“I don’t want a brand, Rasha,” Amir mutters.
“Well, if you want to have any success in photography, you’d better get started on one.”
“I’m not looking for—” Amir tenses, but his voice stays calm. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
“That’s all I’m saying! I’m only trying to help. I love you.” She stands and kisses the top of his head. “Anyways.” Rasha turns back to me. “We produce all sorts of segments.”
Amir looks like he wants to say something else, but then picks up his phone and zones out. Rasha is a little intense, but she’s only trying to help.
As I digest what Rasha said, something clicks. “So, music,” I say. “Do you guys have bands on the show?”
“Yeah, all the time!”
“Are y’all open for auditions?”
She pops a grape into her mouth and chews, then leans forward, eyes bright. “Wait, are you in a band? How did I not know this? Amir!” She looks at him as if it’s his fault somehow, and he shrugs. “Why didn’t you tell me, dude?”
He’s still on his phone. I think he’s on Tumblr. I spy a GIF of Hermione punching Malfoy.
“I just joined one,” I tell Rasha. “Dizzy Daisies. You know my friend Sook? You’ve met at my house, I’m sure. Oh, and Malka! She’s a freshman now at your college.”
“Malka Rothberg! Love that girl. I’ve seen her on campus a few times. I forgot they had a band.” She nods, excited. “Yeah, I think I listened to them a year ago. They were pretty great. They’re still together? You joined them?”
“Yeah, they needed some violin, so I’m going to play with them a bit.”
“That’s awesome. We only feature students of the school, but as long as one of them is in the band, you’re good to go. Oh my god, let’s set this up! Such a great idea.”
“Really? Cool.” I smile. “I’ll give you their info so you guys can coordinate.”
“I can’t wait to pitch this. Maybe they’ll even let me produce it!”
Twenty minutes later, Rasha excuses herself with a squeal, saying she’s got to shower. I pack my bag as she leaves. Sook will be psyched. This kind of exposure could help them get an agent.
“So…” I say. My bag is packed, and Amir is still looking at his phone. “I’m gonna head out. I’m sorry Rasha doesn’t get the photography thing.”
Amir gives the world’s tiniest shrug. “It’s fine.”
I bite back a suggestion. I’m sure he knows how to handle his family best, and it’s not my place to step in. “Okay, have fun at your show.”
“Thanks.” He doesn’t look up. I pick at my nail. Maybe those feelings were a figment of my imagination, or a side effect of learning calculus.
I grab my bag, then pause. “I think you’ll make an awesome doctor.”
This time he looks up, a smile warming his eyes. “Thanks, Ariel.”
“No problem.” My grin is too wide, but I can’t help it.
Oy gevalt.
Seven
“I love this class,” Pari whispers as she passes me the popcorn.
I grab a handful and offer her some of my candy. “Sour gummy worms?”
“Yes, please!”
Our teacher Mrs. Chen is playing an episode of West Wing for class today, and we were all allowed to bring snacks. AP Gov is always a welcome stress relief to wind down the day.
My phone buzzes. It’s another excitement GIF from Sook. I told her Rasha wants the band on the podcast, and she is beyond thrilled. Best best friend ever, she typed with a string of emojis.
Mrs. Chen sits at her desk grading papers while we watch. If only all my classes could be like this. Reasonable workload. Straightforward assignments. TV in class.
“This semester is dragging by, isn’t it?” Pari asks. “Can’t we graduate already?”
“Yeah,” I say. Really, time is slipping away too quickly. My Harvard application is due November first, and I still haven’t started it. “Have you started your apps yet?”
She picks at her chipped purple polish. “Yeah, I already sent a bunch off.”
I swallow a piece of popcorn too fast. It sticks in my throat, and I cough loud enough the guys in front of me glance back.
“Here,” Pari says, passing her water.
I unscrew the cap and sip. “Thanks.” Another sip. “So you already got yours in?”
Logically, I know colleges don’t weigh early applications any more favorably than those sent in a day before the deadline.
Less logically, I’m freaked out. What if Harvard falls in love with Pari before they even get a chance to meet me?
“I still have a few left because I can’t apply early everywhere. But most of them are done. They took forever.” She grabs the water from me and takes a sip. “I kind of panicked last year when you, well, you know, with the computer science course. It was hard dealing with that, knowing I wouldn’t be valedictorian. So I figured it was best to get those applications in and be done with it. I keep telling myself I can relax now, but I guess it’s not actually going to happen until I’m walking across that stage.”
She pauses. “There aren’t many people who get what we’re going through. I mean, Isaac works hard, but it’s different.”
I nod, shoulders tense. “Yeah.”
There was a time when we were all in this together. As freshman, there was only one AP class we could take. I remember we felt like the cool kids—important because we had extra work. There were, like, a hundred of us taking the class, and on weekends a dozen of us would meet up at Whole Foods. We’d make a big deal of it, pushing tables together and spreading out all our textbooks and papers, but then we’d mess around talking and eating all afternoon.
But the more AP classes I took, the smaller that peer group became, and the less time I had to pretend to study because there was so much actual work to get done.
I want to open up to Pari, but part of me wonders if she’s trying to get me to put my guard down. Maybe she knows about the failed quiz and wants me to slip further.
Like she said, I won’t relax until I’m across that stage.
Laughing classmates draw our attention back to West Wing. Pari giggles. “I love this show. It’s my favorite binge.”
“I’ve only seen a couple episodes,” I say, grateful for the subject change. “Maybe I’ll watch it next year.”
Pari’s expression shifts. She gives me this kind smile. “Almost done, Ariel.” She sighs and rests her head on her arms, staring at the screen. “We’re almost done.”
* * *
I wave at Janet as I drive into the Jewish Community Center parking lot. She smiles and steps out of the security booth, taking my license and checking the picture. Protocol demands it even though she’s known me since I was a little kid. “Nice to see you, Ariel.”
“You too! How are you?”
“Oh, you know, pretty good. Glad those hot days seem to be behind us.”
She waves me forward, and I pull into the giant lot, driving around to get to the soccer fields in the back corner. Usually Rachel gets a ride home with her friend’s mom, but the friend is home sick today. I park and climb out of the car.
It’s a shockingly nice day. Cool with the right amount of sun warming my skin. I stretch my arms into the air and yawn, closing my eyes, enjoying the slight breeze. I’m early, so I put in my headphones, and play Simon & Garfunkel. Their familiar voices comfort me.
I should study or at least turn on my Crime and Punishment audiobook, but it’s only a few minutes. I can let myself relax for a few minutes. Sometimes, I go running with Dad’s ancient iPod instead of my phone because it forces me to empty my mind, do nothing but listen to music.
I close my eyes and lean against the hood of my car as “The Boxer” plays. I must nod off because my buzzing phone stirs me. I glance down.
It
’s Amir: What are you listening to?
I look up, to my right and then my left. Amir is leaning against a large tree overlooking the soccer field.
I bite my lip.
He waves and gives me a half smile, which for whatever reason is infinitely more stomach fluttering than a full smile. I grin, too wide and telling, then rub my hands against my jeans, trying to flex out my sudden nerves. The sun shines on him, revealing light streaks in his dark hair.
I walk over, and for a moment, I stand in comfortable silence at his side, inhaling his scent of spearmint and basil. My shoulder is only an inch from his. If I shifted my feet, our arms would brush together. From up here, we can see the entire soccer field. The girls are finishing up practice, drilling field goals, one after another. The familiar sound of the thwack of the ball carries up to us on the hill and stirs something in me. I miss it, the focus, the exhilaration of concentrating on nothing but the game.
Amir sighs and closes his eyes. I stare, shameless, taking in the stubble around his jaw, the slope of his nose, the curve of his lips.
He shifts toward me and cracks his eyes open. They’re golden brown in the sun. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it? Perfect quidditch weather.”
I raise an eyebrow and fail to tamp down a laugh. “Quidditch weather?”
“It’s a real sport! National leagues and everything.”
“Nerd,” I say.
He grins. “I know. But seriously, I want to join a team in college.”
“I’m a little intrigued.”
“I’ll show you videos of matches later, I promise, when it’s not so nice out.” He exhales a slow breath. “I wish we could have this weather forever.”
“Fall is the best season. It’s a fact. So, I guess you’re getting Sara from practice?”
“I am. You’re getting Rachel?”
“Yup.”
We enjoy the silence for a bit longer, but then Amir says, “Calc test tomorrow.”
I stiffen, but then smirk as I say, “You trying to ruin this nice day?”
“You’re ready. I know you are.”
It’s true our last study session together went well, and I’ve been acing all the practice problems at home, but still, if I don’t pass tomorrow, if I don’t get an A tomorrow…
I grip the car keys in my hand, the metal teeth pressing into my skin.
“You’re ready,” Amir repeats. I look at him. His gaze is steady, assured. “Ariel, I promise you’re ready.”
I nod and breathe out, releasing my grip on the keys.
Singing erupts from the field. The girls are skipping around and laughing. “I think practice is over,” I say.
Amir nods. “Looks like it.”
“I should probably get Rachel home. Study some more.”
“Eh,” Amir says.
He leans back against the tree, and so do I, and this time our arms brush together.
It is a beautiful day.
* * *
I read the test instructions twice.
Okay. I can do this. Right? I can do this.
It’s Friday morning, and the clock is ticking as everyone concentrates on their tests.
Okay, focus. Write out the steps.
I tackle the first problem. Easy. Almost too easy. I check my work. It’s correct. Then I check it again. Still correct.
I take my time with the rest of the test, glancing back and forth a dozen times to make sure I input the right numbers into my calculator and triple-checking my work. As I flip to the final page, Pari gets up to turn in her paper. Then more students, one after another. When Amir gets back to his desk, he pulls out the third Harry Potter book, a well-worn paperback. I laugh, quick and soft, but he hears and glances at me. “Nerd,” I whisper, pointing to the book.
He grins.
I turn back to my test, stomach tightening. Right. Still have to finish this.
I gnaw a sliver of a hangnail. At least I’m in the back of the room. Maybe no one will notice I’m the last one with the test. I glance at the clock. Shit, only ten minutes left. I need to concentrate. If people notice, then so be it. Today, a perfect grade is more important than anything else.
I get through the final problems and check my work once more. Then I walk up with my paper.
Mr. Eller looks at me. He speaks in a brusque tone. “Wait here, Ariel.”
I shift on my feet, feeling the eyes of my classmates. Mr. Eller pulls out a red pen, and I take a sharp breath. Is he torturing me on purpose? Grading mine right here? He slides an answer sheet out of a folder, and before I know it, his pen is running down my test. My heart thumps. I feel ill. Checkmark, checkmark, checkmark.
I’m unsteady as the pages flip by. Checkmark, checkmark, checkmark.
He gets to the final problem, looks up at me, nods, and checks it off, too. “Well done, Ariel. Perfect score.”
Adrenaline courses through me. I did it. A perfect score. The relief makes my head swim. But I’m still too aware of the people around me to celebrate. So I say “Thanks” and head back to my desk.
As I go to sit, my eyes lock with Amir’s.
Well? he seems to ask.
I give him a thumbs-up.
He shakes his head and whispers, “Dork.”
* * *
When the bell rings, I go to tell Amir just how well I did, but he hurries from the classroom, not even glancing at me.
Oh.
I thought maybe…
I don’t know what I thought.
Isaac tosses his squeeze ball into the air and catches it. “What’d Mr. Eller want?”
“To grade my test in front of me. No clue why.” I shrug my shoulders, then casually add, “I got a perfect score, so…”
“You two,” Isaac says, pointing at Pari and me, “are way too smart. Stop making the rest of us look bad.”
“Dude,” Pari says. “You have a 3.98 weighted GPA. I think you’re doing okay.”
“By national standards sure, but by Etta Fields High School standards, I’m barely holding on to the top ten percentile. This school is ridiculous.”
“It’s not that bad,” I respond, though I’m not sure why I’m defending this place. Maybe I have Stockholm syndrome.
“Not that bad?” Isaac asks. “When we’re losing a football game, our fans chant SAT scores, because at least we’re always beating the other school academically. C’mon. That’s ridiculous. I hope colleges know what this place is like and don’t focus on rankings too much. They shouldn’t even put the rank on transcripts at a school like ours. I swear if I don’t get into Vanderbilt…”
It’s hard to believe Isaac is worried about Vanderbilt. He’s the perfect college applicant. Varsity football player and a load of AP classes. Colleges will probably fall over themselves to accept him. Pari rubs circles on his back. “You’ll be fine,” she says. “I’m sure you’ll get in. You have to because that campus was awesome, and I want to be able to visit you.”
“Yeah, man,” I say. “You’re a great student.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t only need to get in. I need a good scholarship. Not all of us can—” He hesitates.
“What?” Pari asks.
He shakes his head. “Look, I know getting into an Ivy is the first priority for you guys, but some of us have to get into school and also be able to afford tuition. Great isn’t always enough for scholarships. Hopefully all these freaking AP classes will help.”
I hesitate, then say, “That’s rough. But you’re doing everything you can. Don’t stress.” And the hypocrite of the year award goes to. “I’m gonna grab a Coke before class. I’ll see y’all later.”
I head down the hallway, feeling weirdly low despite my perfect score, but then hear someone call my name: “Ariel!”
I turn. Amir. He’s standing alone at the end of the hall by
an emergency exit and a single back bay of lockers. I walk toward him, twisting one of my backpack straps around my hand.
“Sorry I ran out of class,” he says. “My doctor called. I’ve been trying to schedule a check-up for a week.”
I groan. “Mom makes me set my appointments now, too. Grown-up responsibilities are the worst.”
“Agreed. So? The test. You seemed happy. How’d you do?”
I sweep hair off my forehead. “Oh, you know…perfect score. No big deal.”
“Really?”
I smile. “Yeah, really.”
“Hell yeah, Ariel!” He high-fives me. Our hands clasp and stay intertwined for a moment too long, then two moments too long. His eyes spark. The touch overwhelms me. I need to do something with the electricity buzzing through my system.
I want to do something with it.
But then the first bell rings.
Amir glances up at the hall clock, and his hand slips from mine.
“We should probably go to class,” I say.
“Yeah, probably.”
We’re both still smiling.
“I feel like I just aced my O.W.L.s,” I say.
His eyes widen. “Oh my god, excellent Harry Potter reference.”
“I’m learning from the best.”
“Come for the calculus, stay for the Potter trivia.”
“That should be your slogan when you start tutoring professionally.” I clear my throat. “Thank you. If I haven’t said that yet.”
“It was my pleasure.”
The word pleasure rolls smoothly from his lips.
I pause. “Why did you agree to help me?”
“You asked,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He takes a half a step forward, and I swallow hard, pulse racing.
The second bell rings.
You Asked for Perfect Page 8