The Square root of falling: A Brazos High Novella

by Sparling, Amy

  This year, I don’t want to continue being the single loser I am on the inside while looking like some kind of stud on the outside. This year, I am going to get a girlfriend. A real one.

  Three

  Jules

  Since my high school is a million years old, they decided to renovate it just before my freshman year, and then again over the summer. The Brazos High’s Twitter page has been bragging about how we’re a “technology school” now, and I wasn’t sure what that meant exactly, but now it’s obvious. As I shield my coffee from the crowded hallways, I can’t help but notice the brightly flashing television screens all over the walls. There’s a screen everywhere, and they’re showing school announcements, stupid memes that I guess the administration thought were funny but aren’t, and an ad to download the school’s new app.

  Our school has an app? Weird.

  One thing I notice on the flashing screens are lots and lots of student clubs to join this year. In addition to all the normal stuff like StuCo, there’s also a sewing club, a swim club, and a manga club, among others. I’ve never been in a school club, but now they’re starting to look like a really good idea. I should load up my schedule with clubs and activities because the busier I am, the less time I have to think about boys. It’s a perfect plan.

  I make my way down to the math hallway at the end of the school, keeping an eye on all the posters on the walls that advertise clubs so I can remember which ones I want to sign up for.

  Between homework, clubs, and helping Abby babysit her three younger sisters, I should have no room at all in my life for thinking about boys. I definitely won’t have any time to date one. And if there’s no time to date, there’s no time to think about them. It’s the perfect plan.

  I take a sip of my coffee and glance down at my schedule to find the exact room number of my first period class. I’m in room 1415 with Mr. Casey. I haven’t heard of this teacher before, but I did just see something on the TV screens in the hallway that welcomed the fifteen new teachers our school hired this year. He must be one of them. I hope he’s nice. I’m not exactly bad at math, but I’m also not known for being good at it.

  The two-minute warning bell chimes just as I walk in the door. Keeping with my promise to myself, I don’t bother scanning the room to see who is in my class. I know Abby isn’t in here, so no one else matters. Normally, the first day of school is exciting because you can check out your classmates and see if any cute guys will be in your classes. Abby and I used to love the first day of school because that’s when you get to see who the new students are. It rarely happens, but occasionally some cute new guy would move to town over the summer and start school and then every girl in our grade would try to win him over.

  It’s so lame, I know.

  I don’t care about any of that anymore. I sit down at a desk near the back of the classroom. Every teacher arranges their desks differently, and this one has put us all in groups of two desks right next to each other. No one is sitting in the desk next to me, luckily.

  “Good morning,” I hear a man’s voice say. I glance over—breaking my rule is okay if I’m just looking for the teacher—and see a younger man greeting students as they walk in. He’s really young for a teacher—maybe mid-twenties? I don’t know. But he’s also wearing skinny khaki pants and a black T-shirt with some stupid math joke on it. His dirty blonde hair is longish on top and shaved on the sides and he has it all swooped over the top of his head and held in place with hair gel. He’s definitely one of those hipster teachers who will probably try to be “cool” around us to win us over. I snort under my breath. I guess that’s better than the drill sergeant algebra teacher I had last year who didn’t allow cell phones or talking.

  I sip my coffee, grateful that Mr. Casey isn’t making us throw it away. Not every teacher was happy about the new coffee carts, and some make us toss the coffee at their door, but some let us keep it. Mr. Casey might not realize that letting us keep our coffees wins him way more bonus points than that dumb shirt he’s wearing.

  The bell rings and Mr. Casey flips off the lights, which really only turns off half the lights and leaves us bathed in a half-dim shadow. The Smartboard is on, and it’s paused on the start of a YouTube video with the title: So You’re Lucky Enough to be in Mr. Casey’s Class This Year

  Wow, my new teacher is a total dork.

  “Welcome, welcome!” Mr. Casey says as he walks up to the front of the class. I haven’t seen him drinking any coffee, but wow is he energetic. He must have downed a whole pot of coffee before he got to school. “I’m so glad you’re here. In case you didn’t read your schedule, or this screen on the wall, or the various signs around the room—” He snorts as he points to a nameplate with his name on it that’s been spelled out in rhinestones. “My name is Mr. Casey and I’m your math teacher this year. I am so, so glad to have you all, and we’re going to learn a lot this year. We’re going to have fun doing it, too.”

  He looks like he actually believes the words he says. Someone should tell him that math is not fun in any way, unless maybe if you’re counting a bunch of money you just won or something. Still. He rambles on a bit, telling us about how he graduated with a Master’s in Education at a much younger age than most people, and how he’s worked a few years at a nearby high school but recently moved to Brazos, Texas to be close to his wife’s family. At the mention of his wife, some of the girls audibly groan. Gross. I don’t know why they would be crushing on a teacher. He’s a teacher! Ew. Not to mention, boys of all kinds are stupid. And I’m so glad I’ve sworn them off this year.

  In the half-shadows of our dimly lit room, I see two people rush into the classroom.

  “Sorry,” one of them says. He sounds a lot like a boy, so I don’t bother looking over at him.

  “No worries. I don’t give out tardies on the first day of school,” Mr. Casey says. “Have a seat, gentlemen. We’re about to watch a video I put together, and I need to warn everyone that I graduated with an education degree—not a filmmaking one.”

  One of the guys who just walked in the classroom sits next to me. I hear him drop into the desk to my left, but even if I hadn’t, I would know he’s there because he smells really good. Like he just got out of the shower or something. He’s all “mountain fresh” and shampoo smell. I swallow. I promised myself I wouldn’t look at boys this year, but I should probably amend that promise to include not smelling them, either. Because smells can also be cute. I am so not in the mood for crushing on a guy. Not now, not ever.

  After Mr. Casey’s poorly filmed and edited video ends, I’m pretty sure I’ve heard more lame math jokes than anyone ever needs to hear in their lifetime. He turns the lights back on and then walks up to the front of the class. “I do things a little differently in my class. We aren’t alone in this class. We’re a team. And even more than that, we’re partners. You’ll notice I’ve arranged the desks in groups of two,” he says, holding out his hands toward us.

  I do not like where this is going.

  Mr. Casey looks very proud of himself though. “The person sitting next to you is your new partner for the school year. You will work together on all of your lessons. You will even take the exams together.”

  This makes a round of murmurs fill the room. Mr. Casey nods. “Yep. This is a teamwork class. Your partner is your responsibility as well as yourself. You will help each other and you will work together on everything. You will never be alone. Our principal hired me because of my teaching methods—and yeah, they’re a little unconventional. But guess what? Life is unconventional. This plan of mine works, I promise. You will all have the highest math grade you’ve ever had in my class, and it’s because of teamwork.”

  He claps his hands together in front of his chest. “So, with that said, please take a few minutes to meet your partner.”

  My heart pounds. Why did a guy sit next to me? Why, oh why, couldn’t it have been a girl? Any girl. Even some mean girl. Or some girl with bad body odor. I don’t care. Any girl in
the world would have been better than this.

  I turn to my left, and I wonder if maybe the Universe is playing some cruel cosmic joke on me right now.

  Because the guy smiling at me—my new partner for the entire year—is Brazos High’s Hottest Guy, Jake Johnson.

  Four

  Jake

  Wow. I mean I know the Universe works in mysterious ways, but I have never seen it work like this—and so quickly, too. I want a girlfriend more than anything, and what happened? The Universe put me next to this beautiful girl who doesn’t seem to care about me at all.

  I know that might sound backward, but every time I sit next to a girl, they stare at me and smile at me and act all weird because of my reputation. This girl, whoever she is, hasn’t looked at me once. It’s like she couldn’t care a single bit that I’m sitting next to her. It’s refreshing.

  And it’s… hopeful?

  I mean. I know it’s stupid to fall for the first beautiful girl who doesn’t care about me, so I should really slow down and stop daydreaming about asking this girl on a date.

  Mr. Casey tells us to introduce ourselves to our new partner. I smile at her, and she looks over at me. And then it happens. I see it in her eyes.

  She recognizes me.

  Welp, I guess the Universe doesn’t hand out totally perfect events.

  “Hi,” I say. “I’m Jake.”

  She lifts up her hand in a soft wave. “I’m Jules.”

  The classroom is filling with the chatter of everyone talking at once, and all the noise is actually helping to calm my nerves. I don’t normally get nervous talking to girls, but there’s something different about her. She has shoulder length brown hair and cute bangs that are crisply cut in a flat line above her eyebrows. I don’t know many girls with bangs, but she really pulls off the hairstyle. She’s sitting down, but I’m guessing she’s pretty short, because everything about her is small. Maybe it’s just the way she carries herself. She’s all folded in, her hands in her lap as she leans forward in her desk.

  “Are you cold?” I ask. “I have a jacket in my backpack.”

  Her face crumples in confusion. “No?” she says with a look like I’m an idiot. “If anything, the coffee is making me warm.”

  “You looked cold,” I say. Wow, I am lame. The lamest of the lame. Like, it doesn’t get any lamer than this.

  “So are you good at math?” Jules asks. She takes a sip of her coffee. “Please tell me you’re good at math.”

  “I’m going to college for mechanical engineering,” I say. “That’s how good at math I am.”

  Her eyes widen, then she looks down at her coffee cup. “Awesome. I’m not bad at math but I’m no math genius, either. I’ll try not to let you down this year.”

  “Nah, I think we’ll be fine,” I say, glancing at the desks in front of us where two of our school’s biggest stoners are sitting. “We’ll definitely do better than they will.”

  She smiles. “I think that trashcan in the corner of the room will get better grades than those guys,” she whispers.

  We’ve only been talking a few moments, and yet Jules feels so different from other girls in my grade. She’s talking to me like I’m normal. Like I don’t have some stupid popularity reputation about me. I like it. I wish everyone treated me this normally.

  “I also have a lot of free time,” Jules says while her gaze goes right back to her coffee cup. “So I’ll be able to study a lot to catch up to your level.”

  Mr. Casey is walking by, and he stops short when he overhears Jules. “There will be no individual studying,” he says, tapping his hand on her desk with each word. Then he looks out over at the entire class. “Guys, this is a partnership. Everything you do for my class will be with your partner. No solo studying, no solo math work.”

  “Both me and my partner don’t have a car,” someone says from across the room. “How are we supposed to study together every single day?”

  “This is the modern world,” Mr. Casey says, continuing on his slow walk around the room. “We live in the future. You all have smart phones and Snapchat and Facetime. You kids are already on your phones all day, every day. Make it work. I am not joking when I say you will do everything with your partner this year. Your grade will be your partner’s grade. Your partner’s grade will be yours. If your partner gets the flu and misses school for a week, you might as well get the flu too because you’ll be doing everything together.”

  Maria Estevan’s hand shoots up in the air. “Sir, you better call my mom and tell her that you’re making me talk to my partner because she grounds me from my phone like once a week.”

  Mr. Casey chuckles. “I’m happy to talk to any parents who need clarification.”

  He answers a few more questions, and then he starts passing out a packet of worksheets stapled together. Mine lands on my desk with a heavy thunk. It must be at least twenty pages of math problems. I flip through the papers. It’s mostly stuff we learned last year, so I guess he wants to see what level we’re all at. I’m all for easy first day of school work, but twenty pages is a lot.

  “This packet is due at the end of the week,” Mr. Casey announces as he finishes walking around the room, passing out papers. A collective sigh of relief fills the classroom. Twenty pages over a week is no big deal. In one class period? It would have been awful.

  Jules writes her name at the top of her worksheet. Then, underneath it, she writes my name. There’s this weird little pitter patter thing going on in my chest when I see her do it. She glances over at me and shrugs. “I figure he’ll want both of our names on everything.”

  “Good call,” I say, writing her name on my own packet.

  Mr. Casey finishes answering everyone’s questions about his weird teaching method, and then he plays music over the speakers that he’s set up in the corner of each room. That’s another thing other teachers don’t do. I wonder if it’s also part of his “unconventional method” of teaching. Jules and I get to work, and we talk quietly to each other while we work out the problems on the page. She’s actually much smarter than she made it sound like because she knows this stuff just as well as I do. We work through several pages, completing more than we need to seeing as how this packet has to last us for the entire week. Jules and I work together really well, and she’s both smart and sweet in this way that makes my chest constrict. Deep down, I know I shouldn’t be crushing on my math partner. It’s only the first day of school, and a crush like this could totally derail me for the entire school year, especially if she doesn’t like me back. After all, she probably has a boyfriend. She’s way too pretty to be single.

  “I think we did too much work,” Jules says after we finish a problem on differential equations. “We’re already on page ten. Oops.”

  “Maybe he’ll let us sleep at our desks if we finish early. I could really use it after coach’s training torture that’s going to last all week.”

  Jules slides her packet into the inside folder of her binder. “What sport do you play?”

  I stare at her in stunned silence for a second. Does she really not know? I thought everyone knew what sport I played. “Soccer,” I say. “Did you just move here?”

  She gives me a look like I’m an idiot. “No…”

  And now I really feel like an idiot. “I’ve just never seen you before,” I say, because telling her that the simple fact she doesn’t know what sport I play is weird would be the worst thing to say right now.

  “I’ve seen you,” she says, but she’s not looking at me. She hasn’t looked at me much this morning, which is also unusual. I don’t try to be arrogant or anything, but girls usually stare at me so much that it’s annoying. Jules puts her binder into her backpack. “I think the whole school knows you. You’re popular. I’m just some random girl.”

  My instinct is to tell her that she’s not some random girl, but is actually one of the most beautiful girls I’ve ever seen. Luckily, I’m smart enough to shut up that part of my brain.

  “I’m
really glad I sat next to you,” I say over the commotion of everyone else packing up their stuff because the bell is about to ring. “I could have been stuck with a terrible partner.”

  She laughs. “Same.”

  If I wasn’t such a total and complete loser, and if she wasn’t my math partner for the year, I’d ask for her number. Or I’d ask her on a date. Yet, she is my partner, and I am a loser, and I’m sitting here feeling like this is the biggest missed opportunity in the world. Jules seems perfect. I’d love to get to know her better.

  Then it hits me. All the stuff Mr. Casey talked about earlier comes back to me. I hold out my phone. “Hey, we should probably exchange numbers or Snapchat names or something. You know, for Mr. Casey’s rules.”

  “Oh,” she says, looking startled. “Sure. Totally.”

  It’s not exactly the way I’d hoped to get a girl’s number this year. And it’s not exactly romantic, either, when she writes down her number and Snapchat handle on a scrap piece of paper. She’s all business-like, giving me her info because we’re math partners.

  But still, when the bell rings and I tell her goodbye and she smiles at me, I can’t help but feel like maybe… just maybe… something good is happening.

  Five

  Jules

  Abby hangs her hand out the passenger window of my car. “You getting a car is the greatest thing to happen to us this year,” she says wistfully, closing her eyes as the wind whips through her long hair.

  “Okay, that’s a bit dramatic,” I say with a snort. “But it is accurate. Now move over, I’m rolling up the windows.”

  “Blah, you’re no fun,” Abby says.

  “I don’t want my hair getting all messed up,” I say in return as I roll up the windows. It actually looks halfway cute today. My bangs were cooperating, which is basically unheard of, and I want them to stay nice so I can just dry shampoo my hair in the morning and not have to fix them again.