people. It's the safest route. And also the fact that we were late the first morning of school and had to take the only two available seats across the room from each other, providing a solid wall of students between us, might come in handy for me when I send her this text.
After we walk in and take our seats, I begin to gaze around the room as I do every morning. I can't help but wish I could somehow love this place. This should be my ideal setting: a place where you read, write, and learn?but the truth is it's basically a prison for me. It's a place where I cannot help my fellow students see things as clearly as I do. A place where I can't enlighten my teachers and open their eyes to new and easier ways of doing and teaching things. A place where my intelligence has been a powerful weapon with no ammunition for ten years now. It's these moments of deep thought that sometimes makes my decision difficult to cope with.
"So, can anyone come up and solve the bonus problem before we take our quiz this morning?" Mrs. Anderson asks as she stands up and points to the board.
Mrs. Anderson is a fantastic teacher who genuinely cares about her students. Once in a while, she'll put a problem on the board from an upcoming chapter we haven't covered yet and award bonus points to anyone who can solve it. It's an activity I watch from the sidelines.
"I can, Mrs. Anderson," Summer says, looking back at the class from her front row seat with a conniving grin, as if to say, "I know the answer because I'm smarter than all of you."
Summer likes to be the best at everything she does. She strives to be the prettiest--and it kills me to admit she's pretty--the best cheerleader, and the smartest student.
As she gets up and walks to the board, I glance over at Becca and notice her fists balling up as her face turns to a light shade of red.
Despite being good at most things--other than being nice to people--Summer's weakness is being a student. She's average at best, but since these bonus problems are left on the board for a couple days, she takes them home to her brainy college sister who shows her how to solve them, which is probably why Becca is particularly irritated at the moment.
After completing the problem, Summer turns around to walk back to her desk with that stupid goody-goody smile of hers. There go my mean thoughts again.
Just before she makes it to her desk, Becca begins clapping. "Good job, Summer!" she yells, her tone and expression full of sarcasm. Summer glances at her reluctantly, as if she's looking into the eyes of an unpredictable monster. Her thoughts become an open book with the fearful expression on her face. She's thinking Becca is crazy, and not to be messed with.
"Okay, that's enough," Mrs. Anderson says as she stands and looks at the board. "Well," she continues, "good job, Summer. You solved it correctly! Your bonus points will be added to your quiz."
As she begins to put some practice problems on the board to review for the quiz, I grab my phone from my bag to text Becca.
"Ok, The Plan?so, what has my mom ALWAYS wanted me to be?" I text.
Becca looks up at me after checking her phone and shrugs while shaking her head, clearly having no idea what I'm saying. For implication, I quickly look at Summer and then back at Becca. After sitting in thought for a few seconds, her eyes suddenly widen as she looks at me, as if a light bulb just went off in her head--a light bulb she probably wants to pull from her head and hurl at me from across the classroom. She looks down at her phone to text me back. "Please tell me you're kidding," she sends.
I look at her and shrug, worried and confused. She sends another text, "I've hated cheerleaders all my life, you can't be one!" I grin uncomfortably as I read it.
"We'll talk more about it at lunch," I reply.
Things just became really awkward. Even though I know Becca will ultimately stand by me through anything, I'm still not looking forward to discussing the situation with her.
As Mrs. Anderson finishes the review and starts handing out the quiz, I find myself trying to avoid eye contact with Becca. Kind of like when you're a kid and you think hiding under the covers will save you from the monster in your closet. Well, not me personally; I knew there was no such thing as monsters when I was a kid, but Becca went through a pretty intense "monster in my closet" phase. I guess I figured avoiding eye contact would temporarily save me from the situation, even though I knew this monster would never hurt me.
I purposely miss my two random problems on the quiz and quickly finish, but I pretend to keep working on it until a few other students finish theirs, as well. I've become an expert at staring at a test paper and pretending like I'm trying to figure something out.
Then everyone finally finishes their tests, and the bell rings shortly after.
As we file out of the classroom and begin the trip to our lockers, I'm in a state of shock when Becca doesn't say a word about the plan like I thought she would. Maybe she thought about it in class and realized she needed to be more understanding. Or maybe she thinks if she ignores it long enough, I'll forget about it and the whole thing will just go away. I don't know what her reason is for not bringing it up, but I'm surely not going to bring it up either. I need a break, and I'm more than happy to save the conversation for lunchtime.
Just as we get about halfway to our lockers, Bryson comes fast-walking out of one of the classrooms and almost plows right into me. I'm so startled I almost drop my bag, just before becoming a ball of nerves when I realize who it is.
"Whoa!" He quickly side-steps, reactively throwing his hand up on my arm. "I'm sorry," he smiles.
I'm now such a choked up mess; I can't even gather my thoughts at all. But surprisingly, I recover quickly.
"It's okay," I say, wishing we had slammed into one another. And as he continues to walk, he looks back a couple times with an ear to ear grin.
"Oh, my God, he's scared to talk to you, too!" Becca laughs with excitement.
I shake my head. "Doubt it."
I seriously do doubt it, both that he's nervous to talk to me and that he likes me and all that nonsense. But what if by some chance Becca's right? Do I have to keep almost getting clobbered for us to ever speak to each other again? Maybe I'll time it just right and walk in front of this room every morning. Maybe he'll get the same idea and dart out every morning, and we'll get to know each other that way.
Becca continues to laugh. "He so likes you, I don't care what you say," she insists. Then she grabs my arm and begins dragging me toward our lockers, in the opposite direction of Bryson. Unfortunately, his locker is on the other end of the hall where most of the senior lockers are. Maybe that's actually a good thing, though.
"Y'all would make such a cute couple, Dor," Becca says as we finally get to our lockers.
"Yeah, but how could I date him and keep this secret from him? It wouldn't be right."
Becca's smile disappears. "I don't know," - she briefly stares at her locker in thought - "I mean, maybe if y'all date for a while and you start to feel like you can trust him, then tell him."
"Yeah, then he would probably dump me for keeping it from him," I shrug. A short silence follows. "Ughh, I don't know. We'll just see what happens, I guess."
"Well, you know, someone else is going to have to find out at some point," Becca reminds me.
I nod reluctantly. "I know."
That's definitely true. Someone else will have to be let in on the secret if I ever want to date anyone before the day I decide to reveal it, whenever that may be.
"Just think about it!" Becca hollers as we begin going our separate ways.
"I will!" I yell back, bolting to my next class.