You Asked for Perfect(26)

He grins.

I turn back to my test, stomach tightening. Right. Still have to finish this.

I gnaw a sliver of a hangnail. At least I’m in the back of the room. Maybe no one will notice I’m the last one with the test. I glance at the clock. Shit, only ten minutes left. I need to concentrate. If people notice, then so be it. Today, a perfect grade is more important than anything else.

I get through the final problems and check my work once more. Then I walk up with my paper.

Mr. Eller looks at me. He speaks in a brusque tone. “Wait here, Ariel.”

I shift on my feet, feeling the eyes of my classmates. Mr. Eller pulls out a red pen, and I take a sharp breath. Is he torturing me on purpose? Grading mine right here? He slides an answer sheet out of a folder, and before I know it, his pen is running down my test. My heart thumps. I feel ill. Checkmark, checkmark, checkmark.

I’m unsteady as the pages flip by. Checkmark, checkmark, checkmark.

He gets to the final problem, looks up at me, nods, and checks it off, too. “Well done, Ariel. Perfect score.”

Adrenaline courses through me. I did it. A perfect score. The relief makes my head swim. But I’m still too aware of the people around me to celebrate. So I say “Thanks” and head back to my desk.

As I go to sit, my eyes lock with Amir’s.

Well? he seems to ask.

I give him a thumbs-up.

He shakes his head and whispers, “Dork.”

*

When the bell rings, I go to tell Amir just how well I did, but he hurries from the classroom, not even glancing at me.

Oh.

I thought maybe…

I don’t know what I thought.

Isaac tosses his squeeze ball into the air and catches it. “What’d Mr. Eller want?”

“To grade my test in front of me. No clue why.” I shrug my shoulders, then casually add, “I got a perfect score, so…”

“You two,” Isaac says, pointing at Pari and me, “are way too smart. Stop making the rest of us look bad.”

“Dude,” Pari says. “You have a 3.98 weighted GPA. I think you’re doing okay.”

“By national standards sure, but by Etta Fields High School standards, I’m barely holding on to the top ten percentile. This school is ridiculous.”

“It’s not that bad,” I respond, though I’m not sure why I’m defending this place. Maybe I have Stockholm syndrome.

“Not that bad?” Isaac asks. “When we’re losing a football game, our fans chant SAT scores, because at least we’re always beating the other school academically. C’mon. That’s ridiculous. I hope colleges know what this place is like and don’t focus on rankings too much. They shouldn’t even put the rank on transcripts at a school like ours. I swear if I don’t get into Vanderbilt…”

It’s hard to believe Isaac is worried about Vanderbilt. He’s the perfect college applicant. Varsity football player and a load of AP classes. Colleges will probably fall over themselves to accept him. Pari rubs circles on his back. “You’ll be fine,” she says. “I’m sure you’ll get in. You have to because that campus was awesome, and I want to be able to visit you.”

“Yeah, man,” I say. “You’re a great student.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t only need to get in. I need a good scholarship. Not all of us can—” He hesitates.

“What?” Pari asks.

He shakes his head. “Look, I know getting into an Ivy is the first priority for you guys, but some of us have to get into school and also be able to afford tuition. Great isn’t always enough for scholarships. Hopefully all these freaking AP classes will help.”

I hesitate, then say, “That’s rough. But you’re doing everything you can. Don’t stress.” And the hypocrite of the year award goes to. “I’m gonna grab a Coke before class. I’ll see y’all later.”

I head down the hallway, feeling weirdly low despite my perfect score, but then hear someone call my name: “Ariel!”

I turn. Amir. He’s standing alone at the end of the hall by an emergency exit and a single back bay of lockers. I walk toward him, twisting one of my backpack straps around my hand.

“Sorry I ran out of class,” he says. “My doctor called. I’ve been trying to schedule a check-up for a week.”

I groan. “Mom makes me set my appointments now, too. Grown-up responsibilities are the worst.”

“Agreed. So? The test. You seemed happy. How’d you do?”

I sweep hair off my forehead. “Oh, you know…perfect score. No big deal.”

“Really?”

I smile. “Yeah, really.”

“Hell yeah, Ariel!” He high-fives me. Our hands clasp and stay intertwined for a moment too long, then two moments too long. His eyes spark. The touch overwhelms me. I need to do something with the electricity buzzing through my system.

I want to do something with it.

But then the first bell rings.

Amir glances up at the hall clock, and his hand slips from mine.

“We should probably go to class,” I say.

“Yeah, probably.”

We’re both still smiling.

“I feel like I just aced my O.W.L.s,” I say.

His eyes widen. “Oh my god, excellent Harry Potter reference.”