All That's Left

by Doherty, Emma

  Matty starts laughing and turns to look at me with a big smile on his face. “Oh yeah. Dude, it was so funny.”

  “We were in chemistry,” Deacon starts, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet because he’s that excited to tell the story. “And Benson Montgomery is in that class too.”

  I feel Finn stiffen at my side. He hates Benson, always has done. He’s this stuck-up, full-of-himself, arrogant rich kid who thinks he’s better than everyone. I don’t like him either, but it’s personal with Finn. Finn’s ex-girlfriend (and Evie’s best friend), Lila Smitt, went on a date with him when she figured out Finn wasn’t feeling the relationship anymore just because she knew it would piss him off. It did, and Benson wasted no time bragging to Finn about their date and the way it had ended. Ultimately, their relationship went nowhere and she came crawling back to Finn, but he wouldn’t give her a second glance. Still, the whole thing just made him dislike Benson even more.

  “So anyway, Miss Kennedy was late getting to class and we were all just sitting around talking—well, except for Izzy, who was just ignoring everyone and doodling in her book—and Benson went over and leaned against the desk next to her.”

  I can tell where this is going already, and I feel a smile pull at my lips.

  “He was all like, ‘Hey, I just want to introduce myself. I’m Benson Montgomery—’”

  “You’ve probably heard of me,” Matty jumps in, grinning hard. “Our families are friends.”

  “And all Izzy did was really slowly lift her head,” Deacon continues, “and he waited, expecting her to say something, but she didn’t, just stared back at him. So then he started going on about how your grandparents and his are really close friends, said how happy he was that she’d moved here and how he would be glad to show her around, how he has this amazing car and all this bullshit.”

  “And Izzy didn’t say anything,” Matty adds.

  “After at least a minute of her just staring at him, he was like, ‘So what do you think?’”

  I’m full-on grinning now. Too often I’m on the receiving end of Izzy’s sharp tongue, but I honestly don’t know if I can think of anyone more deserving of it than Benson Montgomery.

  “So then she said, ‘Just to clarify, are you asking me out on a date?’”

  “And he was all, ‘Yes I am. I think we’d have a really great time.’”

  “The whole class was listening by now,” Matty says eagerly.

  “And she told him she would rather rip her own eyeballs out than spend any one-on-one time with him.”

  I start to laugh—I can’t help it. I can just imagine his face when she said that, so shocked and so outraged that a girl wouldn’t want to date him.

  “Dude, it was awesome,” Matty states, grinning from ear to ear. “Your sister is a boss.”

  Deacon agrees as he rushes on, obviously happy to be passing on the gossip, and I shake my head, still smiling. “She’s something all right.”

  “Speak of the devil,” Finn says as soon as we enter the library, nodding his head towards the corner. My eyes pan to where he’s looking, and I see Izzy sat at an empty table in the corner, headphones in, slouched back in her seat. She has a notebook in front of her but isn’t even pretending to do any work. I frown. I’m pretty sure she’s supposed to be in French right now.

  “Let’s go sit with her,” Matty says, and before I have a chance to argue or tell them we definitely won’t be welcome, both he and Finn have walked over and sat down, completely ignoring her look of irritation.

  Her eyes snap to me as I place my bag on the table and pull out the chair opposite her. “There are plenty of other empty tables in here,” she says, pulling her headphones out of her ears.

  Matty grins at her. “Aww, we’re happy to see you too, Izzy.”

  She ignores him as I study her and ask, “Shouldn’t you be in French?”

  “What are you, my stalker?” she throws back.

  I roll my eyes. She might be showing up to school more regularly, but she’s definitely not going to all her classes. Finn told me she hasn’t been in her last couple of history classes, though I guess maybe I should just be grateful she’s here at all.

  “Here, Izzy.” Matty pulls his phone out of his bag, presses a button, and holds out his headphones. “Check it out.”

  She eyes him for a second and then places one of the headphones into her ear. Her eyes light up. “Is this Aitch?” She glances over to him. “You listen to grime?”

  He nods, taking back his headphones and promptly putting them and his phone away. “Uh-huh. Your bro got me into it.”

  She looks at me sceptically. “You listen to grime?”

  That pisses me off. I’m sick of her acting like she’s the only one with a link to the UK. “You don’t have the monopoly on grime, Izzy. I’m half British too. I like that stuff.”

  She bites back a smile and looks away. She definitely doesn’t think I’m edgy enough to be into grime, a sort of British rap that was invented in South London.

  “Do you remember that time when I was over and Mum thought she was being all cool because she bought us tickets to that grime night in Brixton but we weren’t allowed in because we were underage?” I grin at the memory. “So we went home and she ordered some pizzas, blasted music, and said we were having our own night?” I laugh as I remember my mum’s face as she rapped along to lyrics Izzy and I didn’t know. “She was so into it.”

  That was a good night. Even Izzy forgot she didn’t like me for a couple of hours and joined in, laughing at Mum and dancing around with her.

  Izzy’s whole body stiffens at the mention of our mother, and her eyes don’t leave the desk in front of her.

  I frown. “Biz?”

  She doesn’t say anything, her whole body coiled like she’s ready for attack.

  “Biz, do you remember?”

  She still doesn’t say anything for what feels like too long as Matty and Finn also turn to face her.

  “Biz—”

  “Yes! I remember,” she says, but she doesn’t have any of the usual snark to her voice. Instead she sounds…emotional?

  A bag is dropped down on the table next to me, distracting me as Logan pulls out the seat and sinks into it dramatically. “Guys, I’m screwed,” he starts. “Rachel Bridges isn’t here today—oh hi, Izzy, nice to see you dressed—and I haven’t done that calculus homework for Ms. Simpson.”

  Izzy scowls at his greeting and starts doodling in her notebook, and I’m just about to have a go at him for mentioning last Saturday—something I made them swear they wouldn’t do again in front of me because I’d like nothing more than to forget that they all saw my sister close to naked—when he turns to me.

  “Seriously, Carlington, you know what she’s like. She’s the only one who won’t sign off on a grade for the team.”

  I snort. “Good. It’s bullshit that some teachers pull that crap.”

  Finn and Matty mutter their agreement. Some of the guys on the team aren’t as academic as others and rely on teachers passing them in their classes so they can maintain a certain GPA and therefore still play. It’s so messed up, but it shows just how important football is to the school.

  “Bro, you’ve got to help me,” he starts, pulling out his calculus homework, two sheets full of equations. “She’s expecting this now.”

  I glance down at it. “Even if I wanted to help you, that would take me like an hour to do,” I tell him. I pride myself on always completing my classwork and homework and maintaining good grades, but it takes time. There’s no way I’d be able to complete this quickly.

  “Why did you wait until now to do it?” Finn asks, crossing his arms over his chest. Out of the four of us, Finn’s the mostly likely to be able to do it quickly, but he has a similar view to me about grades. “She must have given you at least a week.”

  “I’ve been busy! And I thought Rachel was here today. She usually helps me.”

  Matty scoffs. “Helps you?” More like she does i
t for him. “Come on. You should have done it by now.”

  Logan groans, knowing he’ll get no sympathy from us. “I need to go find someone else from the math club,” he says, quickly standing and heading out of the library, presumably to hunt down someone smart enough to complete the work in record time but dumb enough to let him sweet-talk them into doing his homework.

  Finn shakes his head at me, obviously unimpressed, as Matty flips his chem book open, and I notice for the first time that Izzy’s gone still, her eyes fixed on the calculus sheet in front of me.

  Of course.

  I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before; she’s itching to complete it. I can just tell. Completing maths equations is as natural to her as it is for me to throw a ball. It always has been. I don’t know why I thought that might have changed. I don’t know a lot of things about her anymore, but looking at her face right now, I do know she’s desperate to get a look at Logan’s equation sheet.

  A smirk covers my face as I grab the sheet and nudge it towards her. Her eyes snap to mine, and I flick it forwards so that it lands in front of her. You can see her fighting some sort of internal battle for all of five seconds before she swipes up a pen. Her hand dances across the page as she answers equation after equation almost instantly, only occasionally pausing to figure something out before scribbling down the answer. It’s as impressive now as it always was when we were kids, especially because I know how difficult some of the equations on that sheet are. Finn lets out a low whistle and Matty is staring at her, mouth agape, leaning over to watch her more closely, and despite the way she feels about me and our obvious issues, I can’t help but feel proud of my sister—damn proud.

  Logan huffs back into his seat. “I’m so screwed,” he states. “I can’t find anyone. I’m definitely off the team.”

  None of us respond as we watch Izzy finish off the final equation and then drop her pen on the table.

  “What?” Logan asks in confusion, leaning towards her. His eyes light up. “Holy shit, did you just do all of that?” He snatches up the piece of paper then flips to the second sheet. “No way. Are you being serious?” His eyes scan over her workings out and her answers. “Is this right?”

  Izzy starts to collect her things, ignoring him as she puts her belongings into her bag. She stands up and shoves the chair back under the desk.

  “Izzy,” Logan starts, looking at her in awe. “You just saved my life.”

  She rounds the table and plucks the sheets out of his hands. Then she rips them in half, then half again, and then half again after that whilst he stares at her in horror. “What are you doing?”

  She shrugs, dumping the pieces of paper into a nearby garbage bin. “Do your own homework.”

  Then she waltzes out without a backwards glance whilst Logan scrambles from his seat, picking the papers out of the garbage and dumping them onto the table, trying to piece them back together and scrambling to write down the answers.

  Finn and Matty just stare at me in wonder. “Wanna tell us what that was about?” Finn asks.

  I shrug, a smile playing on my lips. “Did I not tell you guys? My sister is a genius.”

  Maths has always been my favourite subject. In maths you have to solve a problem. It’s that simple, and that’s always appealed to me. It’s the same in any form of maths, whether trigonometry or algebra, calculus or geometry. It’s a case of working out the steps of an equation and solving a problem, and I have an uncanny way of figuring out these equations. I always have. I’ve always been the best student in any maths class, and after spending only half an hour in Mr. Evans’ class, I realised it would be no different in America.

  Not that anyone would know it.

  I’m assigned to AP calculus (which is apparently what they study here in senior year), and my teacher faithfully tells me it goes towards credit for college, though that’s of little use to me considering I’m not attending college over here. I should be allowed to use the time to study for my A levels since I’m still planning on sitting those exams and gaining those qualifications back in the UK, but my father’s stipulation that I become a ‘regular American high school student’ is adhered to and it’s pretty obvious I’m going to be sitting through an hour of AP calculus every day after lunch.

  It took me less than a week to figure out that I basically sit through an hour of Rachel Bridges—the girl who was shocked I’d be in the same class as her—preening and throwing her hand up in the air, showing off just how good she is at the subject. There are definitely other people in the class who are just as good. Paul is taking the class, seriously impressive since he’s a year younger than us, and Pippa always answers correctly whenever she’s called on, but it’s Rachel who dominates the discussion. It’s her who always wants to solve the problem, who always throws her hand up and wants to answer first, who wants to prove to everyone just why she’s president of the mathletes.

  Mr. Evans is stood at the board writing out an equation and explaining how it needs to be broken up in order to be solved and how we’ll also have to incorporate algebra in the answer. It’s something I learnt last year (in the UK we incorporate all areas of maths into the curriculum rather than just focusing on one particular subsection of it each year), and it’s something I found easy and almost instinctive. I zone out as he explains the steps to solve the equation. Predictably, Rachel already has her hand up to give the answer to the first part, but Mr. Evans waves her off then is interrupted by a knock to the door.

  My eyes flit towards it, and Ethan stands there looking self-conscious.

  Mr. Evans grins over at him, and Ethan steps forwards and hands him a note. Mr. Evans nods and indicates that he should take a seat a couple of desks in front of me. Ethan’s eyes scan the room and hesitate when he spots me before he slides into his seat.

  My eyes stay locked on the back of his head as he opens his notebook and immediately starts taking notes off the board, listening intently as Mr. Evans continues to explain how to solve the equation. He shouldn’t be here, and I don’t even mean that in a bitchy way. Ethan isn’t stupid, but he learns differently to me, and to most of the kids in this class. He needs time to work things out in his own way and figure out the best way for him to understand. This isn’t going to be like that, and it’s not fair to him. He cares too much about his grades—at least the Ethan I used to know did—to have his confidence knocked by not being able to keep up with this class.

  I surprise myself at how annoyed I am that he’s being put in this position.

  Mr. Evans finishes his explanation and calls on Paul for an answer. Paul hesitates and then states the answer. He’s only half right. He’s done the first part correctly, but then he’s jumped ahead and messed it up. Next the teacher calls on Lyle, who’s also misunderstood, then he ignores Rachel’s raised hand and asks if anyone else in the class can hazard a guess. Nobody says anything.

  “Izzy?” Mr. Evans asks.

  I shake my head. I never contribute in class. I don’t care that I figured out the answer within twenty seconds of him finishing writing the equation or that I have it written down and circled on my notebook. I don’t care because I’m not going to show them what I can do.

  I shake my head, and he holds my gaze for a second then starts walking towards me, and I shift my arm, making sure to cover the answer. If I wanted him to know I had the answer, I would tell him.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see a shift, and Ethan turns around to face me, a look of confusion on his face. He knows. He knows I know the answer, but I don’t look back at him. I don’t need to explain myself to him. I don’t need to explain that this is something I can control, don’t need to tell him how my life feels so powerless right now that even something as silly and insignificant as being able to answer a difficult equation and not letting anyone else know in this class is something I want to control.

  Mr. Evans sighs and eventually gives in, allowing Rachel to answer the questions. She grins widely, stands up, and makes her way t
o the board to explain to the class how she’s managed to work it out despite not being asked.

  I sit back in my seat and purposely don’t glance back in Ethan’s direction.

  The bells rings and I gather my things, sliding my notebook into my bag as I make my way towards the door.

  Ethan steps in front of me. “What was that?” I raise an eyebrow, and he rolls his eyes. “Cut the crap, Biz. We both know you knew the answer to those questions.”

  My eyes find his. “Why are you in here?”

  He takes it the wrong way. I can see it immediately in the flush of embarrassment in his cheeks. “It’s only temporary. Coach arranged it. Mr. Evans’ style is easier for me to understand. I had him freshman year and whilst I won’t be doing the same work as you guys, I can take some of the methods and apply it to my work.”

  I nod. I guess that makes sense. “Don’t compare yourself to people in here. It’s not the same.” The words come out of my mouth before I can think, and I can see the surprise on his face that I’m actually showing him a bit of concern.

  “I won’t.”

  “I mean it. Don’t beat yourself up if you don’t get something straight away.”

  He nods and I move to walk past him, but he blocks my way.

  “Biz, what are you playing at? Why are you acting like you can’t do this work?”

  I brush past him. I might not want him to be hard on himself about not completing the work at the same level as everyone else in this class, but I don’t need to explain anything about my life over here to him or anyone else.

  “Biz, wait.” I’m at the door and reluctantly turn back around to face him. “Um…so…I know it’s not your thing…” he hesitates, fidgeting on his feet. “Like I get you’re not into it, but…um—”

  “Spit it out, Ethan.”

  “The game against Madison on Friday is going to be a big one for me. There are some big-name scouts coming. I was wondering if you wanted to come?”

  No.

  To be totally honest, I’m pissed he’s even asked the question and put me in the position where I’m going to have to say no. How can he not know I have no interest in the football team or his place in it? To me it represents everything about his rejection of me when we were kids, rightly or wrongly.