First, Last, and Always

by Lehman, Kim

  Three long minutes into the lecture Ms. Ming makes an announcement. “Class, we’re going to have some fun today!” Most times when adults say “fun” it means work. Her excitement is not infectious. The class stares blankly back at her. “I’ve decided to partner everyone up to work on today’s lesson plan.”

  She finishes writing “In-class Partner Assignment.” Groans ensue, but this doesn’t deter Ms. Ming. “Okay, then. Once you are paired up, I want you to work on the challenge problems on page thirty-one.” She pauses, looks around the room, then picks up her attendance sheet and scans the list. “I’ve already done the pairings. Names were selected randomly. The first two students working together will be Beth Crawford and Diana Little....”

  Okay. Fine. Whatever. All I care about is that I don’t get paired with Vanessa. I may seriously have to kill myself.

  “Rachel Neily and Michael Everson, Noah Smith and Vince Adler...”

  I listen and listen and listen. Almost everyone’s name in the class has been read.

  “Grayson Miller and...”

  I hold my breath. Please say my name! Please say my name!

  “Lily Terry.”

  Not my name. I glance one more time at the clock. Three minutes have gone by.

  “And Charlotte Hubbard will be paired with...Vanessa Meyer.”

  Lungs collapse.

  Both of us appear to have the same reaction. We look at each other with horrified stares before shifting our eyes away.

  Ms. Ming reads two more names before instructing everyone to sit with their designated partner. My legs are not quick to move. Vanessa is just as reluctant. Clearly she expects me to come to her, as indicated by her body language—arms crossed, back to me, opening her book to the assigned problems.

  Digging deep for confidence, I lift myself up, trudge over, and pull a chair up to Vanessa’s desk. I’ve never been so close to someone who hates me so much. Silence stacks like bricks between us. Turning to page thirty-one, I focus on the problems, writing out the numbers onto a scratch piece of paper. There are ten problems. All appear complicated and long.

  “Should we start?”

  “I already did,” she hisses.

  Motivated to get this over with, I work on the problems by myself. I’m on to the second one in less than three minutes and on to the third a minute after that. Out of the corner of my eye I notice Vanessa scrunching her nose. The end of her pencil bounces off her lip. Not even finished with the first problem, she throws her pencil into the crevice of the workbook. “Do you even know what we’re supposed to be doing?”

  Keeping my eyes forward on the desk, I slide the scratch paper I’ve been working on over to her. “Yeah. I’m on the third problem.”

  Her bottom lip falls open. Just as quickly she closes it and scoffs. “Seriously? How did you get them done that fast?”

  I shrug. “You can look over my answers if you want.” I shouldn’t be nice, but technically we’re supposed to be working together anyway.

  She purses her lips and copies exactly what I have for the first two problems, then slides the scratch paper back across the desk. Five minutes later she throws her pencil down again. “Did you get the third too?”

  I slide over my workbook.

  She shakes her head. “Crap.” Leaning back in her chair, she crosses her arms. “You’re really smart, huh?”

  I can’t believe she actually just gave me a compliment.

  “In, like, a nerdy kind of way,” she adds.

  Or maybe not. Without saying anything, I put my head down and resume working.

  Both of us fall silent again. I move on to the sixth problem.

  She huffs again a second later. “Okay, what about this one.” When she points to problem four, I look for her work. She’s totally screwed it up.

  “You haven’t isolated the variable.”

  “Huh?” She scrunches her nose.

  “Just think of it this way: whatever you do to one side of the equation, you have to do to the other. Add that number to both sides.”

  Picking up her pencil, Vanessa makes some scribbles on the page. “Like that?”

  “Yeah,” I nod. “Now eliminate the coefficient by dividing the number in front of it on both sides.”

  After more scribbling she looks up from the paper. “Did I get it?”

  I scan her work. “You did it. That’s right.”

  “Huh.” She looks at me and smiles. I smile back, not because I want to, but it seems like the nice, reactionary thing to do when someone smiles. As soon as I realize I’m doing it, I bend my head down, get serious, and go back to work. While I’m solving the next series of quadratic formulas, she leans forward. “I think I have you all wrong, don’t I?”

  I look at her but don’t respond.

  “You’re nothing like your little Asian friend.”

  “She’s Polynesian,” I correct.

  Vanessa waves her hand. “Whatever. It’s obvious you’re way smarter and nicer than she is. You didn’t have to share your answers with me, but you did.”

  It was the assignment.

  “You want to call a truce?” she asks. “Just me and you. I won’t give you any more trouble if you do the same.”

  I never gave her any trouble to begin with. Not that I can explain that. “Sure,” I find myself saying. The word “no” has always been a problem for me. I’m a people pleaser. Even if someone like Vanessa is mean to me, I try to be nice. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? Treat other people like you would want to be treated? You want me to throw out your lunch tray, sure. Need me to carry your books? No problem. Want me to help you with math homework by answering the questions for you? Fine. Maybe the more appropriate word for it is pushover. Just another one of the many reasons I hate myself. I feel sick. Like I’ve somehow let Lani down. “Let’s just finish the assignment.”

  “So we’re cool then?”

  “Yeah.”

  She smiles. “Cool.”

  Another five minutes pass by before she taps my arm. “Can I ask you something?” She’s still wearing her Barbie-doll smile. Her perfectly arched eyebrows lift up.

  I nod. “Sure.” I’m expecting a question about one of the problems.

  “What’s the deal with that Grayson kid? I mean, what’s he like?”

  I feel myself blush. “I don’t know.” It’s not surprising to me that she would like Grayson. She likes most of the cute boys in school, but I definitely don’t want her to know that I like him.

  “You sit next to him.”

  “We don’t really talk.”

  “Huh,” She stares past me, and for a second I think she forgets who she’s talking to, because she says, “Ya know, when I first saw him I swear I knew him from somewhere. Like, maybe he was in one of my classes in junior high. But then I found out he went to North, so I have no idea where I would have seen him. Although, it could have been—” When she looks at me again, she cuts herself off, as if remembering it’s me she’s sitting with and not one of her minions. She waits for me to say something. I have nothing to add. Visibly annoyed, she goes back to staring at the math problems. For a while I do the same. I’m looking at the paper, but don’t see the numbers. My mind starts working on a different problem—how much is Vanessa interested in Grayson? A moment later I find out.

  Her pencil taps my arm this time. “Can I ask you something else?”

  “Okay.”

  “You have to promise not to tell anyone I asked, ’kay?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer. “Do you know if he has a girlfriend?” she asks.

  This question makes me want to throw up. “No.”

  “Huh. He’s so hard to figure out,” Vanessa says, looking over her shoulder at him. “Can I ask you something else?”

  I’m realizing this is a rhetorical question. She never allows me to say yes or no.

  “Will you find out for me?” she says.

  My pulse stops. Inside my head I gasp. “You want me to find out if he has a girlfriend
?” I don’t think this is the “find something interesting to talk about” conversation Aunt Claire had in mind.

  “Shh!” Vanessa motions for me to lower my voice.

  “You want me to find out for you if he has a girlfriend?” I ask again, lowering my voice.

  “Actually, I don’t really care if he has a girlfriend. Just tell him I want to go out with him.”

  Is she serious? Is that how it works for girls like Vanessa? Is there an automatic “in” just because she’s pretty and popular? She quickly realizes I’m staring at her like she has three heads.

  She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, I know it might seem strange, me asking you to do this for me, since...well, since a day ago we really weren’t that close.”

  We’re still not that close.

  “But, hey, you helped me with the problems, so I figured maybe...” She doesn’t finish her thought, but I so wish she would. I need to hear her say it—that maybe I could ask the guy I have a crush on if he would go out with my best friend’s nemesis? Is this a joke? “Why me?” I finally squeak out.

  She shrugs. “Makes sense. You sit next to him. It should be easy for you to talk to him. Plus, like I said, I don’t want anyone else to know that I’m asking.” She sneaks a glance at one of her friends in the room, one of the posse of pretties. “I’m serious. No one,” she stresses with a moderate amount of threat.

  Now I get it. It makes more sense. She doesn’t need a friend; she needs a patsy. She won’t talk to Grayson herself, because if he rejects her she’ll be embarrassed, and she doesn’t want her friends asking him, because if he turns her down through one of them she’ll lose face. I’m Switzerland. She doesn’t care if he rejects her through me. It gives her plausible deniability.

  She stares me down. “So? Will you do it? Can you ask him?”

  “Uh...”

  She narrows her eyes. There’s an implication to her stare: Do this or else. A rock and a hard place press up against me.

  “Okay?” I hesitantly agree.

  Her pursed lips twist upward into a faint smile. “Great.” She leans forward and adds in a whisper, “Do me a favor, though...ask him next week—Monday. Don’t ask him today. I want to wear something different on the day you ask him, ’kay?” As we stare at each other, her smile flattens. “Want to move on to the next problem?” she asks.

  My neck muscles convulse with angina. She interprets this as a nod.

  Three thousand excruciating seconds after entering the room, the bell finally rings and class is over.

  Miles

  “I couldn’t say no!” Charlotte exclaims. “I didn’t know what to do.”

  Lani shakes her head. “I don’t blame you,” she says. “That girl has evil powers.”

  For over thirty minutes we’ve been hanging out in my room talking about Grayson and a girl named Vanessa in Charlotte’s algebra class. I guess we knew her from the pool, but I don’t remember who she is. Charlotte, who is rigid at the edge of my bed, nervously picks at her nails.

  “What was I thinking? I never really had a chance with Grayson. I knew it, but I hoped…” she trails off.

  Hearing her say the same words about Grayson that I think about her makes my chest sink in.

  “When Vanessa said she liked him, that’s when I realized I was dreaming,” she continues. “Someone like her over someone like me? No way. I can’t compete.”

  In my rational, yet semidistorted view of the situation, Vanessa is quite possibly at the top of my current “favorite people” list.

  “No way!” Lani declares. “Vanessa is never going to get him over you.”

  Lani’s at the bottom of that list. As if sensing my irritation with her, she quickly and discreetly glances over at me apologetically.

  Charlotte shakes her head. “But she will. She’s ten times prettier.”

  “She’s slime underneath that makeup!” Lani exclaims.

  “Interior slime trumps exterior mold,” Charlotte argues.

  Lani gasps. “Don’t you dare talk about yourself that way!”

  “Face it. People rarely buy a house because it has ‘good bones.’ You want it to look good. Guys are the same way.”

  “You are not ugly! And you’re better than Vanessa in a million different ways. Right, Miles?”

  I fake smile and nod. Listening to a conversation about how much she wants Grayson to like her is killing me. I suddenly remember that I have to take out the trash. Mom asked me to do it last night. I could also unload the dishwasher for her while I’m at it. Maybe fold some clothes too, or do homework. I have a ton of homework.

  I give Lani a look that says, Please stop.

  “See?” Lani smiles. “Miles is in full agreement.”

  “I’m not sure how I’ll do this,” Charlotte continues, “How do I approach Grayson and ask if he likes Vanessa?”

  “Are you listening to anything I’m saying?” Lani cries. “You aren’t going to.”

  “I told her I would.”

  “Then tell her you won’t.”

  “If I do this, I think she’ll leave me alone.”

  Lani scoffs. “Lies.”

  “Lani, I’m sorry. I know you don’t care what she says to you, but it would be kind of nice to not be harassed by her and her friends.”

  “There are other guys.”

  “What are you talking about? There are no other guys.”

  “I’m sure there are.”

  There’s a long lull. Finally Charlotte sighs. “Even if that were true, I really like Grayson.”

  Kill me. Kill me now.

  “Why?” Lani wonders.

  Charlotte considers this moment. Her eyes are doing the thing they do when she gets all excited. Her eyebrow arches on the left side, her pupils get bigger, and I swear her irises turn into mood rings, changing colors as she talks.

  “Isn’t it enough to just have a feeling when you’re near someone?” she says.

  Lani moves her eyes over to me. “Sure, but if you never tell him you like him, what’s the point?” Charlotte doesn’t notice that Lani’s lecture has shifted focus onto me.

  Charlotte doesn’t have a response to this. Neither do I.

  “If you like someone, you fight for them,” Lani adds. “But clearly you don’t want it badly enough.” Still looking at me. “You just don’t want to do what it takes.” Sitting in a chair close to my desk, I spin around to avoid her antagonizing gaze and pretend to read a book.

  “You’re not going to let up on me, are you?” Charlotte says.

  There’s a significant amount of resolve in Lani’s response. “Nope,” she barks, stabbing me with her voice.

  Over an hour later, the discussion about Grayson dies down, and Lani finally stops trying to convince Charlotte to change her mind. She doesn’t actually give up, however. She has to stop because Charlotte has to leave for dinner. When Charlotte is gone, Lani shows her frustration.

  “She really needs more confidence,” she says, shaking her head.

  I’m not at all concerned about Charlotte’s confidence. There are other, more important things I would like to discuss. “What was that all about?” I ask.

  “What?” Lani asks, as if she has no idea what I’m talking about.

  “Telling her you’ll help her with Grayson?”

  Lani waves a hand. “If you were paying attention you would have realized I was actually referring to you.”

  “Which part? The part where you told her she should like him over Vanessa, or the part where she was walking out the door and you specifically told her to find out all the things that Grayson is interested in?”

  “Strategy, Miles. She’ll realize they don’t have anything in common. I’m setting things up for you.”

  “It feels like you’re dropping napalm.”

  “Miles, you have to believe I’m one hundred percent committed to helping.”

  “Do you sometimes look in the mirror and convince yourself that the words you say are true?”

  She’
s not amused. “If you never tell her, do you really think this will end well for you?”

  “I’m trying to find the right moment.”

  “Tick, tock, Miles. Tick, tock.”

  8

  Charlotte

  I call Lani on Saturday morning after I get out of the shower.

  “Hello, hello! Hale here. Who dis?”

  “Hi, Lani.” She answers the phone with the same greeting regardless of who calls, but she knows it’s me. My picture comes up on her phone. Actually, it’s not a picture you’d be able to recognize; it’s a picture of my hand over my face. I despise having my picture taken, but that did not deter Lani from taking it anyway. The only thing you see when it pops up is my right eye. “What are you doing?” I ask. I’m hoping she’ll come to the mall with me, or give me a good excuse to back out of going. My mom and aunt are dragging me with them to go to some shoe sale. Mom thinks I could use a new pair of shoes, since the only things I wear are sneakers and flip-flops.

  “Today I’m helping with stuff around the house and errands.” By the sound of her voice, you’d think she was sentenced to death. “Mom needs me to get eggs and milk.”

  “You’re walking to the grocery store?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s gotta be two miles each way,” I exclaim.

  “It’s also an hour and a half of no crying babies.”

  “Well, I guess when you put it that way.”

  “You want my life, right? You’re totally jealous I can hear it in your voice.”

  “It does sounds exciting,” I say, unsuccessfully hiding my sarcasm.

  “Come with me,” she pleads.

  “I can’t.” Shopping with Mom has a narrow margin over eggs and milk.

  Her death sentence just escalated. “Fine,” she whines. “I’ll go by myself.”

  “Why don’t you call Miles?” I suggest. “I think he’s free today.”

  She perks up. “You talked to him?”

  “Yeah. This morning. Why? Is that surprising?”

  “I don’t know. It’s early.”

  “It’s eleven.” I laugh.