Twelve Steps to Normal(29)

“Mrs. Donaldson’s class?” Lin repeats as she colors the A in MONDAY on the slick poster board.

I stare at Whitney, silently begging her not to tell our friends.

But my telepathy doesn’t work because she goes on. “You know Alex Ramos?”

Wait… Alex?

Raegan shakes her glitter pen. “Yeah. He’s always late to homeroom.”

I tilt my head, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. I don’t understand. I was there. What does he have to do with anything? Alex solved the problem while I couldn’t. Unless he made fun of me behind my back when I stormed out of class.

Oh god. Please, please, please don’t let that be the case.

Whitney’s eyes light up like they do when she’s the first to spill gossip. “Okay, well, apparently he was up at the board doing those algebra races Mrs. Donaldson makes her class do sometimes. But instead of solving the problem he solved for the square root of ‘SUCK IT.’ Like, that’s literally what he wrote on the board! Can you believe it?”

My anxiety drains from me. Did he really write that? I’m not sure. I never looked at his answer. But if Whitney’s telling the truth, then the class wasn’t laughing at me. They were laughing at him.

Lin’s eyes widen in amusement. “Are you serious? I hate Mrs. Donaldson, too, but I would never.”

Raegan shakes her head in disapproval. “Why would he do that?”

Exactly. Why would he do that? Was he pissed because Mrs. Donaldson caught him sleeping? It’s safe to say everyone hates Radical Races, but he has to put up with her wrath for an entire year. I don’t know why he didn’t just solve it.

Unless.

Unless he knew I couldn’t work the problem out for myself. But that doesn’t make sense. Why would he willingly put an unnecessary spotlight on himself? That’s unlike him. Besides, it’s not like he has a reason to be nice to me.

Lin looks at me. “Aren’t you in that class, Kira?”

Everyone is staring at me now. I open my mouth to reply, but I don’t want to tell them why I booked it out of there.

Whitney shrugs. “That’s what I heard from Kayla Walsh, anyway.”

Kayla is in my class. She’s not one to spread unnecessary gossip. I decide she’s a trustworthy source. “Yeah, I am,” I say. “It was unexpected.”

Raegan draws a few swirls with her gold glitter glue. “People shouldn’t disrespect teachers like that.”

Whitney playfully throws a marker at her. “Oh, lighten up. It was funny.”

Raegan ignores her. I focus on filling in the rest of my letters, still wondering why Alex would do that. He’s the type of person who generally stays under the radar—aside from his asthma attacks. But that hasn’t happened since fifth grade gym class. And he runs with the drama crowd, which means he has to keep up a certain GPA or become at risk of being suspended from theater activities. So why would he intentionally get on Donaldson’s bad side?

The back door opens. Mrs. Mahoy waddles out, shaking a carton of lemonade.

“I figured you girls must be thirsty.” She smiles. “Can I pour y’all a glass?”

“Sure,” Lin says, and I nod in agreement.

“Do we have any that’s not from concentrate?” Raegan asks.

“No.”

“Then no, thanks.”

Her mother sighs, then pours three glasses for the rest of us. “You know, soon enough you won’t be the only princess in this house.” She lays a hand over her belly.

“Trust me, I know.”

Her mom laughs. “The posters look great.”

“Thanks,” I say. “Even though Spirit Week isn’t until early October.”

Raegan glares at me. “Do you know how much I have to do before then?” Her mom takes this as her cue to leave, most likely well aware of what her daughter has to do before then. “Help organize the pep rallies, make sure the team has our routine down—oh, and help out with the homecoming parade. Plus there’s everything I have to do for Spirit Week.”

Lin gives me a deadpan stare. “Look what you’ve done.”

“Where’s the off switch?” Whitney says, playfully tapping Raegan’s forearm.

Raegan just gives us the finger.

When Lin and I finish our third poster, Whitney passes us another one. This one reads, WEAR YOUR MUMS & GARTERS WITH WILD PRIDE! GET PSYCHED FOR GAME DAY!

“Ugh, I hate this dumb tradition,” Lin says as she starts filling in the W. “It’s worse than Valentine’s Day.”

I don’t know how the tradition began, to be honest. Every year on homecoming girls wear fake chrysanthemums given to them by their dates. Guys typically wear garters. Both are decorated in school-colored ribbons, tacky bells, and other obnoxious trinkets that dangle down from the base of the flower, which is worn pinned to your shirt, bra strap, or worn around your neck—depending on the weight of it. The bigger and tackier, the better.

The mum I received from Jay seemed thoughtless, even though I would never tell him that. A few limp ribbons dangled from the base. There weren’t any colorful tassels or long strands of beads. Nothing sparkled. But I smiled and told him it was great, even though I’d spent hours at the craft store choosing heart cut-outs to include on his garter.