Twleve Steps

by Veronica Bartles

  One glance at Dad’s giant scowl tells me this isn’t the time to point out that Dave is helping me for free, and we aren’t actually paying him. I slink back to the table and try to focus on biology.

  Dad watches us for a few minutes, and then he stomps out of the room. But I’m totally not surprised when Laina decides half a minute later that the kitchen table is way more comfortable than the huge, overstuffed reading chair in her bedroom for reading her English lit assignment. Even though she always swears she can’t concentrate on her homework when there are other people around.

  When Dave leaves an hour later, Laina sighs and closes her book. “I didn’t know you and Dave were back together.”

  “We’re not ‘back together.’ We were never together in the first place. And we’re not ‘together’ now. We’re friends. Like you and Jarod.”

  Except, of course, for the whole being secretly in love with each other thing.

  She raises one eyebrow at me. “Dad made it sound like you guys were getting pretty intense in here.” She glances at the front door, like she expects to see Dave still standing there, even though he’s long gone, and then she turns her attention back to me. “Be careful, okay? You don’t want to give a guy the wrong ideas.”

  I shiver as I look into her hollow, empty eyes. I don’t think she’s talking about me and Dave anymore.

  “What do you mean? What kind of ideas?” Maybe if I keep her talking, I can finally get her to open up about Anthony.

  Laina laughs, but the smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “How serious are things with you and Dave? What exactly is going on between you?”

  I bite my lip and follow Laina’s gaze to the front door. I’m in love with Jarod. I’ve been in love with him since I was eleven years old. And I think he’s starting to like me too. The way he holds me when we’re dancing the ballroom scene can’t all be an act.

  Besides, I missed my chance with Dave. He’s made it perfectly clear that he doesn’t think about me that way anymore. I can’t be in love with him.

  “I don’t know. It’s easier if we’re friends.”

  “Is that what you really want? Because if it is, you have to make sure he knows. You don’t want him to think there’s more going on.”

  I shiver and blink back tears. This isn’t about me. Laina needs to talk about Anthony, or she’ll never get over it. But I can’t exactly admit I’ve been reading her diary. Except, she already knows I read the part about her and Shane. She mentioned Anthony then, too.

  “Speaking of friends who are totally in love with you, how are things with Shane these days?”

  Laina grabs my biology notes that are strewn across the table and stacks them together in a neat pile on top of my textbook and the study guide Dave left behind. Then, she grabs a paper towel and starts wiping up the stray Oreo crumbs. She acts like she didn’t hear and refuses to look at me. I know she heard my question, though, because her hands are shaking like crazy and she keeps twisting the end of her long, blonde curls around her finger.

  When she finishes cleaning the kitchen, she turns and flashes her plastic smile at me. “Well, I’m tired. I think I’ll go to bed early. See you in the morning.”

  She bounces out of the room before I can say a word.

  I jump up and run after her, but she closes and locks her bedroom door as I catch up. It’s totally against the rules for her to lock the door when she’s home, because Mom says that “locking yourself away from your own family puts you in a compromising position and allows you to slip into highly inappropriate behavior.” I could tell Dad that she locked me out, and he’d make her open the door, but there’s no way Laina will open up to me about Anthony or anything else if I bring Mom and Dad into this.

  Laina and I haven’t had a real conversation since before the prom, and I totally blew the first chance I got.

  I stumble down the hall to my bedroom and throw myself across the bed to stare at the ceiling. How can I help her to get past that thing with Anthony if I screw it up every time I try to get her to talk to me?

  I close my eyes and try to ignore the answer I don’t really want to see.

  Jarod was there. And he saved her. Laina might talk to him. Maybe she needs him as much as he wants her.

  A large tear rolls across my cheek and into my ear. I flip over and bury my face in my pillow. Laina deserves a boyfriend like Jarod. Someone she can talk to about anything and everything. Someone who will always be there for her. Someone who’s so afraid of changing the status quo that he may never work up the nerve to actually kiss her, unless she makes the first move.

  Someone who will never invade her personal space, like Anthony did.

  Maybe I need to pull myself out of the equation and let Laina have Jarod once and for all. Maybe I need to admit that I was never a part of the equation in the first place.

  Mr. Keeler stands in front of the classroom, a stack of graded papers in his hands. “Some of you obviously didn’t study for this test, and I’m very disappointed in the results.” He looks straight at me and frowns.

  Crap! This was the first time all year that I felt like I was really prepared for a biology exam. So much for my delusions.

  I fill the margins of my notebook with doodles of DNA strands and daisies, breathing slowly and thinking back over the exam questions as I wait for him to hand back the tests. Maybe he’s not talking about me.

  I was ready.

  I know this stuff.

  I almost laugh out loud when I imagine Dave shaking his head and accusing me of giving in to my “pessimistic pretty girl gene.” But when Mr. Keeler slips my paper, face down, onto my desk, the urge to giggle fades, and I have to swallow hard to keep down the bile rising in my throat.

  I take a deep breath and hold it for ten seconds before letting it out slowly.

  I let my eyes roam around the room, watching as everyone else looks at their scores. A couple of people look like they want to cry, and a couple of them are obviously thrilled, but most glance at their scores and tuck the papers into their notebooks without any kind of reaction.

  I close my eyes and turn my exam over. Then, I take another slow, deep breath and open my left eye just a crack to see.

  Nothing.

  Not a single question is marked wrong on my paper, but I have a giant, red zero across the page, and a tiny, scrawled note in the top, left corner that says “See me after class.”

  I spend the next fifty-five minutes searching through my textbook to check my answers, and as far as I can tell, I haven’t missed any of them. Why did I get a zero?

  Mr. Keeler might hate me, but he knows I would never cheat. Maybe it’s a minus zero. As in one hundred percent. Maybe he’s impressed with my hard work and initiative in bringing up my grades. He probably wants me to stay after class so he can congratulate me on my hard work and study.

  It could happen.

  Right?

  The hour drags on for a million years, but finally the bell rings and everyone files out of the classroom. I wipe my palms on my jeans, and then I grab my stack of books and make my way to Mr. Keeler’s desk at the front of the room.

  He glances at me and frowns, and then he opens his grade book and pulls out a stack of papers. He doesn’t look up again as he starts entering grades into his book.

  I fidget for a minute or two, waiting for him to speak, but he doesn’t even act like he knows I’m here. Did he not want to speak with me after all? Maybe he changed his mind. Or maybe he wrote the note on the wrong test paper.

  I clear my throat and wait for another thirty seconds, but he still doesn’t look up. When the warning bell rings for next period, I give up and turn to leave. Mr. Keeler may have a free period next, but I don’t. And I’ll never be anything but Laina’s little, screw-up sister if I don’t start demonstrating that I can be as good as she is. I can’t afford to let my grades slip in my other classes too.

  I’m reaching for the doorknob when Mr. Keeler finally speaks. “I’m still waiting, Ms. Andersen.�
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  I turn to look at him. His steel-grey eyes bore straight through me, and the harsh scowl on his face tells me that he isn’t planning to compliment my study habits. I swallow hard and force a smile.

  “Waiting? For what?”

  He stands and walks around his desk, closing the space between us. He towers over me, so I have to look up to see his face. I have an overwhelming urge to apologize and throw myself at his feet to beg for mercy.

  But I haven’t done anything wrong. So I take a deep breath and meet his cold stare with one of my own.

  Mr. Keeler breaks before I do. He huffs and crosses his arms. “I don’t tolerate cheating in my class, Ms. Andersen. But if you tell me how you managed to get a copy of my answer key, I might go easy on you.”

  “What?” I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. I mean, I’m not stupid. A big, fat zero on my test paper when I didn’t miss a single question, and a cryptic note from the teacher saying that he wanted to see me after class. It’s a total teacher cliché for cheaters. But still, I’d hoped I was reading the clues wrong.

  Mr. Keeler glares at me. “I let it slide on the quiz, because it was only ten points, and I’d hoped that the sister of Alaina Andersen would have the integrity to feel some remorse, and the moral courage to own up to her crime. But this exam counts for one-fifth of your total semester grade, and I cannot tolerate such willful disregard of the school’s honor code, no matter who your sister is.”

  “I didn’t cheat. I studied!”

  “Ms. Andersen, in my twenty-three years of teaching, I have never had a student get every single question correct on one of my exams, including both bonus questions. Even your sister only got a ninety-nine percent on the genetics exam, and her grade average was the highest I’ve ever seen. Yet, you want me to believe that you, a student who has been consistently failing my class all year long, managed to pull off a perfect score with a single late-night study session?”

  “No.”

  He smirks, and I can tell he thinks he’s bullied me into a confession, but I worked too hard for this to allow him to snatch it all away. I topped Laina’s high score. I’m smart enough to deal with a judgmental, arrogant teacher.

  “No. It wasn’t one study session.” I smirk right back at him. “I expect you to believe that this student, who has been failing your class all year long, finally got a tutor who could explain biology without totally putting her to sleep in the process.” I clutch my books to my chest, resisting the urge to hurl them at his head. “I wouldn’t be so proud of the streak of bad grades spewing out of your class. If even my sister couldn’t manage to stay awake in your class long enough to ace a single one of your tests, then maybe you’re the problem.”

  I spin on my heel and stalk out of the room, leaving a spluttering, red-faced Mr. Keeler gaping after me. I know my little outburst probably didn’t earn me the student-of-the-year award, but what’s the worst he can do? Call my parents? They’ll just tell him I’ve been studying with Dave every night.

  I’m not surprised when the call interrupts my English literature class, telling me to report to Ms. Detweiler’s office immediately. I totally expected Mr. Keeler to go running to the principal when he realized he couldn’t bully me on his own. But I am a little bit surprised to see that my mom is already there when I arrive.

  Mr. Keeler, Mom, and Ms. Detweiler sit shoulder-to-shoulder in a row of chairs on one side of the room, and Ms. Detweiler instructs me to have a seat in the empty chair facing them, next to Mrs. Gardner.

  I feel like an inmate on death row, facing down the firing squad.

  “Andi, dear, we’re concerned,” Mrs. Gardner says. “Mr. Keeler tells us there was an incident today in class, and we’d like to get to the bottom of it, so that this kind of emotional outburst can be avoided in the future.”

  I should totally get a million karma points for managing to control the “emotional outburst” I want to unleash right now. I take a deep breath and count to ten before I respond, and when I speak, I make sure to keep my voice calm and even, without even a hint of the anger I feel.

  Well, maybe a hint.

  “Did he tell you that he accused me of cheating, all because I managed to pass his stupid exam? You’d think a teacher would be grateful that his students are trying to learn, instead of getting all judgy when they work their butts off studying.”

  Mrs. Gardner sighs. “Andi, dear, you must admit that your story seems a little far-fetched. Do you truly expect us to believe that, when you haven’t managed to pass a single biology exam all year long, suddenly you are the first student to honestly earn a perfect score on Mr. Keeler’s genetics exam?”

  “I want to know how you got the answer key,” Mr. Keeler demands. “I wrote the test on Monday evening, and only my first and second period classes would have seen it before you took the test. Who shared the questions with you?”

  I roll my eyes. “Hello? I studied. It’s not a hard concept, people. Aren’t you always saying that studying is the only way to get good grades?” I look at Mom, who’s just sitting there between Ms. Detweiler and Mr. Keeler, staring at her shoes. “Tell them about the way Dave’s been tutoring me.”

  Everyone turns their attention to Mom, and she shifts uncomfortably in her seat. “Well, David has been coming over every night for the past two weeks,” she says. “And I assumed they were studying. Andrea’s grades have certainly improved. I was just telling her father that I couldn’t be more proud of her progress.” She hesitates. “But there is an awful lot of giggling going on in these study sessions. I don’t recall biology being so amusing.”

  I throw my hands up. “Seriously? Dave’s funny. He makes biology interesting. Maybe if Mr. Keeler wasn’t so freaking boring, people could learn something in class, too, and we wouldn’t have to hire tutors to pass.”

  Mr. Keeler glares at me, and I fold my arms across my chest, glaring right back at him.

  “Maybe she could retake the test?” Mom asks. “A different version to prove that she didn’t cheat?” She smiles and nods, as if this solves everything. But I totally don’t see why I should be punished. Why should I have to take another test, just because my biology teacher’s a jerk?

  Mr. Keeler snorts. “I don’t give retakes.”

  Mom looks from me to Mr. Keeler and back again. “What if she’s innocent? Would you deny her the grade she earned?”

  Mr. Keeler crosses his arms and scowls at me. “She earned a zero. Cheating should never be rewarded.”

  Ms. Detweiler and Mrs. Gardner look like a couple of deer caught in the headlights, and Mom’s best argument is “What if she didn’t cheat?”

  Obviously, it’s up to me to fix things.

  “Whatever,” I say. “I totally deserve at least one hundred percent, even if you won’t give me credit for the bonus questions. If you don’t believe I studied, try me. I can prove it right now.” I pull my biology textbook out of my bag and hand it to Ms. Detweiler. I toss my notebook into my backpack and slide the whole thing across the room to Mr. Keeler, and then I roll up my sleeves to show my bare arms and hands. I point to the textbook. “If Mr. Keeler asks totally random questions that he pulls out on the spot, there’s no way I could memorize the answers in advance, right? I’ll only pass if I really know this crap.”

  Mom inhales sharply. “Watch your language sweetie,” she whispers.

  Ms. Detweiler nods. “That seems fair. Mr. Keeler, please ask a series of five questions to randomly sample the material on your exam. If Ms. Andersen can get them all right, you’ll give her full credit for her perfect score on the exam, including the bonus question, plus extra credit for the impromptu pop quiz.” She looks at me. “I have no doubt you studied. However, since the question here is not whether you can pass the test, but whether you’ve studied enough to be the first student ever to get every single question right, this is an all-or-nothing situation. If you miss a single answer, the zero stands and we’ll talk about honor code disciplinary measures. Does this seem fa
ir?”

  I toss my hair and smirk. “Bring it.” It’s totally unfair, and I’m afraid I’ll make a stupid mistake and miss some super-easy question, but there’s no way I’m backing down now. Teachers can smell fear. If I even hesitate or show that I’m nervous, they’ll all take it as proof that I cheated.

  Mr. Keeler nods and opens the book, glaring at me over the pages.

  “What is Mendel’s law of segregation?”

  Yeah, I should’ve known he would go for the hardest questions possible. Luckily, Dave spent over an hour explaining this one to me. I describe Mendel’s experiments with the pea plants and how he discovered that each offspring receives one gene from each parent.

  “What are alleles?”

  “What does it mean to be co-dominant?”

  “What does it mean to be homozygous?”

  “What does heterozygous mean?”

  I answer each question without missing a beat. This is easier than I thought it would be.

  Mr. Keeler scowls and flips through the textbook again. He grabs a piece of paper off of Ms. Detweiler’s desk and shoves it at me. “Draw a Punnett square diagram of how alleles for freckles would be distributed if you have two heterozygous parents.”

  I cross my arms and shake my head. “You were only supposed to ask five questions. This makes six.”

  “No.” he shoves the paper at me again. “The definitions were all part of one question. I’ve only asked two. But if this is getting too hard for you, you’re welcome to admit that you cheated.”

  I grab the paper from him and snatch a pen off Ms. Detweiler’s desk. “You’re totally cheating, Mr. Keeler, but whatever,” I mutter. I draw the table he asked for, even though he didn’t give me all the information I need.

  Luckily, I remember that the trait for freckles is dominant and the one for no freckles is recessive, thanks to Dave’s teasing me about my face full of freckles when he was helping me study. I hold up the paper, for everyone to see and smile at Mr. Keeler. “You’d get a one-fourth chance of getting a child homozygous for freckles, one-fourth chance of a child homozygous without freckles, and two-fourths chance for a child that is heterozygous, like the parents. And in case you’re wondering, all of those heterozygous people would have butt loads of freckles.” I toss the paper back at him.