We are both quiet again for a long minute. “That’s when I stopped dressing up?”
“You stopped dressing up.”
I think about this and wonder about the choice. The choice between flamingo bikini bottoms and Lego race cars. The choice between being adored and being respected. Between being a princess and being the president. But if that’s the choice, there’s really no contest, is there? “Better that than stop building rocket boats.”
Mom laughs and pushes a piece of hair behind my ear. She doesn’t even try to take credit or tell me that all my engineering abilities come from her. “I’m sorry if it feels like you have to choose, Greer. I want you to be able to do both.”
CHAPTER 53
Mom drives me to school 98 percent of the time, which is why I’m on time 98 percent of the time. It’s the first day back from break and by some annoying twist of fate, Dad doesn’t have an early meeting to show up late for.
So today I’m in Eric Walsh’s 2 percent club: in other words, late.
I’m anxious to find out if Jackson is still going to wait for me before school, or if ten days in the Canadian Rockies brought him to his senses. I heard from him a couple times in the first two days, then Quin dropped his phone off a chairlift. I know this because Quin messaged from her iPad—that and about a thousand selfies with reindeer antler or Santa hat filters.
Dad jabbers the whole ride there, showing no sign of rushing, even though we left fifteen minutes later than Mom and I do, and he’s taking the rookie route that has two extra stoplights and a crosswalk choked with elementary students. I guess when you are an executive at your company, you’re never actually late. Things just start when you get there.
I am not an executive at school, and school will start with or without me. The minute-warning bell rings while I’m still getting out of the car, which means I can almost make it to math if I sprint the whole way, don’t stop at my locker, and turn back time by four minutes, though if that were possible I’d go back ten and say hi to Jackson.
“Thanks for the ride.” I don’t mean it.
“Any big tests or anything today?” He’s still trying to make conversation with me.
“They don’t usually give tests when you’ve been out for ten days.” I kick the door shut behind me.
I hear the window scrolling down as I scuffle toward school. “Have a good day, G-dub! Love you, kiddo!”
I wave behind me. Nice guy, Eric Walsh, but really needs to work on time management.
The math/German/who-cares-what-else hall is empty, like I knew it would be but hoped it wouldn’t be. Ms. T eyes me sliding in front of Omar and Kurtis. I give an apologetic smile and she frowns, but she doesn’t send me to the office for a late pass.
They’ve already started on the homework when my phone chirps. I fumble it out of my bag as Ms. T exhales loudly and glares at me. I switch off the ringer, but not before I notice that it’s a message from Jackson.
Ms. T asks Asher to go over the first problem with the class. She stands over his shoulder while he reads.
Where are you? Sick today?
Just late.
You?! Late?!!!
Dad’s fault. I thought your phone had a ski accident?
Got a new one last night. Plus they bought Q her own. [eye-rolling emoji]
[surprise-face emoji]
Wait for me after class?
“After”? Really? We never talk after. Maybe he brought me something from Canada.
“Who can do number two?” asks Ms. Tanner.
Kyle Tuck and the others laugh. Immature, yes, but come on, Ms. Tanner. You should know better.
“Seems like we’ve got a volunteer. Okay, Kyle, let’s see your number two.”
Kyle’s friends are laughing so hard they can’t speak.
“Do you want to tell us all what’s so funny, Kyle?”
The giggles spread out from Kyle like ripples in a pond.
“Did you do number two? You had all of break to get it done.”
Everyone loses it, except Asher and Anitha, who are serious about math, serious about homework, and probably serious about their number twos.
“Excuse me,” pipes up Omar. “I think Kyle is having a hard time with number two.”
It sends everybody over the edge, even Kyle. I’m proud of Omar.
Just for a sec?
If Jackson brought me something, I hope it’s those chocolate-covered peanuts that say Moose Poop on the package.
I send back a thumbs-up emoji. And a smiley poo for good measure.
CHAPTER 54
“Are you going to eat that egg?”
“Don’t you have a lunch? Do you need a dollar for a granola bar or something?”
Maggie scares away Carlisle Patone, who has been eyeing my egg. Maggie has always intimidated people, but after the play she colored over the Seven Brides neon with brown, and now her hair is kind of army green. It gives her a definite take-no-prisoners vibe.
“Wait!” I reach out with the egg. Carlisle takes it gratefully before he runs away from Maggie.
She rolls her eyes. I’m not sure whether it’s at Carlisle or me. “I don’t understand the problem! You’ve got weeks to find something.”
We are sitting at the counter that overlooks the track. I couldn’t handle Natalie and Tahlia today. It’s just the two of us, sandwiched between kids who are buried in their laptops. Except Carlisle, and now that he’s got my hard-boiled egg, he’s left us alone.
I had an epically great five minutes this morning. Then a horrible, crushing slide into now, where I can’t even muster the enthusiasm to eat an egg. Here’s what the good five minutes looked like:
“Hey!” This is Jackson, who bounds from German class so he’s basically at Ms. Tanner’s door the second the bell rings. His cheeks are windburned or sunburned from skiing, and the rosy color makes him look happy and bright. I’m sure mine are rosy and happy, too, and I didn’t go anywhere.
It’s been ten days since I saw him and my body instinctively lurches to hug him hello, but I put up my hand for a fist bump instead. He reciprocates. He knows me. Even though I told her she was not allowed to, the butterfly invited a bunch of friends over. I think they are taking a Zumba class.
“What’s up?” He’s not holding a bag of Moose Poop or a maple leaf pop socket, so I guess he didn’t bring me anything from Canada.