Math fucking disgusts me. I fucking hated the majority of my school subjects. It didn't matter whether it was science, math, or English, I detested all subjects that forced me to deal with mark schemes, PEMDAS, and all the other chicanery. Yeah, chicanery, that's a good word for it. Maybe these study sessions were useful after all.
Seeing the clock on the other side of the classroom, my half-closed eyes scanned it. I would be done with this week's study session in just ten minutes. My attention could then be focused on more important matters - were the guys still at the gym? God, I hoped as much. Occasionally, the lights over my head flickered, just enough to distract me but not to become annoying. As I glanced back at my desk, my eyes fell on the answer sheet. My chances of answering this question were slim to none. The inventor of algebra deserved to be killed and paraded through the streets of Italy. Perhaps even kicked in the dick a few times for good measure.
"Okay, Chet, I think that's all the time we have today."
What? If you noticed, I wasn't a genius at math, but even I could figure out that didn't add up without a calculator.
"What?" I asked, my voice level as it could be in the face of the tornado of confusion swirling in my mind. Or some shit.
Bea—I called her Bea, but her real name was Beatrice, she never complained so I never considered stopping—turned to me with a small smile.
"Yep. The session is over, Chet. We'll pick this up sometime next week, okay?" She sounded way too calm, was this planned?
"Okay." I am not one to look down on a gift horse. Sitting up in my chair, I packed my pencils, rubber, and notebook into my bag. It looked like I’d be able to get in a few hundred reps at the gym after all.
"Just one more thing." Her lips straightened into a thin line, her gaze drifting to a nearby wall. Bea had something else to say. I had places to be; could she not bring this up later?
“Sure, Bea. What?" she blushed as I called her by that nickname. Come to think of it, she was doing that a lot lately...
Her eyes widened, the blush reddening on her cheeks as she said, "Well, uh. As you know, the homecoming dance is coming up...". That's right. I almost forgot. Homecoming. I honestly did not want to do it; the idea of snagging a girl and giving her a night out never particularly interested me. I declined more than one girl's request to go with her. Since I was Chet Desmond, I knew what they were looking for. The whole world knew of my name, and the world admired me. The goal was to 'get' me. Well, no thanks, I was planning on staying at home. It was not my intention to become a trophy.
This did not answer the very important question running through my head: why does she keep mentioning the dance?
"Yeah," I deadpanned.
"So, do you have a p-partner?" An uneasy feeling swelled in my stomach. In moments like these, I wish I was smarter to figure out why.
My stoic responses continued. "No, I don't."
When Bea heard that, the pace of her voice skyrocketed. "O-Okay! I don't have a date either, so," she ran out of air and stopped for a moment. Her hand suddenly moved from behind her back to her hip on the other side. She blurted out her next words in a hurry. "Do you want t-to go w-with m-me to th-the d-dance?!"
Her eyes waited expectantly for the reply. Oh shit. This was bad, very, very bad. Would it be wise to decline the offer? I'd have to admit that I cared, which meant there was some kind of attraction between us — something I didn’t share with most other girls. I slowly turned the gears in my head as I pondered this realization. Was this a seduction attempt? Hell, was there romantic interest between Bea and me? It might have been that she envisaged herself being with me someday and took action before it was too late, which pushed our relationship forward.
My choice was either one or the other. Play along with Bea's offer or reject it outright. Life would be meaningless without risk-taking, right?