I knew that couldn’t be true; I remembered last year, when she used to fall asleep in class every day. “Don’t you need a lot of math for programming? Do you really need my help? It sounds like you could help me more than I could help you—I’m way behind in AP Statistics, too.” I’d loaded up my schedule with math electives, mostly to avoid having to take more science classes.
“Well . . .” She got that look again, like I’d busted her, and then started talking really fast. “I mean, yeah, calculus isn’t my best subject, but I get by. It’s just . . . most of my friends are guys, and you and I have been in classes together forever but we’ve never hung out, and I only see you with those Brain Trust kids, and in class you seem smart and funny and they’re smart but not even a little bit funny, and they can’t be a whole lot of fun, and you seem like someone who should maybe be having more fun than you are, and I thought maybe we should be friends.”
She took a deep breath. I stared at her.
“Well, are you going to say something? Did I just totally humiliate myself? We can just study. No problem. I’ve got stats down cold. Took it sophomore year.”
“No, wait,” I said. “You just talk way faster than I can think. You’re right.”
“Right about which part?”
“Right about all of it. I do pretty much only hang out with Julia and those guys, and only at school, because they’re not fun.”
“I’m totally fun. We’re going to start getting you out more.”
I’d never met anyone so direct. It was kind of amazing. “That would be great,” I said. I wanted to tell her that I used to have friends, that it wasn’t always like this, but that wouldn’t change anything.
“Oh, that is so excellent. I have such a good feeling about you, you know? And we’re like twins.” She pointed to our outfits, which were both variations on the hoodie/tank top/jeans/tennis shoes combo.
I raised my eyebrows at her. One minute into our friendship was too early to state the obvious.
“Oh, yeah, except for the Asian thing,” she said.
Or maybe it wasn’t. Even better.
Alex started her fast talking again. “Isn’t it weird, how hard it is to make new girlfriends? It’s like you hang out with the same people forever, and at a certain point that’s all there is. Boys are so much easier. You can just go right up to them and say whatever you want, and either they’ll be friends with you or they won’t. Girls are so much more complicated.”
“Is it really that easy?” I asked. “With boys, I mean?”
“It has been so far. Except for if they get a thing for you. Then it gets complicated. But I bet you know how to deal with that, pretty as you are. God, it’s so great to have someone to talk to about this stuff! We should tell each other everything!” She must have seen the look on my face. “Uh-oh. Is this not a good topic? Are you not into guys? Girls are good too. I mean, I’ve only made out with a couple, just to see if it was my thing, but . . .”
I couldn’t help it—I started cracking up. She was so different than she came across at school. She wouldn’t be the kind of friend Becca had been, but that was okay. “I’m not into girls. It’s more that my experience with guys is kind of . . . limited.” I was flattered that she thought I was pretty enough to have dealt with guy issues before, but of course she had no idea what I really looked like. Then again, no one did.
“Well, then, we’ve got some work to do. We’ll have to strategize. Let’s hang out next weekend.”
“Saturday’s the SAT,” I said.
“You didn’t take it yet? I got it out of the way at the end of last year,” she said. “Such a relief.”
I didn’t feel like explaining about the whole panic attack thing. Besides, I’d studied my ass off and read a bunch of meditation books and eaten my mom’s brain food for weeks. I’d be okay this time. “I put it off,” I said. “I really need to do well.” That much was true, anyway. So much for telling each other everything, though.
“Just come over after,” she said. “We can keep it low key. We’ll just hang out.”
“That would be great.” If all went as planned, I’d be in a good mood, and it would be fun to talk about it with a friend. Now that we were friends.
4.
The morning of the SAT I stumbled out of bed bleary-eyed and in desperate need of coffee. I’d resolved to get a good night’s sleep to prepare, had even tried the stupid meditation techniques from the books I’d read, but nothing worked. I’d stayed up most of the night remembering that disastrous attempt at the PSAT, the one that had kept me from taking the test last year, when I should have. This time had to be different—if I didn’t manage to get through it, I only had one more shot.
Mom was in the kitchen by the time I got downstairs, coffee brewed, a plate of what looked like green eggs at my seat. “Are we channeling Dr. Seuss today?” I asked.
“Scrambled eggs blended with spinach, kale, spirulina, and hemp seeds,” Mom said, coming over and kissing my forehead. “That plus coffee should help you focus. I packed some baggies of almonds and blueberries for you to bring in with you. You’re going to be terrific today.”