Twelve Steps to Normal(25)

The whole class is staring at Alex. He blinks away the tiredness in his eyes and says, “Uh—”

“Now, please.”

Alex sighs, then slowly shuffles to the front of the room. With his back to the class, he chooses a blue dry erase marker and waits.

Mrs. Donaldson’s eyes scan the room. I pretend to look really, really interested in the textbook in front of me.

“Miss Seneca?”

Crapsticks.

“Please join him at the board.”

My chest tightens. A cold panic falls over me. Every single nerve in my body is on high alert. I stare down at my spiral one last time, hoping something sticks, but all I see is a blur of numbers and letters that don’t make sense.

I stand next to Alex at the board. God, I hate this. I hate her. I would rather endure a pop quiz, because that way I would be able to fail in privacy.

I pick up a purple marker and stare at the whiteboard in front of me. I try to slow my racing heart by taking a deep breath. It doesn’t work. I know I shouldn’t care what the class thinks, but I do. I remember the look of relief on my classmates’ faces when they were called up to race against me freshman year. They knew it was basically guaranteed they’d win, and they wouldn’t bother hiding their smug looks when they did.

I don’t look at Alex.

Mrs. Donaldson reads the problem to us. As soon as we finish writing it on the board, the timer starts. I stare at the jumble of numbers in front of me, wishing I could somehow decipher how to solve it. I raise my marker, but I can’t make my brain understand the functionality of the problem. I need to write something—God, anything—at this point.

I hear Alex’s marker tapping the board beside me. My anxiety intensifies. I feel my mouth go dry. I’m about to lose to someone who spent the entire class sleeping. And everyone knows it. A lump builds up in my throat. Instead of concentrating on the problem, I blink back tears of frustration.

“Time,” Mrs. Donaldson calls. “Please face the class so they can see your work.”

I hang my head and cap my marker. From beside me, Alex doesn’t make any effort to move, either. I resist the temptation to look at his work.

“Please face the class,” Mrs. Donaldson repeats.

I do. As slowly as possible. From my peripheral vision, I can see Alex turning to face the front as well. Instead of looking at the class, I stare down at my oxfords. I pretend I’m anywhere but here.

A few students let out surprised gasps. That’s followed by a few chuckles. My throat tightens. And then I’m mad. Really mad. I refuse to play a part in this stupid game just to get mocked by my own classmates. I can’t be the only one who doesn’t understand this, but it’s my humiliation that Mrs. Donaldson chooses to put on display.

Mrs. Donaldson’s voice booms across the room. “Now, what—?”

Before I can fully comprehend what I’m doing, I march to my desk and grab my things. I don’t have to put up with Mrs. Donaldson belittling me by explaining that this problem was so easy and that I really needed to pay better attention. I refuse to be made a mockery in front of my classmates just because I can’t solve one algebra problem.

“Miss Seneca!”

A few hushed whispers fall over the room as I sling my book bag over my shoulder and push my way out the door. Mrs. Donaldson is still calling my name, but I don’t care. There are only a few minutes of class left anyway, and I can’t stand to be in there another second.

I rush to my locker before the bell rings and grab everything I need for my last three classes. Then I think better of it and grab all the books I’ll need to do homework this weekend. I’m embarrassed enough as it is, and now the entire class knows I’m still an incompetent idiot.

I slam my locker closed and wander down C hall right before the final bell rings. Crowds of students press around me, and I try and pretend I’m invisible. I allow a few tears to fall down my cheeks before wiping them away, taking a deep breath, and pushing my way into the chemistry classroom.





NINE


I’M LOADING DISHES INTO THE dishwasher after dinner on Friday, which is a not so pleasant indication of my current social status. Since there wasn’t a game tonight, Raegan and I grabbed limeades from Sonic after school, but she was spending the rest of her evening developing the Leadership Council agenda for next week. Lin’s parents were dragging her to her cousin’s birthday dinner, and Whitney and Jay went to go see the latest end-of-summer blockbuster. I only know this because at lunch I asked Jay what he was up to tonight and he stumbled awkwardly through his reply.

I tell myself it’s fine. Good for them. I mean, it’s not like I don’t have plans. I need to practice next week’s Wavette routine and start on a paper for AP History.

The only reason I’m not holed up in my room right now is because my dad bribed me with allowance money if I helped with chores around the house. And since allowance money equals gas money, I can’t say no. I’ll have my car back soon, which means I’ll be able to escape whenever I choose.

I can hear muffled conversation coming from the backyard. Short bursts of laughter follow every few minutes. I didn’t make it home in time for the formal sit-down dinner, but Peach saved me a bowl of her stew in the fridge along with a note written in her loopy cursive: Kira! Missed you tonight. Enjoy!