“This isn’t what was supposed to happen,” he says, looking down at his paper in dismay. “We were supposed to have more children.”
He’s all freaked out because now each group is going to have to share a single child, instead of each of us getting assigned our own.
Which is actually better. Because this way it will be a lot less work. “Hello,” our kid says as she sits down at our table. She has blond hair and cornflower-blue eyes, and her hair is pulled back into two beautiful pigtails that have the perfect amount of curl at the bottom. Her skin is clean and shiny.
I look around at the rest of the library. Children are running around and causing all kinds of chaos. At the table next to us, a boy grabs a stuffed dog off one of the library shelves and starts to pretend it’s peeing on chair legs. Yikes.
I turn back to the little girl sitting next to me. She crosses her legs and folds her hands on the table in front of her, all prim and proper. I breathe a sigh of relief that we got her and not one of those hooligans.
“What’s your name, sweetie?” I ask.
“Vivienne.”
“What a beautiful name.”
“Thank you very much.” This girl is an angel! I am definitely going to be her favorite tutor, I can already tell. I’ll be like the older sister she never had. No way she’s going to be bonding with Madison. In fact, Madison already looks bored. She has pulled a magazine out of her backpack and is flipping through the pages. Talk about not wanting to make a lasting impression on the youth of today.
“So what is it you need help with, Vivienne?” Brandon asks her nicely.
Micah isn’t even looking at Vivienne. He has taken another piece of paper and turned it into a new bouncing ball. Every few seconds he takes his eye off his bouncing and looks over at Brandon, like he’s waiting for a reaction from him. But Brandon’s not biting.
“I don’t really need any help,” Vivienne says.
How cute! She’s, like, afraid we’re going to be inconvenienced by helping her.
“It’s okay, honey,” I tell her. “That’s what we’re here for.”
She sighs and sort of scrunches up her lips. Then her eyes fall on Madison’s magazine. “Is that the new SMOOCH?” she asks.
“Yeah,” Madison says without looking up.
“My dad owns that magazine.”
Madison’s eyes flick up and shine with the tiniest bit of interest. “I seriously doubt it.”
Vivienne shrugs.
“Um, so do you have your math book with you?” I ask. Mr. Jacobi is starting to wander through the library, stopping at each table to see how things are going. The last thing I need is for him to think I’m not doing anything.
“No.” Vivienne shrugs again. “I hate math.”
“Oh, I’m sure that’s not true,” I say. “You probably just don’t understand it. I used to not like math either, until . . .” I trail off. Because the truth is, I hated math until Brandon and I got together and he started helping me. And it’s not as though I really like it all that much now, either, but at least I don’t dread it the way I used to. Of course, now that Brandon and I have broken up, there’s nothing to look forward to when it comes to math. Just lots of long problems.
“I. HATE. MATH,” Vivienne says.
“So I know you don’t have your book with you,” Brandon says, “but do you at least have your homework?”
Vivienne sighs like it’s some kind of big imposition, then reaches into her bag and pulls out her worksheet. I guess you can’t judge a book by its cover. This girl is crazy.
“Okay,” Brandon says, nodding as he looks it over. “Fractions. This should be pretty easy.”
Madison rolls her eyes. “Ew,” she says. “Fractions are so useless. It’s, like, what are you going to use them for?” She flicks a page in her magazine and tilts her head to the side. “Of course, you can use it to estimate calories when you’re only having half a serving of something.”
My mouth drops. Is Madison really telling our student that the only thing fractions are good for is making sure you’re not eating too many calories? That’s ridiculous, not to mention that she really should not be encouraging a nine-year-old to eat less than one serving of anything. That’s how little kids end up with eating disorders. It really is a problem facing our country. It’s like we’re so evolved in some ways, and so not in others, you know?
But if Vivienne is upset by this, she doesn’t show it. She just nods her head. “I never eat a full serving of anything. Unless it’s my protein bar after Pilates. Those are good for muscle repair.”
Madison nods, agreeing, and then turns another page.
Brandon and I look at each other across the table, and I can tell we’re both thinking the same thing. Madison and Micah are going to be no help at all. I mean, Madison’s totally tuned out, and Micah has moved on from bouncing his paper ball to playing soccer with it. Seriously, he’s trying to kick it in between two stacks of books, like they’re goalposts or something.
“So, why don’t we start on the worksheet?” Brandon tries. “Since that’s why you’re here.”
“No, thanks,” Vivienne says sweetly, like that’s the end of that.
“Come on,” he says, giving her a little grin. “Don’t you want to get your homework done?”
“Homework is overrated,” she says. “My dad owns a huge media empire, and so I’m already going to be rich. I’m, like, an heiress. You know, like Paris Hilton? So I really don’t need any skills.” She sighs and then reaches up to smooth her hair. And that’s when I see she’s wearing a Michael Kors watch. A Michael Kors watch! The same one Madison has, in fact. Do you know how much those things cost? Like two or three hundred dollars. And she’s nine.
I suddenly realize the library has gotten a lot less loud. Instead of the boisterous sounds of children running around and chattering excitedly, all I hear now is the soft murmur of voices as the kids work on their homework. Even the boy who was pretending the stuffed dog was peeing on everything has settled down and is working happily.
Mr. Jacobi is just a couple of tables away now. He’s beaming down at everyone, like he’s personally responsible for everything being a success. Which it isn’t, really. I mean, he completely overestimated how many tutors he was going to need. But whatever.
“If you work on your worksheet now,” I say sweetly, “then tonight, when you get home from school, you won’t have to do it.”
“I won’t have to do it anyway,” Vivienne says, her fingers flying over her phone as she texts. I look around wildly for a teacher. Shouldn’t someone take her phone away from her? I find it very hard to believe that this is how kids are allowed to act in elementary school.
“Of course you will,” Brandon says, still keeping his patience. “It’s your homework.”
“So what? No one cool does their homework. Like, at all.”
Unfortunately, this is kind of true. A lot of the popular kids at my school either don’t hand in their homework or just have someone else do it for them. I wonder if I should start lecturing Vivienne about the importance of getting your work done and behaving in a manner that has integrity.
“I’m cool, and I do my homework,” I say.
Across the table Madison snorts and then flips a page of her magazine.
“If you do your homework, you’ll be able to get good grades,” Brandon points out to Vivienne. “And if you get good grades, you’ll be able to go to college and be whatever you want. Maybe you’ll be a famous mathematician.”
Vivienne’s eyes are starting to glaze over. She looks away and begins to study her nails. Wow. I can’t believe a nine-year-old has a gel manicure. I’ve always wanted a gel manicure, but they’re way more expensive than the regular ones. Plus Micah’s mom’s salon doesn’t offer them. I wonder if I should bring that up to her. I don’t think their business is doing too well. And even though Micah is a big pain in the butt, I do like his mom, Sharon. She’s always been really nice to me.
I si
gh. This day is a huge disaster.
I don’t know what to do. Brandon shrugs, like he’s out of ideas.
“Or you could become a famous publicist or something,” I say. “And you could, like, tour with boy bands. Doing all their publicity. And you’d get super-rich and get to meet them all.”
Vivienne perks up for a minute, but then she shakes her head. “I told you, I don’t have to go to college,” she says. “I have a trust fund. And if I want to meet famous people, all I have to do is ask my dad. He’s probably going to get One Direction to play at my thirteenth birthday party.”
I want to tell her that by the time she’s thirteen, One Direction will be completely over, and anyone will be able to get them to play at their party, so she shouldn’t feel all special. But then I notice Mr. Jacobi leaving the table next to us and moving toward ours.
Vivienne’s paper is completely blank. Great. I rack my brains, trying to come up with something, anything, that might get Vivienne to do her work.
“Listen,” Madison says, snapping her magazine shut. She leans forward across the table toward Vivienne, so close that their noses are almost touching. Vivienne looks taken aback. I’m taken aback too. I mean, it’s pretty aggressive. “I am not going to fail math just because you’re too lazy to do some dumb fractions worksheet with”—her eyes flutter down to the paper—“ten stupid problems. Suck it up and do it.”
Vivienne narrows her eyes back at Madison. She’s obviously not used to being talked to like this. “No,” she says. And then, just in case we forgot she’s only nine and still a child, she adds, “And you can’t make me.”
Madison’s lips scrunch up into a little smile. It’s actually pretty scary. And then I realize there’s no way that Vivienne is a match for Madison. I mean, think about it. Madison has had years of practicing her brattiness. No way she’s going to be taken down by a nine-year-old.
“Do your homework,” Madison says, “and I’ll let you read my magazine.”
Vivienne’s eyes widen. That magazine is like some kind of forbidden fruit to her. It’s so weird how parents are always telling their kids not to do things, when if they were smart, they’d realize that keeping their kid away from something just makes the kid want it more.
“You’ll let me read it?” Vivienne asks, considering.
“No, I’ll let you have it,” Madison says. She leans back and crosses her hands on top of the magazine. “Then you can show all your little friends.”
Vivienne thinks about it. Her instinct is to be a brat and tell Madison no way. But she wants that magazine so bad. I can almost see the struggle going on inside her.
“I don’t think we should do that,” Brandon says. “If her parents don’t want her reading the magazine, then we shouldn’t give it to her.”
He’s not trying to use reverse psychology or anything. Brandon’s a good person—he really is saying that he doesn’t think it’s a good idea to bribe Vivienne.
But his remark is enough to push Vivienne over the edge. The thought of her parents not wanting her to have that magazine is enough to make her want it even more.
“Deal,” she says. She picks up her pencil and starts to scribble away at the problems. I glance over her shoulder. Wow. She’s actually very good at fractions. She’s not even asking for help. I wonder why she’s enrolled in tutoring, but then I realize it’s probably because she just refuses to do her work, not because she’s not capable. She’s done with most of the problems in, like, a minute. And from what I can see, they’re all correct.
And it’s a good thing, too, because Mr. Jacobi is arriving at our table.
“Wonderful,” he says, beaming down at us. “Just wonderful.” That’s the nicest thing Mr. Jacobi’s ever said to me. He even pats me on my shoulder as he walks by.
“Done,” Vivienne says a few moments later. She sets her pencil down and then holds her hand out. “Give me the magazine.”
Madison rolls her eyes, like she can’t believe Vivienne is being so demanding. Which is funny, since Madison is the most demanding person I know. “We have to check your homework first,” she says. “To make sure it’s right.”
Micah is back at the table now.
“Micah,” Madison commands, “check her work.”
“I’ll check it,” Brandon says quickly, pulling the sheet across the table toward him. Even though Micah is an eighth grader, Brandon obviously doesn’t trust him to know what he’s doing. And he’s probably right not to. Even if Micah is good at math (which I don’t know if I believe or not), he definitely wouldn’t do a thorough job. The kid spent the last half hour playing soccer with a wadded-up piece of paper.
“Looks good to me,” Brandon says after a minute. He passes me the paper. “What do you think, Kendall?”
My face flushes in pleasure, not only that Brandon’s actually talking to me but that he has enough faith in my math abilities to ask me for my opinion.
I look the paper over.
“Come on,” Vivienne whines. “We don’t have all day.”
Madison snorts, like this is the funniest joke ever.
“Looks right,” I say, giving Vivienne her paper back.
“Gimme,” Vivienne says.
Madison takes her time handing Vivienne the magazine. Vivienne runs her fingers over the cover, like she’s got some sort of precious jewel or something.
“So, what are we supposed to do now?” Micah asks. He flicks his makeshift ball off the table and onto the ground. “I’m bored of playing ball.”
Madison gets a wicked grin on her face. “Let’s play truth or dare,” she says.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say, glancing pointedly at Vivienne. Not to mention we’re at school. Who plays truth or dare at school? That’s ridiculous.
“What’s wrong?” Madison asks. “You scared?” And then I realize why she’s so enthusiastic about playing. She probably wants to ask me all kinds of embarrassing questions, like if I want to kiss Micah or if Brandon was my first boyfriend. (No and yes.)
“I’m not scared,” I say. “I just—”
“Good,” she says. “Then truth or dare?”
“Madison,” Brandon says, looking uncomfortable. “Come on.”
“I’ll play,” Micah says. “I love dares.”
“I’m not asking you,” Madison says, all irritated. “I’m asking Kendall.”
“When my friends and I play truth or dare, we do ding-dong dash in my neighborhood,” Vivienne reports. She sounds proud, like this is some kind of huge accomplishment we should all be impressed with.
Everyone ignores her.
“Kendall,” Madison repeats. “Truth or dare.”
I swallow, not exactly sure what to do. If I refuse to play, everyone will think it’s because I’m afraid of being humiliated. If I pick truth, Madison’s going to ask me some totally personal and humiliating question, probably about Brandon. If I pick dare, she’s going to dare me to do something equally ridiculous, like kiss Micah in the library in front of everyone.
Micah’s drumming his fingers on the table, bored, and Brandon’s looking down at his notebook, like he’s embarrassed for me. I don’t know what to do.
But I’m sick of not doing anything, and I’m sick of being afraid of Madison. So before I even know what’s happening, I say, “Dare.”
Madison looks surprised, but then her face curls into an evil smile. “I dare you to tell us what really happened between you and Brandon.”
“Madison,” Brandon says sharply. “Knock it off.”
“Why?” Madison opens her eyes all wide and innocent. “What’s so bad about it? I mean, she broke up with you, right? Because she likes Micah.”
Brandon looks away again, down at the floor.
“Right,” Micah says proudly, puffing out his chest.
“You guys used to be boyfriend-girlfriend?” Vivienne asks, looking interested for the first time since she got here.
“So answer it,” Madison says.
&nb
sp; I swallow hard. Obviously, Brandon isn’t going to correct her. He’s too nice to tell her what really happened. And if I wanted to, I could call Madison out and say that her dare doesn’t count, because really, it’s more of a truth. If I wanted to, I could come up with lots of excuses and lies.
But I don’t.
Because something happens in that moment. I get sick of lying. I get sick of hiding things. I get sick of pretending to be something that I’m not.
I mean, look where all the lying and pretending has gotten me. Nowhere.
So before I know it, I’m saying, “Brandon and I broke up for a personal reason,” I say.
“Duh,” Madison says. “That’s why it’s called a dare. If it’s not at least a little personal, then who would care?”
“I’m not going to say what the reason was,” I say, “because that’s between me and Brandon. But I will say that I never meant for things to end the way they did, and that I still care about him a lot.”
My voice catches on that last part, and I’m looking down at my folder, not trusting myself to look up. I don’t want to have to see what Brandon’s reaction is, and I don’t want to have to see Madison’s face either.
And then, just when I feel like maybe I can’t take it anymore, that I’m going to have to look up to see if I can tell what Brandon thinks about what I just said, Mr. Jacobi calls our attention to the front of the library.
I turn around in my chair and look at Mr. Jacobi, and blink back my tears, hoping I’m not going to start crying right here in front of everyone.
“Today was a grand success,” Mr. Jacobi says. “Please say good-bye to your students and then follow me outside to begin our walk back to the middle school.”
The library explodes into a cacophony of voices and chairs scraping across the floor. But I don’t bother to say good-bye to Vivienne, or anyone else. Instead, I just push my chair back and head for the exit.
Chapter
10
I’m the first person on my late bus, and so I choose a seat all the way toward the back. It’s starting to get dark, and the light from the streetlights bounces off the dusting of snow that’s coating the streets.
Ghost of a Chance Page 11