Moody clouds dance above ScarBurns Middle School like a gray parade. Arms folded, I sit in Ms. Gild’s math class, gazing out the foggy window, waitin’ for raindrops.
Jaws clenched, I stare at last week’s math quiz, mean-mugging the big fat red-letter’d F. I flip the test over to hide the shrieking grade.
I pull out the Polaroid I stashed before walking to school this morning. In the photo, Grandpa smiles in the dingy mirror he left in our attic before he died. When I first touched the mirror back then, Grandpa smirked and whispered “Perception, Emme.”
“Huh?” I said, nose scrunched.
“That there mirror reveals what’cha mind can’t see,” Grandpa said. Wonder what Grandpa’s dingy mirror’d say about this ugly red F.
Two seats over, my ex-bestie Nin sneak-eats red candy-coated apple slices. My chest feels tight, my palms sweaty. Nin used to share those candy apple slices with me. It was our thing. But not anymore. Not since Kase, the new girl, showed up four months ago.
“Class—” Ms. Gild says, her sharp voice halting classroom chatter. “Please review your quizzes. You have the weekend to prepare for the test on Monday.”
My head hurts as Ms. Gild explains the answers. On Nin’s desk, I scope her grade. She got a 100, A+.
“Ouch!” Nin yelps, apple slice stuck to her top teeth. When the candy leaves her mouth, two teeth do too.
The class erupts in laughter. “Those teeth ain’t growing back!” Becka taunts.
Last year, hands down, I would have had Nin’s back. I would’ve stood up to those kids. But two months ago, when I slipped on spilled smoothie in the hall, Nin walked right past me. She didn’t laugh like everyone else. But she didn’t help either.
“I’ll get the first aid kit,” Ms. Gild says, leaving the room.
I reach over to pat Nin’s hand, but she pulls it away. “Don’t touch me,” she snaps.
As hard rain pounds against the classroom window, my heart beats fast, blood swishing hot in my veins.
Smirking, I stand, point at Nin, and say, “Snaggle Nin.”
Becka laughs. “Good one, Emme,” she says.
Then, one by one, kids mimic my harsh words. “Snaggle Nin, Snaggle Nin,” they chant.
I force a smile. Being mean doesn’t feel good. But right now, all I can see is that big ole F, Nin’s A, and me, covered in pink smoothie.