The announcements aren’t too annoying except for that “Grrrr! Good morning, Wildcats” thing. I find out there’s a chess club today. No thanks. Blood drive next week. No way. School assembly in the first house on Friday. Could be fun. After-school music club...wait. My ears perk up.
“Don’t forget music club has moved to the third house in the old auditorium. Every Thursday and Friday. Bring your instruments and rock out with Mrs. Brayden.”
After-school music club sounds kinda cool. If only I didn’t have to join the stupid basketball team.
The announcements end and Mr. Mills eyes me sitting in the back and smiles, brightening his face, making him appear even more attractive and making me more anxious and nervous than normal. Why is he a geography teacher? Shouldn’t he be, like, a judge on The Voice or something?
“Class, we have a new student. Transferring from Chicago, right, Tiffany?”
In almost perfect unison the entire class turns to look at me and I begin sweating everywhere imaginable: armpits, hands, kneecaps, face. I give a nod and a polite wave, but they keep staring. Stop staring at me, people!
“Tiffany Sly.” Mr. Mills displays another one of his killer, ten-thousand-watt smiles. “Stand up. Tell us about yourself. We’re intrigued and want to know you.”
I scoot my chair back—it moans as it slides across the wood floor—and stand slowly, wringing my hands together. “I’m Tiffany Sly and—”
“Louder! We can’t hear you,” a chubby boy with glasses from a desk in front calls out.
I clear my throat and try to speak louder. “Um, I’m Tiffany. I’m from Chicago. I’m a sophomore. I’m sixteen.” I look at Mr. Mills. “Anything else?”
Mr. Mills sits on his desk, legs dangling casually, leaning back on his hands. “Why are you here?”
“Uh, to learn?”
The class laughs and I glance over at Marcus, who is writing on a sheet of paper, the only person not paying any attention to me whatsoever.
“No, no.” Mr. Mills leans forward. “Why are you drinking the AP Geography Kool-Aid? I know it’s good. But still. Tell us why you’re here.”
“Oh? I dunno. I like geography a lot.”
More laughter from the class. Mr. Mills gives me a wink. “I like geography a lot, too. You can have a seat, Ms. Sly. You’re a woman of few words and I can dig that.”
I exhale, grateful those terrifying seconds have ended, and take my seat, wiping my hands on my pants to soak up all the perspiration.
“This course is designed for students who desire a rigorous, challenging and accelerated study of geography. To be here, you must have at least a 3.75 GPA, and/or have a personal recommendation from a previous geography teacher. To receive college credit, you must pass the AP test at the end of the year with at least a three out of five. Lastly, in order to reap the full benefits of this class...you must appreciate how awesome I am.”
The class laughs again.
“So we welcome you, Tiffany Sly, knowing you have met those requirements, including recognizing my awesomeness, and we are thrilled to have you here with us. Now...” He removes a book from his briefcase and tosses it on his desk. “Please hand in your vocab worksheets from chapters seven and eight, as well as your latitude/longitude packets.”
Everyone moves about, pulling papers from their backpacks and handing them to the front. Mr. Mills searches through a file cabinet and pulls out a thick packet, walking it to my desk and setting it down gently in front of me. “Syllabus, m’lady. Latitude/longitude packets can be found and printed from the website. The website address is listed on the syllabus.”
“Should I do the vocab worksheets that were due today?”
“Nope.” Mr. Mills moves back to the head of the class.
The rather round boy with glasses in front who shouted that he couldn’t hear me raises his hand.
“Yes, Wyatt?”
“Mr. Mills, that’s not fair.” Wyatt turns and gives me the stink eye. “Vocab worksheets are, like, fifteen percent of our grade. The vocab from chapters seven and eight took forever. We all had to do them. Why doesn’t she?”
“Tiffany is a transfer student, so whatever her grades were at her old school transfer in. Thus the word...transfer.”
Wyatt raises his hand again.
“Yes, Wyatt?”
“That’s crazy-not-fair. Besides, I bet her old school was easier. So now she has a high grade that she doesn’t deserve. At least not here. She’s gonna mess up the curve.”
Stone House Rule Number 5: We are the bright, shining lights in a world of sin and chaos. Let your light shine so that you might lead others to righteousness.
“How about you mind your own business?” I blurt out.
Wyatt spins around. His fat face turns red with rage. “My grade is my business. Why don’t you go back to Chicago?”
“Why don’t you go straight to h—”
“Enough. Simmer. Down. Both of you.” Mr. Mills walks toward Wyatt’s desk. “Wyatt. One day when you’re in your thirties like me, you’ll look in the mirror and your hair will be thinning or perhaps gone completely. Then you’ll remember your old geography teacher, Mr. Mills, and you’ll declare: ‘This is madness! Mr. Mills had a glorious head of hair at this age. Why don’t I?’ And it will be at that moment you’ll realize that you are quite right—life isn’t fair.” The class laughs and he taps Wyatt on the shoulder. “Any more questions about Tiffany’s homework? Or can I continue with today’s lesson?”
Wyatt shrugs. “Whatever.”
“I’ll take that as a yes. Now...” Mr. Mills moves toward the blackboard and writes absolute location vs. relative location. “Since everyone but Tiffany did their homework over the weekend, can someone tell me the difference between these two?”
Every single person with the exception of Marcus and me raises their hand. Mr. Mills points to Aric-with-an-A.
Aric stands and shakes his bangs out of his eyes. “Absolute location describes the location of a place based on a fixed point on Earth while relative location refers to the position of a place or entity based on its relation to another point or place.”
Mr. Mills’s face contorts into an overexaggerated frown. “Wow. That was frightening. Can anyone say that without sounding like Wikipedia?”
Aric’s face turns bright red and he sits. Hands rise again. Mr. Mills points to that chubby-checker Wyatt. He stands and tosses me a smug look, a look which makes his face look exactly like a pig with glasses. “In general—” he pauses for dramatic effect “—absolute location is a description of the exact site on an objective coordinate system, such as a grid or—”
“Stop. Coma. Death.” Mr. Mills then does the unthinkable by pointing at me. “Tiffany?”
I look around in confusion. “Me?”
“Yes, you. Can you help us? Tell the class what Aric and Wyatt are trying to say, but say it simply.”
“Um...”
“Please stand. When we speak, we stand. It opens up the diaphragm and it just feels good to stand, doesn’t it?”
Once again, I slide my chair back and stand, rubbing my palms on my pants. “Relative location, um...no absolute location is like...like, uh...it basically uses coordinates, I think. But then, um, relative location...well... I don’t know. I’m not making sense. I’m sorry.” I quickly take my seat.
Mr. Mills sighs. “Tiffany. By this point you should know and be able to explain absolute and relative location. Perhaps it would do you some good to brush up on the vocab from previous chapters so you can be caught up.”
“Told ya,” Wyatt says under his breath.
Mr. Mills continues. “But thank you, Tiffany, for at least not sounding like Webster’s Dictionary.”
“Yeah, she sounded like, uh, um, er, ah...” Wyatt mocks me by biting his nails nervously and the class laughs.
“Tha
t’s enough, Wyatt. Look, people,” Mr. Mills explains. “The point of vocab worksheets is not to memorize. To memorize is not to know. Does anyone know who said that?”
No one raises their hand.
Mr. Mills smiles. “Me. I said that. Stop memorizing stuff. ‘Tell me and I forget. Teach me and I remember. Involve me and I learn.’ Does anyone know who said that?”
A girl in front of me raises her hand. “You?”
“Wrong. Benjamin Franklin. You can always tell the difference between my quotes and Ben’s quotes because his are way better.”
Another girl with a short pixie cut sitting beside Wyatt raises her hand. “Is that going to be on the test? The Benjamin Franklin quote?”
“Seriously?” Mr. Mills shakes his head. “No. Ben Franklin quotes will not be on the test. Stay with me, people.” Mr. Mills points to Marcus. “Mr. Marcus McKinney. Save us all. Absolute location versus relative location. Explain it to me like I’m five.”
Marcus stands and every head turns to look at him. “I’m not sure a five-year-old would understand, either.”
Mr. Mills nods. “Duly noted. So explain it to me like I’m six.”
More laughter from the class.
“If you wanted to bury a treasure—” Marcus starts so softly I have to strain to hear “—and planned to retrieve it later, perhaps years later, you would need to document the exact spot on the Earth where you buried it—the absolute location. To notate it...you would use specific longitude/latitude coordinates. But since you’re six, and probably don’t understand location relative to the Earth’s equator and prime meridian, then it would probably serve you best to remember where your treasure is buried using a relative location. A location in comparison to the location of something else. The treasure is buried beside the giant oak tree in the backyard.”
Mr. Mills sighs dramatically. “And there you have it. Thank you, Marcus McKinney.”
Marcus sits and our eyes meet again before I quickly look away.
Mr. Mills erases relative and absolute location and writes GIS Mapping across the blackboard. The class groans and I scribble GIS down on my notepad since I seem to be the only one who doesn’t understand what the acronym stands for. “You and a partner are going—”
“A partner?” Wyatt interrupts. “There’s nothing about a group project on the syllabus.”
Mr. Mills sighs. “First of all, Wyatt, we raise our hands when we have a question.”
Wyatt raises his hand.
“Yes, Wyatt?”
“How come there’s nothing on the syllabus about a partner project?”
“The GIS mapping project is on your syllabus.”
“Yeah, but it didn’t say partner project.”
“Which is why I’m telling you now.” Mr. Mills continues. “You and a partner are going to find some significant, mappable data that relates to food, energy or water.”
An Asian girl with long jet-black hair raises her hand. “Food, energy or water? Are those the only three options?”
“I’m open to other resources or related themes but they must be approved by me. Now, the computer labs are equipped with the Arc-GIS software.”
More groans from the class and I quickly scribble Arc-GIS software. What is that? And how come everyone but me seems to know? Is Wyatt right? In only a few minutes this class seems way more advanced than my previous AP Geography class.
“Stop with all the groaning,” Mr. Mills says seriously. “There’s a learning curve with the software, but lab techs are available every single day. No excuses. Repeat after me. I am smarter than the Arc-GIS software.” The class repeats in unison and Mr. Mills nods. “Yes, you are. Partners of your choosing, but please choose wisely because this project is a huge percentage of your grade and I don’t want people emailing me and whining that their partner didn’t put forth the same effort. You both get the same grade no matter who works ‘harder.’ Pick someone you trust. As orderly as possible please, and sit beside them. This will be your assigned seating for the remainder of the semester.”
Everyone excitedly stands, moving toward friends. I feel a tap on the shoulder.
“Wanna be my partner?” Aric-with-an-A says without any enthusiasm whatsoever. “At least we won’t have to move.”
“Sure. Do you know what GIS stands for?”
“Geographic information systems. GIS mapping is so easy. I can do it in my sleep.”
“Class,” Mr. Mills says.
I look up to see Marcus is standing beside Mr. Mills, his hands stuffed in his pockets, looking down at the floor.
“I forgot that Tiffany makes an odd number. One group will have three. Is there a group that would like to add Marcus?”
It’s a very long, awkward silence as no hands rise and students exchange creeped-out and uncomfortable looks.
“Considering Marcus sets the curve in this class, I would think you’d be thrilled at the prospect of having him in your group.” Mr. Mills crosses his arms, obviously irritated.
Still, no one makes a move to volunteer. I picture Jo’s face and how relieved she looked when I promised her I’d talk to Marcus. Here’s my chance to make good on the deal.
My hand shoots into the air. “He can be in our group.”
“Great.” Mr. Mills smiles at me. “Thank you, Tiffany and Aric.”
“Are you bat-shit crazy?” Aric whispers, completely drained of color, but before I have a chance to respond, Marcus is standing over the two of us.
“May I pull up a chair?” Marcus asks, his voice almost a whisper.
“Sure,” I reply, and Marcus moves across the room to grab an empty desk chair. I look over at Aric and shrug. “What?”
“Why did you do that?”
“He had to be in somebody’s group.”
“It’s my senior year, man. That freak’s not gonna ruin it.”
“Nobody’s ruining your senior year. It’s a class project. Calm down.”
Marcus returns with a chair and sets it across from Aric and me. He sits. “Hello,” he says politely.
Aric pushes his chair back from the desk and stands. “I’m not doing this.” Fuming, he moves to the head of the class and I watch as he and Mr. Mills have a hushed discussion. In fact, the entire class is completely focused on what’s transpiring, whispering and looking back between Marcus and me, and Aric and Mr. Mills. A moment later, an extremely angry Aric returns.
“I can’t switch groups.” He slumps back into the chair beside me and I sit in horrified silence, not quite sure how to respond. “It’s because no other groups volunteered to have three. So now I can’t switch. Fuck.”
“You’re being rude,” I declare.
“Whatever, man. You’re rude,” Aric replies, a scary edge to his voice.
Mr. Mills clears his throat. “I’m gifting you the next five minutes to discuss and plan. Tomorrow, I’ll expect a five-hundred-word, typed proposal outlining your themes.” Mr. Mills gives me a strange smile that I can’t quite read.
Stone House Rule Number 6: Everything that you do is a reflection of this family. Make sure your choices are made with wisdom and your actions carefully thought out, considering every possible outcome and how it could affect the members of this household.
I take a deep, calming breath, trying my hardest to ignore my classmates’ stares and whispers. I know Anthony won’t be too thrilled with the idea of me spending time with Marcus McKinney, even though Aric-with-an-A—for asshole—will be there, too. Stay away from that kid, he warned me yesterday. I don’t want him anywhere near my family.
Well...so much for that.
8
“So... GIS mapping.” I swallow. “Sounds fun.”
Aric folds his arms in annoyance, leaning back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling in a defiant, childlike gesture that reads, Na-na na-na boo-boo, stick your h
ead in doo-doo.
“How about we start with introductions? Yeah? Okay, I’m Tiffany. I like the mall and my favorite food is spaghetti.”
Marcus pulls at his gloves uneasily.
“Oooohkay. Don’t everyone talk at once.”
Two girls sitting in front of us are staring. One whispers in the other’s ear; both girls smirk and giggle.
Aric raises his hand. “Mr. Mills?”
Mr. Mills looks up from the book he’s reading at his desk. “Yep?”
“I ain’t feelin’ too good. Can I go see the nurse?”
Mr. Mills sighs. “You look healthy, vibrant and extremely tan.”
“I think I might throw up. For real.”
“Fine, Aric. Take the pass.”
Aric bolts up, grabs his backpack and within a few seconds has disappeared out the door, leaving Marcus and me alone at the desk.
“Sorry about that,” I mumble.
“I don’t mind. It’s tough to bother me.”
“Really?” What about the fact that you’re a risk for sudden death? I want to ask him about it. I look down at my notes instead. “So, we have to find some mappable information that relates to food, energy or water? Any ideas? I got nothin’.”
“How about organic food providers. Whole Foods and Trader Joe’s, for example. Did you have those in Chicago?”
“We have them...yeah.”
“Well, we could overlay the organic food providers in the city by demographics.”
“Demographics? Like what?”
“I was thinking race.”
“You mean, see if organic food providers build their stores in mostly white neighborhoods? We don’t need a GIS map to answer that.”
“Or neighborhoods with a particular socioeconomic status. We can use census bureau stats about income. There could be a correlation. Would be fascinating to research.”
I set down my pen, push past my anxiety and look him in the eye, like really look at him. His eyes are extremely green, demon-like sure, but kind. Like a nice demon. And his features are attractive—slanted eyes, full lips, angular cheeks. But there’s something about his face I can’t quite put my finger on. It hits me. Eyebrows! He doesn’t have eyebrows? “You shave your eyebrows?”
Tiffany Sly Lives Here Now Page 9
