Free Fancy White Trash by Marjetta Geerling Page A

I’m picking at a tiny bubble on my thumbnail when Mr. Kimball calls my name.
    â€œYes?” I answer, forgetting that he’s assigning partners and no response is necessary. There is snickering from certain people in the class. I definitely recognize Carolyn Schmitz’s gurgly laugh. You’d think she’d get surgery for that or something.
    â€œYou and Mr. Fielding,” Mr. Kimball is kind enough to repeat.
    Lucas Fielding? He was in my Bio I class last year and asked a million questions. I guess that’s not a bad quality in a lab partner.
    When Mr. Kimball’s done, we have to shuffle around so we’re sitting with our partner. I stay on my stool, cute new metallic baby-blue flip-flops dangling in the air, and wait for Lucas to find me. He’s a total brain so it doesn’t take him long.
    â€œHey, Abby,” Veronica Ortega, who is also in my computer class, says as she passes me on the way to the front row. “Guess you’re a winner, huh?”
    Meaning Lucas Fielding is definitely someone you want to cheat off. She got Andy Nichols for her partner. Hot and smart—lucky girl.
    â€œYou, too,” I say to her, and turn to my lab partner. “Hi.”
    â€œHi.” His one eye looks at me. The other one does . . . not. It appears to find my right cheek quite fascinating. I’m not sure where to look so I focus on his nose.
    â€œI’m taking all AP classes this year, but I haven’t seen you in any others,” Lucas says, his nostrils flaring as he speaks.
    I try meeting the eye that’s looking at me. “After I took regular Bio I with Mr. Kimball last year, he asked me to move up to this class. I like science.” Lame-o answer, but there it is. I’ve never had a teacher specifically request that I keep taking classes with them. I couldn’t say no.
    â€œCool.” He folds his hands on top of his camouflage binder.
    The lab is buzzing with noise, but Lucas and I have apparently run out of things to say. Thankfully, Mr. Kimball thumps a book on the front table to get our attention.
    â€œNow that you’re all acquainted, let’s go over some lab basics. The school district, in its unrelenting quest to avoid law-suits, has declared that simply giving you a handout on safety procedures is not enough.” He passes out a sheet with guidelines on it about what to do if you splash chemicals in your eyes or accidentally set something on fire. Maybe the school-district powers that be were onto something. I’d never actually read the rules before.
    â€œInstead of my traditional fifteen-minute lecture on common sense, we’ll be spending all of this period on how to not kill yourself during an experiment. After today, we’ll meet here in the lab every Wednesday. Okay, if everyone would open the cabinet under your table and pull out the safety goggles . . .”
    I let Lucas rummage through our cabinet as I keep reading. In case of explosion? Flying glass? Toxic gas? I never knew science class could be so exciting.
    â€œIs Kait home? Is the baby healthy?” Gustavo, Kait’s manager at Blockbuster, sounds a little frantic. When I’d met him at the store a few times, he’d always seemed pretty mellow. You wouldn’t think Kait having a baby would cause major problems, especially since it’s not like he couldn’t see it coming.
    â€œShe’s fine,” I say, holding the kitchen phone between my ear and shoulder as I stir the SpaghettiOs I’m making for Hannah’s dinner. “The baby, too.”
    â€œOh, thank God,” he says, and I hear him let out a long breath. This is not an employer worried over a missed shift. This is someone who cares.
    I supply more info. “Kait and the baby will be home sometime tomorrow. The day in the hospital was just a formality, since she went into labor so early.” If it was early, but I don’t say that to him.
    â€œThank