watched me intently.
I wasnât sure if I had a plan yet. But I knew that my seventh-grade true self was surrounded by a bunch of creatures, so I figured Iâd start with that. I drew until my eyes were heavy, and drifted off to sleep with charcoal stains on my fingertips.
All math, all the time. Thatâs what my life should be.
At least, thatâs what Mr. Vince said.
When I failed yet another attempt at a mock exam (I think the name âmock examâ makes sense, seeing how the only point of them is to mock how stupid you are), Mr. Vince officially assigned Kevin to tutor me after school. Until I memorized the textbook, I was on a strict diet of integers and fractions. Those were Mr. Vinceâs words, not mine. To put it his way, if my life were a pie chart, a huge chunk of it was spent wishing math hadnât been invented. The other little sliver was spent wanting to pelt whomever did invent it with cat litter. What a waste of pie.
When Kevin found me after the exam on Friday, I was beyond annoyed. Everyone else was enjoying the warm weather and the start of the weekend, and there I was doodling and waiting around my locker for a chance to look at even more math.
âDid you want to go to the library? Or maybe the cafeteria?â Kevinâs voice interrupted my little fantasy about putting a skunk in Mr. Vinceâs briefcase.
âWhat? Oh,â I said, jerking my head back to my locker search. My math binder was jammed somewhere behind my tower of emergency Handi Wipes (donât askâI live with disgusting animals), so when I went to reach for it, a whole stack of papers and cardboard flopped to the ground.
I canât even look cool in front of the nerdy guy, can I?
I huffed and knelt down to snatch up my stuff, embarrassed that Kevin was doing the same. He didnât even crack a joke, and I was thankful that the Sneerers had all gone home to their Barbie mansions. When I had finally stuffed most of the mess back into my locker, he was looking at me like he was trying to solve an equation.
âAre you okay?â He squinted at me as we plunked our books down at a library table. The place was empty, with nothing but the low hum of the air-conditioning to fill the quiet. âI know things must be crazy with your grandpa visitingâ¦â he whispered.
Hereâs the thing about Kevin: heâs a really nice guy. He never makes fun of me when I come to school smelling like snake after Daz hides Oscar in my bed, and even helped get rid of the crickets after that awful English lesson. Heâs also pretty much the smartest guy in our school. But heâs so⦠weird. And okay, I will admit that heâs even good-looking, with nice hair and very nice hands, which are always holding a pencil to work out some engineering/math/genius problem. But itâs hard to not think of him as my brotherâs best friend. Especially when there are guys like Zack wandering around looking like jean models every day. Anyone who would voluntarily hang out with Daz has to be certifiably insane, right?
âShh!â I darted a look around to make sure nobody had heard him. âI donât want anybody to know,â I said. âHeâs staying at a hotel, so Iâve kept it quiet so far.â
âWhy donât you want anyone to know?â Kevin asked. âI think itâs cool that youâre related to someone famous.â He unpacked his bag and set his textbook on the table.
I looked down at my messy notes. âBecause everyone will expect me to be as awesome,â I said. âLike heâs some big celebrity, and Momâs always doing great presentations at the zoo, and itâs reallyâ¦hard to live up to that.â
There, I said it.
Kevin just stared at me with that classic âsay what?â look that guys always have.
I winced, waiting for him to tell me that, A) I was a total weirdo for not wanting people to know about