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Scratcher
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Betrayal's Words ☾ Chapter 2
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before: https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/708182/
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Dad woke me up so early; I could see the cracks of dawn through my dreams. It was beautiful—but honestly, I wished that it was raining today. I wanted the weather to represent my emotions just a tiny bit more. Even cloudy skies would probably work.
I hope Dad doesn't realize how tired I look. Last night was a long night—for so many reasons that he probably wouldn't even guess. I mean, he never guess these things. What am I expecting? I guess I'm being a little dramatic. I'm—I was just dreading sleep. Right?
But still, I hope he doesn't notice my puffy eyes. I had cried a lot the night before—in fact, I practically cried myself to sleep—wishing that everything that was happening simply wasn't. Because I hate it. I hate it so, so much.
And I also hope that he doesn't observe the sadness that lingers in my voice every second that I speak. It's always going to sit there behind the mask that I put up for him.
Stop it, Emika.
I take a deep breath—trying to calm myself down as I sit up to meet Dad's eyes. They were still bright and cheerful, even in the dim lighting our world was crumbling in.
I barely slept last night. And in the small moments when I did, my dreams were filled with nightmares. Memories, really. My friends' tears as I told them I was moving. My mother leaving Dad and I behind. Dad crying as he chases after her car—hoping—wishing—that maybe, just maybe—he could catch up to her.
I flinch, and then I stop myself.
What are you doing?
I have to be braver than this.
Dad shakes me awake again—even though I'm clearly awake—just staring into space mindlessly. I guess that's the same as sleeping in a way. I'm glad that he thinks that. Luckily he also probably thinks that my wide eyes and frightful expression are just from some dreams. Not from memories of the past that'll haunt me forever.
In conclusion, he doesn't see the haunted expression on my face. And—and I'm relieved.
The haunted expression that he had left there for me to deal with.
Before I can push the thought out of my head, Dad is already speaking. “Rise and shine, kiddo,” he says to me. His voice isn't even dry from the night. Ironically, it's as fluent and moist as it was the day before—maybe even more so.
My muscles are still tense from the night before, but I relax a little as my brain compares his current voice to the one I had heard in my nightmares. Dad's voice right now is as if from a dream compared to the screams I hate listened to in my nightmares.It's a relief.
“Quickly, get up,” Dad says, a bit impatient now. With a commanding voice, he begins to instruct me, as if I were a little kid. Honestly, I wish that were the case.
“I have all of your school stuff on the kitchen counter. A box of your clothes is there, too. Get ready for school and then meet me in the kitchen for breakfast.”
Act like you're okay.
Obeying my thoughts, I pretend to yawn and I blink sleepily. “Okay, Dad,” I mumble—my voice soft and quiet. Before he can act suspicious of my sudden tiredness, I rush out of the room and bolt towards the kitchen. It didn't seem like our kitchen—nothing about California felt like home—and to make things even worse, the bright fluorescent white color of the kitchen nearly blinded me as I searched for my school supplies. I heard Dad step into the room while I'm doing so—and I smile as widely as I can—romanticizing the situation—don't show the mask that's the true you. I grab my school supplies and toiletries as fast as I can—trying not to squint in the overly bright room—and stumble towards my room and into the bathroom. I flick the shower on and let the cold water cascade my worries away. Taking a deep breath, some of my former worries began to disperse, while new ones appeared out of thin air.
Ignoring them, I focus on calculating how many hours of sleep I got. My mind finds the answer in less than a second. Five hours, apparently. Certainly not enough for a full day at school. I try not to imagine how tired I look, but the thoughts pester me until I step out of the shower, my hair in a messy towel.
The supposedly “relaxing” shower just seems to be dampening my mood even more, so I decide to change into some dry clothes and start getting ready. I pick out one of my favorite outfits—jeans, a brown shirt with a monarch butterfly on it, and a beige clip in my hair to make me look just a little bit more attractive. A memory floats into my brain before I can even stop it. Mom.
You know, sweetie, she had told me once, when I was younger and didn't hate her, it never hurts to look good. She had leaned forward and kissed me on the forehead, and my six year old self smiled and leaned back towards her.
I close my eyes so tight so the memory fades, and then I begin to comb my hair—my eyes still squeezed shut, too afraid to open them.
☁ - - - - - - - - - -
I walk back into the kitchen, my eyes still dull from what happened in the bathroom, but I smile for Dad anyways, since he'll be worried if I don't. I spot him pouring us both some cereal. I want to go to school and skip breakfast with him, but that'd hurt his feelings. And we wouldn't want that, would we?
“Where did you get that?” I ask softly, claiming one of the seats at the counter. My eyes narrow at the box of cereal. “I thought we didn't have any food in the fridge.” My mind continues the rest of the sentence in a much less polite way, so I shut down the stream of thoughts as quickly as I can, but the voice still echoes in my mind, lingering, trying to make me listen. Dad eyes me, a mysterious glitter twinkling in the corner of his eye.
“This is the cereal that I brought with us on the plane,” Dad says with a grin, as if he was the cleverest man in the world. He hands me one of the bowls he had just taken out and I eat quietly. “Sorry we don't have any milk. I suppose I have to go to the grocery store today.”
You suppose? I repeat in my head, food nearly falling out of my mouth. I glance at the empty fridge, dumbfounded. You suppose?
Trying not to scream at him, I ask, “What will I do for lunch?” The question is polite and simple—there's no way he can see through it.
But he just smiles and somehow, after all of my blasted thoughts this whole morning, his smile makes my mood soar just a tiny bit higher. I don't know how he does these types of things, but I kinda hate him for it.
“Take some money, Emika. Buy whatever you want,” he answers softly. He reaches into his pocket and hands me some cash. I know he'll be mad if I don't accept it—but I still feel guilty as I feel the skinny pieces of paper slip into my fingers. Dad probably wouldn't eat lunch since I robbed this money from him.
I take a deep breath—and even with the knowledge of him saying no pressing against my mind like a lion trying to escape it's cage, I ask shyly, “Are you sure you'll have enough money to yourself?” I attempt handing the money back to him, but he pushes it away. I sigh. Just like I thought.
“It's okay, Em,” he says in a soothing voice. “These are Dad problems. And you know that I can handle them, right?” He lifts up my chin so we meet each other's eyes, and I hope he doesn't see the lie that sits in my voice as I murmur the word, “Yes.”
He nods, satisfied, watching me finish my cereal. When I'm done, I get up to clear the dishes—but he stops me. “I'll do that later,” he says quickly. I raise my eyebrows.
“After your job interview? You'll be too tired.”
“No, I won't, Emika. Please. Worry about the first day of school, not this.” He pauses for a moment before changing the topic. “Oh, about that. We better get going. C'mon, Emika.” He turns away, grabbing some stuff, and I swallow the bubbles of emotions that burst in my throat.
But, realizing I have no choice, I close my eyes and take a long breath. And for the first time in forever, I put the dishes down and follow him.
☁ - - - - - - - - - -
We took the bus to school, since we didn't have time to get a driver. Dad also probably didn't want to waste a dime after giving me so much money for a school lunch.
As the bus is moving, Dad rests his hand on my shoulder—and I relax a little as his skin touches mine, feeling comfortable for the first time in the morning. “Hey, Emi. Beat all of your classmates in math, will you?” His smile is joking, but instead of laughing, I straighten and look at him—concerned.
“You look more nervous than I do, Dad,” I say softly. “Are you okay? What's wrong?” I reach to gently feel his forehead in case of a fever, but he backs away frantically.
“I'm fine, Emika!” he says quickly. “It's just about my job interview. I'm nervous about that. Your dad gets the nervous feeling too, you know,” he says with a small chuckle.
I nod thoughtfully. “Well then,” I say in a cheerful voice, “why don't you go get a job, daddy?” I nudge him playfully, and he laughs.
“Gotcha, kiddo.” The bus halts and we exchange solemn glances. He swiftly adds, “Love you.”
I stand to leave the bus before glancing behind my shoulder. “Love you too,” I say, and step off the bus. About a minute later, I look back again—watching the bus leave. A feeling urges up in my chest—a feeling of longing. I'd probably be less nervous if my dad was by my side, but I had to be brave.
So I take another deep breath and start walking towards my new school.
☁ - - - - - - - - - -
It felt strange. My eyes had expected the school that I'd been going to for the last ten years of my life, but the whole picture looked completely off. With a surge of disappointment, I inspect the large building. At least the facilities look okay . . . there was a giant space in front of the building filled with grass. I guess it was nice—I could probably sit here sometime and read one of my books. The grass would be kinda like a soft, comforting cushion . . . Oh, stop it, I think to myself. You're starting to sound like Dad.
The school buildings were pretty—made out of brilliant red bricks, which I kinda like. The halls were indoors—however, as I step into the school, I notice the halls were stubbornly lined with tidy plants. I smile at their beauty—maybe the school wouldn't be a dump after all.
Before all the time runs out before first period, I find my way to the principal's office and got my schedule. I have homeroom first. Room 202. I also notice that the paper locates where my locker is, too—luckily, it's right next to homeroom. I make my way towards the classroom and put my bag in my locker—grabbing some of the things that I need before slamming it shut.
A quiet looking girl approaches me a few minutes after I start leaning against the wall. She has wavy dark brown hair, and her smile is shy and welcoming. “Hello,” she says in quiet voice. Her eyes automatically flick towards my jeans, my shirt, and my hair. She looked as if she was observing every single thing about me, which she probably was. For some reason, I didn't feel creeped out—I just stood there, waiting for her to finish. Her gaze felt relaxing somehow.
Finally, she murmurs, “You look new here.”
“Yeah,” I reply, my tone even. I didn't feel like talking to anyone right now, so I tried to stay neutral—not letting her in and not chasing her away.
The girl just smiles despite my lack of response. She holds out her hand for me to shake, and we clasp our palms together. The girl's smile widens—but I just blushed, embarrassed for some reason. “My name is Marissa,” the girl says softly. “I'm glad to be acquaintances.”
I nod and offer her a small smile. “My name is Emika,” I reply politely. Then—feeling rude for being so incomplete I add, “You can call me Emi or Em if you're feeling lazy.” I smile even wider, so wide that my cheeks start to hurt—but of course, Marissa can tell it's forced by how observant she is.
“You don't have to be friends with me if you don't want to,” Marissa says quickly. She opens her mouth to protest even further. “I just wanted for you to see—to let you know that you aren’t alo—to make sure that you are—so you can uh—so you can not be alone—so you—” She stutters a bit more before blushing and muttering, “Nevermind.” Groaning, she puts her head in her hands and avoids my gaze. This seemed to be a problem of hers that she was hoping to avoid.
“Sorry,” she says after a long, awkward pause—which mostly involved me staring at her—amusement dancing in my eyes. The girl continues, her cheeks red. “You see, I do that when I'm—uh—struggling to find out what words to say. You know?” She smiles and shrugs. “Uh. No big deal, I hope.”
I just laugh. “No big deal,” I promise. “I do the same sometimes.”
Marissa laughs with me before she spoke again. “Sometimes?” she gasps. “So I'm the only person who does it literally all the time?”
I nudge her, and she grins at the touch. “Hey, we all have our flaws,” I say.
We both laugh and talk for a while—talking about mostly random things, about how spinach sucks and how vanilla flavored ice cream with chocolate syrup is underrated . . . And that was when more kids approached us.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot two kids stalking towards us. If they thought they were being stealthy, they weren't doing it very well. I could see them as clearly as a black dot on a white sheet of paper.
As they get closer, Marissa moves protectively in front of me. A boy with blonde hair and a smug smirk on his face walks toward us first—along with a brown-haired boy who wore the same grin as the blondie. Marissa’s eyes narrow, and I can tell the three aren’t friends. Despite the drama, I can’t help smiling to myself. Wow. Way to ruin our maybe-friendship reunion thing, I thought jokingly.
“Well, well, well,” the blonde boy says with a fake smile plastered on his face. He glances towards me and his smile widens. His eyes flick back towards Marissa’s as he taunts, “Trying to make a friend for once, Mar?” The brown-haired boy laughs with the blonde guy—and they both clap each other on the shoulder as if what the boy had just said was the best joke of the century.
Marissa’s tone is even and smooth—as if the two boys had said nothing at all. “Better to have no friends at all than a fake one,” she says calmly, nodding towards the brown-haired guy. The boy growls.
“Shut up, twerp!” he shouts as he steps closer to Marissa. He towered over tiny Marissa—but she didn’t seem to care. As he glares down at her, she just shrugs and smiles pointedly at the large male.
“Shut up?” she asks innocently. “What a wonderful and original thing to say.” Her voice is laced with sarcasm and the boys pace forward with frustration. I hide a smile. Marissa was quite well at . . . arguing.
Alex glowers at her before thrusting his ugly finger in my direction. “I doubt that girl is a real friend. She’ll probably leave you once she’s met with the popular girls.” He grins stupidly as if his comeback was super cool. I just meet his gaze, expressionless.
“Actually,” I say in a dry, careless voice that I had practiced so many times before, “in my old school, I never liked popular girls. In fact, they were a lot like you. Y’know—ugly, utterly stupid, and horrendously overrated.” I pretend to tap my chin thoughtfully. “Oh—I take back the last part. You don’t seem to be popular at all.”
I shrug and I can hear Alex growl. I hide my laugh and sardonically cover my mouth. “Oops!” I exclaim. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you in any way!”
Alex—unable to hold his anger—shoves Marissa aside and steps closer to me. “Don’t you dare call me ugly—” he starts when Oliver blocks him with his arm. Alex stares at him with surprise for a second before taking a step back, utterly bewildered.
“Leave them,” Oliver says calmly. He speaks with such authority—as if he thought he had all the power that lies in the school. He’s so overconfident, I thought with a sly smile. It’ll be such a joy to take him down.
Marissa pulls me out of my thoughts. “Fine with me,” she responds with a charming grin. She waves her hand and closes her eyes. “Bye-bye, boys.”
Alex lets out another frustrated growl before following his friend into the classroom. Homeroom was about to start. The bell rang, and I felt my heartbeat growing faster. My first class was starting.
Marissa calms me by gently taking my arm and looping it around hers. “Good job, Emi,” she says with a wide smile. With a flick of her hair, she continues. “It’s always good to be on Alex’s bad side. It’s really fun. The boy is so stupid when it comes to retorts . . .” She shakes her head in awe. “No, not just retorts. Anything, really.”
I smile. “I could tell.” I pause for a moment before asking her, “So I guess you guys aren’t friends then?”
Marissa’s eyes darken. “That’s right,” she says quietly. She looks away, hiding her expression that seems to have so much to say. “I prefer we don’t talk about it . . .”
“No, that’s completely fine!” I pipe up. “They already seem like jerks to me. And since I’m your friend . . . I guess that they’re my enemies too.” I offer her a shy smile, and her eyes widen in surprise. I’m surprised too that what I said actually came out of my mouth . . . but I don’t take it back.
“Really?” she asks excitedly. “We’re . . . friends?”
I shrug. “Unless you don’t want to.”
She shakes me hard and laughs. “Oh, Emika,” she says. Then she brightens again, and it lightens up her whole face. Jokingly, she adds, “I already love you.”
I smile and shake my head at her. “Love you too, sweetheart,” I tell her. We both pause for a moment—looking at each other deeply in the eyes—as if wondering if what we really said here and now was really true. I break the silence.
“C’mon, now. We gotta get to homeroom.”
And Marissa just grins at me. And we walk together. As friends.
☁ - - - - - - - - - -
The whole morning was a blur. Scattered lessons and awkward introductions was all it was. I was behind on a lot of the curriculum, but the teachers were nice enough to help me with all the work. I spent passing periods grabbing my map and staring at where my classrooms were. Luckily, I still got to my classes on time just before the warning bell started to screech.
The only highlight of my morning was the time with Marissa, and P.E. Surprisingly, I was pretty quick compared to the other kids. Marissa was even bewildered. The only thing I could think of at the end of that period was, Well, at least I have two classes that I’ll be okay at. Physical education and math would probably be my two best subjects.
After P.E, the bell rang once again, and I hurried over to the cafeteria—alone because Marissa had to get something out of her locker. My face looks like it’s been sprayed at with a sprinkler, but I don’t care. I just want to skip the mob of students that abused the lunch line and get to Marissa—and of course, not have to deal with Alex and Oliver. I have no idea what the hell they did to Marissa—but as a good friend would, I believe Mar a lot more than those two.
Marissa finally catches up with me, and she frowns as she sees me walking to the lunch line. “Why didn’t you bring lunch from home?” she asks—her eyebrows squished together with concern. Her eyes flick up to mine. “The stuff here is pretty expensive.” She squints at the menu that hangs above where the staff are cooking. “About nine dollars per meal.”
I blush as she glances at me, but I quickly hide it with a shrug. I don’t want to tell her that my dad and I just arrived here yesterday—and we didn’t have time to get groceries. Ruin Dad for his awful planning, I thought with a mental sigh. I meet Marissa’s gaze and smile coolly. “I don’t know,” I say, answering her statement with a casual expression. “I didn’t know how much stuff costed here, I guess. Y’know, ‘cause I’m a newbie,” I add to lighten the mood.
She grins at the final sentence. “Right,” she says—the word tumbles off of her tongue, long and loud. “Next time I suggest bringing your own lunch. It’s actually pretty easy.” She starts rambling about easy lunch meals, but I don’t listen very well—my mind drifts into another area of uncertainties.
I wonder if Dad got his job yet. Will we be able to afford food? Do we need more mone—
“Emika?”
I stiffen as she says my name, and I nod slowly. “Sorry,” I say quickly, with a small chuckle. “I was just—uh—processing what you just said. Thanks.” I straighten, and she smiles at me.
Well, you better move,” she says, gesturing to the lunch line that is starting to pull me more towards the front. “Find me outside, okay?” I blink, and before I can answer—she’s gone—walking outside towards some place I probably don’t know. It’s fine, I reassure myself. Luckily, the cafeteria lady pulls me out of my thoughts by asking what I want. I order a simple chicken sandwich, and she smiles sweetly and hands it to me.
I accept it, take a deep breath, and begin to walk outside when someone bumps into me. I stumble and quickly look up to see a familiar face. Fire is lit in the boy’s eyes and it takes him no time at all to start shouting.
“Watch where you’re going, you twe—” Oliver freezes and blushes as he recognizes me. “Emika?” he mumbles. “What are you doing here?”
I narrow my eyes. “Oliver,” I say, my voice even—an edge hanging at the end of my voice. “How lucky that we meet again.”
Oliver seems to regain his confidence, and he sneers my name as if it’s an insult. “Emika.” He has nothing more to say, but I feel myself blushing because he’s blushing. I don’t know why.
“Next time, don't run right into someone,” I say flatly before running away to find Marissa. I don’t see his expression, but he’s probably dumbfounded. Great. He hopefully didn’t notice my cheeks reddening.
I find Marissa and hurriedly sit next to her. She raises an eyebrow at me. “What happened to your face?” she asks. I inhale a sharp breath. Heck. How does she always observe every frickin’ thing? It was starting to get disturbing that she could read me so well, just after a few hours of meeting each other.
“Oliver. Just . . . Oliver.” I shrug before adding, “Um. We collided.”
Marissa giggles at my uncomfortable expression. “Please tell me you aren’t falling for him,” she says with a stern look.
I shake my head quickly. “Of course not. I barely know him, anyway,” I say. “But . . .” I stutter a little, and Marissa sighs.
“Spit it out, Em.”
“I think he’s falling for me. I mean . . . I noticed him blushing. He was all Oliver when he thought I was a random person, but when we met each other’s eyes he started acting weird.”
“He likes you?” Marissa gapes. “Yuck.” She waits for me to respond—but I don’t. She scowls. “You’re . . . you’re really telling the truth, aren’t you? This isn’t some kinda joke, right?”
“I don’t joke around.” She doesn’t look convinced. “Really. I’m telling the truth, Mar.”
She nods, her eyes shifting away from mine. She began to murmur to herself.
Before things started to get too awkward, I quickly blurt out, “It was weird to see that jerk blush.” She looks up at me quickly with a surprised expression before she laughs.
“I know right!” she exclaims enthusiastically. Her whole body moves excitedly with a grin emerging on her face. “Literally,” she adds. “I’ve never seen him blush before. Probably not in a thousand years.” She pauses and starts to pick at her food. Quietly, she says, “It’s weird that he did it specifically to you.” She shrugs dismissively. “Well. At least we have another thing to tease him about.”
Another thing to tease him about. Even Marissa—quiet, shy Marissa—had been so eager about this topic. And she just said it was another thing to tease him about? Discomfort enters my heart as I start to eat my food. All I can think about is Oliver and his flushed cheeks and his eyes meeting mine.
He was handsome but . . . Whatever he had done to Marissa must’ve been bad.
Really bad. I mean, what girl would turn down a boy like that?
I shake my head. This isn’t something that I should be worrying about. So I let the thought dangle from my mind, only to find myself grabbing it back again.
☁ - - - - - - - - - -
“Math period.”
Marissa groans as we walk down the hallway towards our lockers. Her brown eyes flick up to see my expression, and she nearly gapes at my face. “Why aren’t you reacting?” she pouts. “Don’t you think that math is just the worst thing ever?”
I still wasn’t sure how we got into the same math class. And the same P.E. class. And the same homeroom. For once in my life, I was lucky.
Marissa nudges me, her eyebrows raised and her warm brunette eyes filled with shock.
I smile at her. A taunting, joking, amazingly sarcastic smile.
She just gasps. "Are you serious?” She shakes her head. “How—do—you—like—-math?” She pauses in between each word, her voice rigged with surprise. She pressed her fingers against her forehead. “Gosh, Emi.”
I chuckle. “Sorry,” I say, stretching the ‘y’. “I don’t understand why people don’t like math so much. I mean, the dumb people don’t like it, sure, but you seem like a smart person.” I blush, realizing that I might’ve just insulted her—but she doesn’t react. She just opens her mouth to explain.
“I guess you didn’t know,” she says with a shake of her head. “You know, Oliver likes math too. He’s actually really good at it. That’s probably why he likes it. But the reason I hate it is because he uses the whole class to flex and brag. It’s so annoying.”
I sigh. “If you say he’s in this class, I’m going to cry,” I whine. The last thing I wanted to do this period was to see Oliver. I still wasn’t sure what had happened with me and him in the cafeteria, so I had hoped for some time to think about it all. Marissa confirms my angry thoughts.
Marissa laughs darkly. “Sorry,” she says, biting her lip. “He is.”
My prayers have been denied.
Right on cue—as if to rub it in my face—two boys walk by us, both with smug grins on their faces. I turn to Marissa, my mouth open wide. I quickly close it before hissing, “Alex is in this class as well?” I rub my palms together, currently hating the universe that seemed to be laughing at me this very moment.
“Yes,” Marissa whispers back. “You see, that’s why I hate math so much.” She quickly straightens as Oliver and Alex near them, turning her angry frown into a cool smile.
I let out another exaggerated groan as Oliver gets closer to us. He doesn’t meet me in the eye. Instead, he stares at Marissa determinedly—with the same witty smile on his face. “Ready to lose another round of Math Wars, Marie?” he taunts.
Marissa stares at him, her expression completely the same—as if the insult hadn’t even reached her face. “Call me Marissa,” she corrects with an innocent blink. “Not Marie. I mean, you sound like an idiot saying that.” She pauses and flinches sarcastically. “Oops! Well, I guess that’d suit you since you are an absolute idiot.” She grins. “Sorry,” she mocks.
“Shut up with the lazy comebacks,” Oliver replies, stepping forward toward Marissa menacingly.
I clear my throat, loudly enough to make both heads turn. “Why don’t you shut up with the lazy insults?” I say with a dazzling smile.
Oliver slowly turns towards me. He doesn’t meet my question with an insult, however. Just with another question. “Are you any good at math?” he asks, his voice soft and even. Much different than the one he had used with Marissa.
I felt my cheeks growing hot, and I quickly came up with a response so I could turn away sooner. “Yes,” I say sharply. “Better than you for sure.”
Oliver looks surprised by such a confidence remark, and opens his mouth to respond—but Alex interrupts and starts laughing. He puts a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “No one is better than Oliver here,” he scoffs. “You won’t beat him. You probably got C’s five times straight at your other school.”
I smile sweetly. Alex probably was describing his grades in math. “Would you like me to show you my report card from my old school?” I ask, clasping my hands together.
Alex sneers, but his smile dims a little. “Yeah,” he sniffs. “I’d like to see how pathetic they are.”
Before I can respond, the bell rings, and all of us usher inside without another word. Marissa steals a desk next to mine and the teacher walks in, a large smile on her face. She seemed like a cheerful woman.
“Good afternoon, class,” she says. Her eyes flick towards the class expectantly. A second later, the class immediately responds.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Carol,” the class choruses. Ms. Carol already seemed like the teacher who did the “good afternoon” trick all the time and made the class bored out of their minds.
The teacher sits at her desk, grappling with some papers. She starts to look into the student’s eyes again. Each and every one of us. When she meets mine, she narrows her eyes. “Why hello there,” she says in a soft tone. “I’ve heard that a new student was joining the school. What a wonder that she’ll be in my class!” She presents the words with enthusiasm, but I bet she’s probably annoyed she has one more student to handle.
I clear my throat anyways. “Thank you, Ms. Carol,” I say in a polite voice. As the words float out of my mouth, I hear a snicker in the room. It was probably Alex. Oliver didn’t laugh at me anymore . . .
The teacher dismisses the nonsense with a wave of her hand. “Whoever is laughing, cut it out. What exactly was funny in that statement?” Ms. Carol’s eyes were challenging, but no one responded. Of course, Alex didn’t have the guts to admit that he did anything.
After a few moments of silence, Ms. Carol continues. “Now, now,” Ms. Carol says to me. “Remind me of your name.”
“Emika Andrew,” I reply. I try to smile a little, but my lips don’t move.
“Emika Andrew,” Ms. Carol repeats. She smiles at me. “Yet another name I have to memorize.” My thoughts turn suspicious. So I was correct. She was annoyed that I entered her class in the middle of the year.
She hesitates slightly as she sees my accusing look before pointing to the front of the room. “Please, Emika,” she says in a honey-filled voice, “why don’t you introduce yourself? I’m sure that it’s a daunting experience moving from school to school, and we want to make you feel the most comfortable in this classroom as possible.”
I blink. “Thank you,” I stammer, “but I don’t think it’s necessary to—”
A voice interrupts my sentence. “Ms. Carol?” Alex says impatiently. “Can we please get to Math Wars? I mean, before class, Emika was saying that she was really good at math. Maybe we can see? And then you can see what level she’s at, and what she’ll need help on.” Alex smiles a challenging grin in my direction.
“Surely, it won’t take much time to—” Ms. Carol starts, cleary bewildered by such an introduction. I add on to Alex’s statement, accepting Alex’s battle request.
“Actually, Ms. Carol,” I cut in, shooting a dazzling grin in Alex’s direction, “Can we do the Math War thing, please? I want to see what it is. And . . . Alex is right, in a way. I’m doubtful you’ll need to see me after school, but it’d be good to see how high up I am.” I purposely use the word ‘high’, instead of ‘low’ like Alex was probably expecting. I grin wider. What an idiot.
Ms. Carol looks nervous at my confidence. “Are you sure, Emika?” she asks. “I mean, Alex’s opinion doesn’t matter. We can do whatever you’re comfortable with. Remember, you shouldn’t feel pressured to do anything.”
“I’m sure,” I say firmly. Without another word, the dumbfounded teacher nodded her head slowly.
Ms. Carol hesitates once more, and I meet her gaze sturdily. She nods and clears her throat once again. “Well then,” she says loudly so the whole class can hear. “We’ll move onto Math Wars. Please, class—pick a partner.”
Alex and Oliver pair up immediately on the other side of the classroom. I scoot over towards Marissa. She smiles, but her cheeks were flushed. She was worried.
“I really hope you’re good at math. Because Oliver . . . Well, he’s really good.” She blinks at me, waiting for my response. I just chuckle.
“Heck yeah, maybe he is,” I scoff. “But don’t doubt me yet, little sister.” The grin that’s plastered on my face is wider than ever, and Marissa was clearly dumbfounded—but she didn’t question my confidence. She just cleared her throat and looked back up towards Ms. Carols, who was starting to explain whatever this Math Wars thing was all about.
“There are three rounds of Math Wars,” Ms. Carol says in a loud, echoing voice. “You are to work with your partner to solve the problem. Each problem is worth one round. Whoever wins the rounds quickest wins. If there is a tie between students, there will be another three rounds.” She pauses and nods towards me. “Emika, do you understand?”
I nod. “Yup.”
Ms. Carol squints at me. “Remember that these problems are very hard to solve,” she says sternly. “That’s why you are working with your partner. Emika, do not expect this to be an easy task. You haven’t even been here for half the year, and your old school’s curriculum was most likely very different than ours. If you can’t solve the problem, it’s okay. This is even hard for some of our students that have been here the whole time.” She pauses again as she quickly adds, “Remember, I’m always here to help you.”
“Thank you, Ms. Carol, but I’m certain I’ll be fine,” I reply confidently. There’s no line of doubt on my face, but Ms. Carol doesn’t believe me anyway.
She smiles a little, however. At least her old face still has some humor in it. “I love your confidence, young lady, but don’t get disappointed if you don’t win.” She doesn’t even wait for my response before she turns to the rest of the class. “Are you all ready to start?”
“Yes, Ms. Carol,” the class chants. Some of the class seems to be excited about the Math Wars, while others (like Marissa) seemed less interested. I flicked my eyes up towards Marissa, who was about to say something to me, but she didn’t get the chance as we both had to turn our heads to read the problem on the board.
Ms. Carol was right. The problem was hard. Nothing I wasn’t used to, however.
I read it with a small smile on my lips, while others just frowned in frustration. Ms. Carol raised her eyebrows at me, but I didn’t pay any attention to her. I just focused on understanding the problem in front of me.
C=5/9(F-32)
The equation above shows how temperature F, measured in degrees Fahrenheit, relates to temperature C, measured in degrees Celsius. Based on the equation, which of the following must be true?
A temperature increase of 1 degree Fahrenheit is equivalent to a temperature increase of 59 degrees Celsius.
A temperature increase of 1 degree Celsius is equivalent to a temperature increase of 1.8 degrees Fahrenheit.
A temperature increase of 59 degrees Fahrenheit is equivalent to a temperature increase of 1 degree Celsius.
A) I only
B) II only
C) III only
D) I and II only
“Emika?” Marissa asks from behind me. She pokes me to get my attention. “Emika . . . I’m kinda lost. Um.” She frowns as I narrow my eyes at the problem. “Emika? Do you understand?”
I glance towards where Oliver sat in the room. I saw him writing down equations on his spare piece of paper. I do the same—if this is a race, I have to move quickly. II grab my pencil and open my notebook—pages crumpling in my rush—and begin to write. Math and calculations fly through my head. I ignore Marissa, who’s frantically trying to get out her stuff, too. She may be smarter than me about other stuff, but here in math class, I’m the expert.
A minute passes. Marissa is writing down useless equations—but she’s mostly watching me with a keen eye. I scribble down two more equations.
C=5/9(F)
1=5/9(F)
I felt myself pause, my brain coming to halt. Confusion enters my mind, but I quickly push it away. Think. And then my mind forces an image of my Dad beside me, helping me sort through one of my first math problems. I was in kindergarten back then, and Mom was still with us. Dad was still happy. And we lived in Utah.
The image shifts to when I got it correct. Dad’s laugh. Dad’s high-five. And then the Kahoot. His grin was so wide when I beat him.
And he always repeated the same phrase. My little mathematician.
All of the tricks that he had taught me rushed through my mind, and suddenly everything clicked. Everything I read made more sense. As if math was a language that I spoke fluently.
I scribble down more equations on my piece of paper. Everything around me blurs. There was nothing except the equations in front of me and the problem that I had to fight for to solve.
And then all in one swift moment, I knew the answer.
Since 95 = 1.8, statement II is true.
An increase of 59 degrees Fahrenheit leads to an increase of 2581, not 1 degree, Celsius, and so Statement III is not true.
The final answer is D.
I raise my hand so quickly that the pencil I was using scuttles away. I didn’t care at the moment. Ms. Carol looks at me with such surprise that I want to smile triumphantly at her for doubting me, but there’s no time for that. Oliver could raise his hand any second now with his answer, and I couldn’t risk him getting it right.
Ms. Carol calls on me. I break the tense silence in the room. “I’m done!” I say frantically. “Is—is my answer correct?”
The dumbfounded teacher leans over my shoulder to double check my answer. I turn towards Oliver, who frowns at me. Alex just rolls his eyes and mutters something in Oliver’s ear—but Oliver doesn’t take his eyes off me. I still feel his eyes piercing into my back when Ms. Carol taps my shoulder to get my attention.
“Record time.”
Students look up in surprise. “What happened?” one of them asks curiously.
Ms. Carol just smiles at me. “Attention, class,” she says, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Emika here has beaten my personal record on solving this problem. We have a true winner.”
I can feel Marissa gasping in surprise—along with the rest of the class. Marissa doesn’t even have time to compliment me. The class starts hissing at each other so loudly that I can hear.
“Did you hear? She beat Oliver!”
“Record time! Even Ms. Carol can’t do that, I’ve seen her—”
“I don’t understand! Oliver’s so smart, how could she?”
“It’s not possible—it can’t be!”
I can even hear Alex’s stunned voice trying to convince the teacher that I cheated, but Ms. Carol just shook her head. “I watched her myself, Alex. Very carefully. There’s no possible way.”
I watch Alex’s horrified expression with a large grin that I don’t even bother to hide. Marissa smiles to—so large that it brightened her whole face. “I never should’ve doubted you!” she squealed with delight. “You did it, Emi! You ruined Oliver’s reign of terror!”
And I laugh. One true laugh. A laugh that wasn’t forced. A laugh that I truly meant.
One laugh, one tiny spark of hope. A spark of hope that told me everything wouldn’t be as miserable as I thought. Everything might be okay like Dad said. Even if I didn’t have Michael or Nora or any of my old friends—I had Marissa who already knew me so well. I had so many people that were already watching my back.
Maybe Dad was right. Maybe everything will be okay.
After two more rounds of Math Wars, the bell rang—and I could still feel Marissa throwing her body on me and high-fiving me so enthusiastically.
Everything’s going to be okay, Emika.
Dad . . . I think you’re right.
the end of Chapter 2. Stay tuned for more!
(please heart and star there to show support for the novel! thank you!)
before: https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/708182/
Betrayal's Words studio: https://scratch.mit.edu/studios/33655996
Betrayal's Words ☾ Chapter 2
Dad woke me up so early; I could see the cracks of dawn through my dreams. It was beautiful—but honestly, I wished that it was raining today. I wanted the weather to represent my emotions just a tiny bit more. Even cloudy skies would probably work.
I hope Dad doesn't realize how tired I look. Last night was a long night—for so many reasons that he probably wouldn't even guess. I mean, he never guess these things. What am I expecting? I guess I'm being a little dramatic. I'm—I was just dreading sleep. Right?
But still, I hope he doesn't notice my puffy eyes. I had cried a lot the night before—in fact, I practically cried myself to sleep—wishing that everything that was happening simply wasn't. Because I hate it. I hate it so, so much.
And I also hope that he doesn't observe the sadness that lingers in my voice every second that I speak. It's always going to sit there behind the mask that I put up for him.
Stop it, Emika.
I take a deep breath—trying to calm myself down as I sit up to meet Dad's eyes. They were still bright and cheerful, even in the dim lighting our world was crumbling in.
I barely slept last night. And in the small moments when I did, my dreams were filled with nightmares. Memories, really. My friends' tears as I told them I was moving. My mother leaving Dad and I behind. Dad crying as he chases after her car—hoping—wishing—that maybe, just maybe—he could catch up to her.
I flinch, and then I stop myself.
What are you doing?
I have to be braver than this.
Dad shakes me awake again—even though I'm clearly awake—just staring into space mindlessly. I guess that's the same as sleeping in a way. I'm glad that he thinks that. Luckily he also probably thinks that my wide eyes and frightful expression are just from some dreams. Not from memories of the past that'll haunt me forever.
In conclusion, he doesn't see the haunted expression on my face. And—and I'm relieved.
The haunted expression that he had left there for me to deal with.
Before I can push the thought out of my head, Dad is already speaking. “Rise and shine, kiddo,” he says to me. His voice isn't even dry from the night. Ironically, it's as fluent and moist as it was the day before—maybe even more so.
My muscles are still tense from the night before, but I relax a little as my brain compares his current voice to the one I had heard in my nightmares. Dad's voice right now is as if from a dream compared to the screams I hate listened to in my nightmares.It's a relief.
“Quickly, get up,” Dad says, a bit impatient now. With a commanding voice, he begins to instruct me, as if I were a little kid. Honestly, I wish that were the case.
“I have all of your school stuff on the kitchen counter. A box of your clothes is there, too. Get ready for school and then meet me in the kitchen for breakfast.”
Act like you're okay.
Obeying my thoughts, I pretend to yawn and I blink sleepily. “Okay, Dad,” I mumble—my voice soft and quiet. Before he can act suspicious of my sudden tiredness, I rush out of the room and bolt towards the kitchen. It didn't seem like our kitchen—nothing about California felt like home—and to make things even worse, the bright fluorescent white color of the kitchen nearly blinded me as I searched for my school supplies. I heard Dad step into the room while I'm doing so—and I smile as widely as I can—romanticizing the situation—don't show the mask that's the true you. I grab my school supplies and toiletries as fast as I can—trying not to squint in the overly bright room—and stumble towards my room and into the bathroom. I flick the shower on and let the cold water cascade my worries away. Taking a deep breath, some of my former worries began to disperse, while new ones appeared out of thin air.
Ignoring them, I focus on calculating how many hours of sleep I got. My mind finds the answer in less than a second. Five hours, apparently. Certainly not enough for a full day at school. I try not to imagine how tired I look, but the thoughts pester me until I step out of the shower, my hair in a messy towel.
The supposedly “relaxing” shower just seems to be dampening my mood even more, so I decide to change into some dry clothes and start getting ready. I pick out one of my favorite outfits—jeans, a brown shirt with a monarch butterfly on it, and a beige clip in my hair to make me look just a little bit more attractive. A memory floats into my brain before I can even stop it. Mom.
You know, sweetie, she had told me once, when I was younger and didn't hate her, it never hurts to look good. She had leaned forward and kissed me on the forehead, and my six year old self smiled and leaned back towards her.
I close my eyes so tight so the memory fades, and then I begin to comb my hair—my eyes still squeezed shut, too afraid to open them.
☁ - - - - - - - - - -
I walk back into the kitchen, my eyes still dull from what happened in the bathroom, but I smile for Dad anyways, since he'll be worried if I don't. I spot him pouring us both some cereal. I want to go to school and skip breakfast with him, but that'd hurt his feelings. And we wouldn't want that, would we?
“Where did you get that?” I ask softly, claiming one of the seats at the counter. My eyes narrow at the box of cereal. “I thought we didn't have any food in the fridge.” My mind continues the rest of the sentence in a much less polite way, so I shut down the stream of thoughts as quickly as I can, but the voice still echoes in my mind, lingering, trying to make me listen. Dad eyes me, a mysterious glitter twinkling in the corner of his eye.
“This is the cereal that I brought with us on the plane,” Dad says with a grin, as if he was the cleverest man in the world. He hands me one of the bowls he had just taken out and I eat quietly. “Sorry we don't have any milk. I suppose I have to go to the grocery store today.”
You suppose? I repeat in my head, food nearly falling out of my mouth. I glance at the empty fridge, dumbfounded. You suppose?
Trying not to scream at him, I ask, “What will I do for lunch?” The question is polite and simple—there's no way he can see through it.
But he just smiles and somehow, after all of my blasted thoughts this whole morning, his smile makes my mood soar just a tiny bit higher. I don't know how he does these types of things, but I kinda hate him for it.
“Take some money, Emika. Buy whatever you want,” he answers softly. He reaches into his pocket and hands me some cash. I know he'll be mad if I don't accept it—but I still feel guilty as I feel the skinny pieces of paper slip into my fingers. Dad probably wouldn't eat lunch since I robbed this money from him.
I take a deep breath—and even with the knowledge of him saying no pressing against my mind like a lion trying to escape it's cage, I ask shyly, “Are you sure you'll have enough money to yourself?” I attempt handing the money back to him, but he pushes it away. I sigh. Just like I thought.
“It's okay, Em,” he says in a soothing voice. “These are Dad problems. And you know that I can handle them, right?” He lifts up my chin so we meet each other's eyes, and I hope he doesn't see the lie that sits in my voice as I murmur the word, “Yes.”
He nods, satisfied, watching me finish my cereal. When I'm done, I get up to clear the dishes—but he stops me. “I'll do that later,” he says quickly. I raise my eyebrows.
“After your job interview? You'll be too tired.”
“No, I won't, Emika. Please. Worry about the first day of school, not this.” He pauses for a moment before changing the topic. “Oh, about that. We better get going. C'mon, Emika.” He turns away, grabbing some stuff, and I swallow the bubbles of emotions that burst in my throat.
But, realizing I have no choice, I close my eyes and take a long breath. And for the first time in forever, I put the dishes down and follow him.
☁ - - - - - - - - - -
We took the bus to school, since we didn't have time to get a driver. Dad also probably didn't want to waste a dime after giving me so much money for a school lunch.
As the bus is moving, Dad rests his hand on my shoulder—and I relax a little as his skin touches mine, feeling comfortable for the first time in the morning. “Hey, Emi. Beat all of your classmates in math, will you?” His smile is joking, but instead of laughing, I straighten and look at him—concerned.
“You look more nervous than I do, Dad,” I say softly. “Are you okay? What's wrong?” I reach to gently feel his forehead in case of a fever, but he backs away frantically.
“I'm fine, Emika!” he says quickly. “It's just about my job interview. I'm nervous about that. Your dad gets the nervous feeling too, you know,” he says with a small chuckle.
I nod thoughtfully. “Well then,” I say in a cheerful voice, “why don't you go get a job, daddy?” I nudge him playfully, and he laughs.
“Gotcha, kiddo.” The bus halts and we exchange solemn glances. He swiftly adds, “Love you.”
I stand to leave the bus before glancing behind my shoulder. “Love you too,” I say, and step off the bus. About a minute later, I look back again—watching the bus leave. A feeling urges up in my chest—a feeling of longing. I'd probably be less nervous if my dad was by my side, but I had to be brave.
So I take another deep breath and start walking towards my new school.
☁ - - - - - - - - - -
It felt strange. My eyes had expected the school that I'd been going to for the last ten years of my life, but the whole picture looked completely off. With a surge of disappointment, I inspect the large building. At least the facilities look okay . . . there was a giant space in front of the building filled with grass. I guess it was nice—I could probably sit here sometime and read one of my books. The grass would be kinda like a soft, comforting cushion . . . Oh, stop it, I think to myself. You're starting to sound like Dad.
The school buildings were pretty—made out of brilliant red bricks, which I kinda like. The halls were indoors—however, as I step into the school, I notice the halls were stubbornly lined with tidy plants. I smile at their beauty—maybe the school wouldn't be a dump after all.
Before all the time runs out before first period, I find my way to the principal's office and got my schedule. I have homeroom first. Room 202. I also notice that the paper locates where my locker is, too—luckily, it's right next to homeroom. I make my way towards the classroom and put my bag in my locker—grabbing some of the things that I need before slamming it shut.
A quiet looking girl approaches me a few minutes after I start leaning against the wall. She has wavy dark brown hair, and her smile is shy and welcoming. “Hello,” she says in quiet voice. Her eyes automatically flick towards my jeans, my shirt, and my hair. She looked as if she was observing every single thing about me, which she probably was. For some reason, I didn't feel creeped out—I just stood there, waiting for her to finish. Her gaze felt relaxing somehow.
Finally, she murmurs, “You look new here.”
“Yeah,” I reply, my tone even. I didn't feel like talking to anyone right now, so I tried to stay neutral—not letting her in and not chasing her away.
The girl just smiles despite my lack of response. She holds out her hand for me to shake, and we clasp our palms together. The girl's smile widens—but I just blushed, embarrassed for some reason. “My name is Marissa,” the girl says softly. “I'm glad to be acquaintances.”
I nod and offer her a small smile. “My name is Emika,” I reply politely. Then—feeling rude for being so incomplete I add, “You can call me Emi or Em if you're feeling lazy.” I smile even wider, so wide that my cheeks start to hurt—but of course, Marissa can tell it's forced by how observant she is.
“You don't have to be friends with me if you don't want to,” Marissa says quickly. She opens her mouth to protest even further. “I just wanted for you to see—to let you know that you aren’t alo—to make sure that you are—so you can uh—so you can not be alone—so you—” She stutters a bit more before blushing and muttering, “Nevermind.” Groaning, she puts her head in her hands and avoids my gaze. This seemed to be a problem of hers that she was hoping to avoid.
“Sorry,” she says after a long, awkward pause—which mostly involved me staring at her—amusement dancing in my eyes. The girl continues, her cheeks red. “You see, I do that when I'm—uh—struggling to find out what words to say. You know?” She smiles and shrugs. “Uh. No big deal, I hope.”
I just laugh. “No big deal,” I promise. “I do the same sometimes.”
Marissa laughs with me before she spoke again. “Sometimes?” she gasps. “So I'm the only person who does it literally all the time?”
I nudge her, and she grins at the touch. “Hey, we all have our flaws,” I say.
We both laugh and talk for a while—talking about mostly random things, about how spinach sucks and how vanilla flavored ice cream with chocolate syrup is underrated . . . And that was when more kids approached us.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot two kids stalking towards us. If they thought they were being stealthy, they weren't doing it very well. I could see them as clearly as a black dot on a white sheet of paper.
As they get closer, Marissa moves protectively in front of me. A boy with blonde hair and a smug smirk on his face walks toward us first—along with a brown-haired boy who wore the same grin as the blondie. Marissa’s eyes narrow, and I can tell the three aren’t friends. Despite the drama, I can’t help smiling to myself. Wow. Way to ruin our maybe-friendship reunion thing, I thought jokingly.
“Well, well, well,” the blonde boy says with a fake smile plastered on his face. He glances towards me and his smile widens. His eyes flick back towards Marissa’s as he taunts, “Trying to make a friend for once, Mar?” The brown-haired boy laughs with the blonde guy—and they both clap each other on the shoulder as if what the boy had just said was the best joke of the century.
Marissa’s tone is even and smooth—as if the two boys had said nothing at all. “Better to have no friends at all than a fake one,” she says calmly, nodding towards the brown-haired guy. The boy growls.
“Shut up, twerp!” he shouts as he steps closer to Marissa. He towered over tiny Marissa—but she didn’t seem to care. As he glares down at her, she just shrugs and smiles pointedly at the large male.
“Shut up?” she asks innocently. “What a wonderful and original thing to say.” Her voice is laced with sarcasm and the boys pace forward with frustration. I hide a smile. Marissa was quite well at . . . arguing.
Alex glowers at her before thrusting his ugly finger in my direction. “I doubt that girl is a real friend. She’ll probably leave you once she’s met with the popular girls.” He grins stupidly as if his comeback was super cool. I just meet his gaze, expressionless.
“Actually,” I say in a dry, careless voice that I had practiced so many times before, “in my old school, I never liked popular girls. In fact, they were a lot like you. Y’know—ugly, utterly stupid, and horrendously overrated.” I pretend to tap my chin thoughtfully. “Oh—I take back the last part. You don’t seem to be popular at all.”
I shrug and I can hear Alex growl. I hide my laugh and sardonically cover my mouth. “Oops!” I exclaim. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you in any way!”
Alex—unable to hold his anger—shoves Marissa aside and steps closer to me. “Don’t you dare call me ugly—” he starts when Oliver blocks him with his arm. Alex stares at him with surprise for a second before taking a step back, utterly bewildered.
“Leave them,” Oliver says calmly. He speaks with such authority—as if he thought he had all the power that lies in the school. He’s so overconfident, I thought with a sly smile. It’ll be such a joy to take him down.
Marissa pulls me out of my thoughts. “Fine with me,” she responds with a charming grin. She waves her hand and closes her eyes. “Bye-bye, boys.”
Alex lets out another frustrated growl before following his friend into the classroom. Homeroom was about to start. The bell rang, and I felt my heartbeat growing faster. My first class was starting.
Marissa calms me by gently taking my arm and looping it around hers. “Good job, Emi,” she says with a wide smile. With a flick of her hair, she continues. “It’s always good to be on Alex’s bad side. It’s really fun. The boy is so stupid when it comes to retorts . . .” She shakes her head in awe. “No, not just retorts. Anything, really.”
I smile. “I could tell.” I pause for a moment before asking her, “So I guess you guys aren’t friends then?”
Marissa’s eyes darken. “That’s right,” she says quietly. She looks away, hiding her expression that seems to have so much to say. “I prefer we don’t talk about it . . .”
“No, that’s completely fine!” I pipe up. “They already seem like jerks to me. And since I’m your friend . . . I guess that they’re my enemies too.” I offer her a shy smile, and her eyes widen in surprise. I’m surprised too that what I said actually came out of my mouth . . . but I don’t take it back.
“Really?” she asks excitedly. “We’re . . . friends?”
I shrug. “Unless you don’t want to.”
She shakes me hard and laughs. “Oh, Emika,” she says. Then she brightens again, and it lightens up her whole face. Jokingly, she adds, “I already love you.”
I smile and shake my head at her. “Love you too, sweetheart,” I tell her. We both pause for a moment—looking at each other deeply in the eyes—as if wondering if what we really said here and now was really true. I break the silence.
“C’mon, now. We gotta get to homeroom.”
And Marissa just grins at me. And we walk together. As friends.
☁ - - - - - - - - - -
The whole morning was a blur. Scattered lessons and awkward introductions was all it was. I was behind on a lot of the curriculum, but the teachers were nice enough to help me with all the work. I spent passing periods grabbing my map and staring at where my classrooms were. Luckily, I still got to my classes on time just before the warning bell started to screech.
The only highlight of my morning was the time with Marissa, and P.E. Surprisingly, I was pretty quick compared to the other kids. Marissa was even bewildered. The only thing I could think of at the end of that period was, Well, at least I have two classes that I’ll be okay at. Physical education and math would probably be my two best subjects.
After P.E, the bell rang once again, and I hurried over to the cafeteria—alone because Marissa had to get something out of her locker. My face looks like it’s been sprayed at with a sprinkler, but I don’t care. I just want to skip the mob of students that abused the lunch line and get to Marissa—and of course, not have to deal with Alex and Oliver. I have no idea what the hell they did to Marissa—but as a good friend would, I believe Mar a lot more than those two.
Marissa finally catches up with me, and she frowns as she sees me walking to the lunch line. “Why didn’t you bring lunch from home?” she asks—her eyebrows squished together with concern. Her eyes flick up to mine. “The stuff here is pretty expensive.” She squints at the menu that hangs above where the staff are cooking. “About nine dollars per meal.”
I blush as she glances at me, but I quickly hide it with a shrug. I don’t want to tell her that my dad and I just arrived here yesterday—and we didn’t have time to get groceries. Ruin Dad for his awful planning, I thought with a mental sigh. I meet Marissa’s gaze and smile coolly. “I don’t know,” I say, answering her statement with a casual expression. “I didn’t know how much stuff costed here, I guess. Y’know, ‘cause I’m a newbie,” I add to lighten the mood.
She grins at the final sentence. “Right,” she says—the word tumbles off of her tongue, long and loud. “Next time I suggest bringing your own lunch. It’s actually pretty easy.” She starts rambling about easy lunch meals, but I don’t listen very well—my mind drifts into another area of uncertainties.
I wonder if Dad got his job yet. Will we be able to afford food? Do we need more mone—
“Emika?”
I stiffen as she says my name, and I nod slowly. “Sorry,” I say quickly, with a small chuckle. “I was just—uh—processing what you just said. Thanks.” I straighten, and she smiles at me.
Well, you better move,” she says, gesturing to the lunch line that is starting to pull me more towards the front. “Find me outside, okay?” I blink, and before I can answer—she’s gone—walking outside towards some place I probably don’t know. It’s fine, I reassure myself. Luckily, the cafeteria lady pulls me out of my thoughts by asking what I want. I order a simple chicken sandwich, and she smiles sweetly and hands it to me.
I accept it, take a deep breath, and begin to walk outside when someone bumps into me. I stumble and quickly look up to see a familiar face. Fire is lit in the boy’s eyes and it takes him no time at all to start shouting.
“Watch where you’re going, you twe—” Oliver freezes and blushes as he recognizes me. “Emika?” he mumbles. “What are you doing here?”
I narrow my eyes. “Oliver,” I say, my voice even—an edge hanging at the end of my voice. “How lucky that we meet again.”
Oliver seems to regain his confidence, and he sneers my name as if it’s an insult. “Emika.” He has nothing more to say, but I feel myself blushing because he’s blushing. I don’t know why.
“Next time, don't run right into someone,” I say flatly before running away to find Marissa. I don’t see his expression, but he’s probably dumbfounded. Great. He hopefully didn’t notice my cheeks reddening.
I find Marissa and hurriedly sit next to her. She raises an eyebrow at me. “What happened to your face?” she asks. I inhale a sharp breath. Heck. How does she always observe every frickin’ thing? It was starting to get disturbing that she could read me so well, just after a few hours of meeting each other.
“Oliver. Just . . . Oliver.” I shrug before adding, “Um. We collided.”
Marissa giggles at my uncomfortable expression. “Please tell me you aren’t falling for him,” she says with a stern look.
I shake my head quickly. “Of course not. I barely know him, anyway,” I say. “But . . .” I stutter a little, and Marissa sighs.
“Spit it out, Em.”
“I think he’s falling for me. I mean . . . I noticed him blushing. He was all Oliver when he thought I was a random person, but when we met each other’s eyes he started acting weird.”
“He likes you?” Marissa gapes. “Yuck.” She waits for me to respond—but I don’t. She scowls. “You’re . . . you’re really telling the truth, aren’t you? This isn’t some kinda joke, right?”
“I don’t joke around.” She doesn’t look convinced. “Really. I’m telling the truth, Mar.”
She nods, her eyes shifting away from mine. She began to murmur to herself.
Before things started to get too awkward, I quickly blurt out, “It was weird to see that jerk blush.” She looks up at me quickly with a surprised expression before she laughs.
“I know right!” she exclaims enthusiastically. Her whole body moves excitedly with a grin emerging on her face. “Literally,” she adds. “I’ve never seen him blush before. Probably not in a thousand years.” She pauses and starts to pick at her food. Quietly, she says, “It’s weird that he did it specifically to you.” She shrugs dismissively. “Well. At least we have another thing to tease him about.”
Another thing to tease him about. Even Marissa—quiet, shy Marissa—had been so eager about this topic. And she just said it was another thing to tease him about? Discomfort enters my heart as I start to eat my food. All I can think about is Oliver and his flushed cheeks and his eyes meeting mine.
He was handsome but . . . Whatever he had done to Marissa must’ve been bad.
Really bad. I mean, what girl would turn down a boy like that?
I shake my head. This isn’t something that I should be worrying about. So I let the thought dangle from my mind, only to find myself grabbing it back again.
☁ - - - - - - - - - -
“Math period.”
Marissa groans as we walk down the hallway towards our lockers. Her brown eyes flick up to see my expression, and she nearly gapes at my face. “Why aren’t you reacting?” she pouts. “Don’t you think that math is just the worst thing ever?”
I still wasn’t sure how we got into the same math class. And the same P.E. class. And the same homeroom. For once in my life, I was lucky.
Marissa nudges me, her eyebrows raised and her warm brunette eyes filled with shock.
I smile at her. A taunting, joking, amazingly sarcastic smile.
She just gasps. "Are you serious?” She shakes her head. “How—do—you—like—-math?” She pauses in between each word, her voice rigged with surprise. She pressed her fingers against her forehead. “Gosh, Emi.”
I chuckle. “Sorry,” I say, stretching the ‘y’. “I don’t understand why people don’t like math so much. I mean, the dumb people don’t like it, sure, but you seem like a smart person.” I blush, realizing that I might’ve just insulted her—but she doesn’t react. She just opens her mouth to explain.
“I guess you didn’t know,” she says with a shake of her head. “You know, Oliver likes math too. He’s actually really good at it. That’s probably why he likes it. But the reason I hate it is because he uses the whole class to flex and brag. It’s so annoying.”
I sigh. “If you say he’s in this class, I’m going to cry,” I whine. The last thing I wanted to do this period was to see Oliver. I still wasn’t sure what had happened with me and him in the cafeteria, so I had hoped for some time to think about it all. Marissa confirms my angry thoughts.
Marissa laughs darkly. “Sorry,” she says, biting her lip. “He is.”
My prayers have been denied.
Right on cue—as if to rub it in my face—two boys walk by us, both with smug grins on their faces. I turn to Marissa, my mouth open wide. I quickly close it before hissing, “Alex is in this class as well?” I rub my palms together, currently hating the universe that seemed to be laughing at me this very moment.
“Yes,” Marissa whispers back. “You see, that’s why I hate math so much.” She quickly straightens as Oliver and Alex near them, turning her angry frown into a cool smile.
I let out another exaggerated groan as Oliver gets closer to us. He doesn’t meet me in the eye. Instead, he stares at Marissa determinedly—with the same witty smile on his face. “Ready to lose another round of Math Wars, Marie?” he taunts.
Marissa stares at him, her expression completely the same—as if the insult hadn’t even reached her face. “Call me Marissa,” she corrects with an innocent blink. “Not Marie. I mean, you sound like an idiot saying that.” She pauses and flinches sarcastically. “Oops! Well, I guess that’d suit you since you are an absolute idiot.” She grins. “Sorry,” she mocks.
“Shut up with the lazy comebacks,” Oliver replies, stepping forward toward Marissa menacingly.
I clear my throat, loudly enough to make both heads turn. “Why don’t you shut up with the lazy insults?” I say with a dazzling smile.
Oliver slowly turns towards me. He doesn’t meet my question with an insult, however. Just with another question. “Are you any good at math?” he asks, his voice soft and even. Much different than the one he had used with Marissa.
I felt my cheeks growing hot, and I quickly came up with a response so I could turn away sooner. “Yes,” I say sharply. “Better than you for sure.”
Oliver looks surprised by such a confidence remark, and opens his mouth to respond—but Alex interrupts and starts laughing. He puts a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “No one is better than Oliver here,” he scoffs. “You won’t beat him. You probably got C’s five times straight at your other school.”
I smile sweetly. Alex probably was describing his grades in math. “Would you like me to show you my report card from my old school?” I ask, clasping my hands together.
Alex sneers, but his smile dims a little. “Yeah,” he sniffs. “I’d like to see how pathetic they are.”
Before I can respond, the bell rings, and all of us usher inside without another word. Marissa steals a desk next to mine and the teacher walks in, a large smile on her face. She seemed like a cheerful woman.
“Good afternoon, class,” she says. Her eyes flick towards the class expectantly. A second later, the class immediately responds.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Carol,” the class choruses. Ms. Carol already seemed like the teacher who did the “good afternoon” trick all the time and made the class bored out of their minds.
The teacher sits at her desk, grappling with some papers. She starts to look into the student’s eyes again. Each and every one of us. When she meets mine, she narrows her eyes. “Why hello there,” she says in a soft tone. “I’ve heard that a new student was joining the school. What a wonder that she’ll be in my class!” She presents the words with enthusiasm, but I bet she’s probably annoyed she has one more student to handle.
I clear my throat anyways. “Thank you, Ms. Carol,” I say in a polite voice. As the words float out of my mouth, I hear a snicker in the room. It was probably Alex. Oliver didn’t laugh at me anymore . . .
The teacher dismisses the nonsense with a wave of her hand. “Whoever is laughing, cut it out. What exactly was funny in that statement?” Ms. Carol’s eyes were challenging, but no one responded. Of course, Alex didn’t have the guts to admit that he did anything.
After a few moments of silence, Ms. Carol continues. “Now, now,” Ms. Carol says to me. “Remind me of your name.”
“Emika Andrew,” I reply. I try to smile a little, but my lips don’t move.
“Emika Andrew,” Ms. Carol repeats. She smiles at me. “Yet another name I have to memorize.” My thoughts turn suspicious. So I was correct. She was annoyed that I entered her class in the middle of the year.
She hesitates slightly as she sees my accusing look before pointing to the front of the room. “Please, Emika,” she says in a honey-filled voice, “why don’t you introduce yourself? I’m sure that it’s a daunting experience moving from school to school, and we want to make you feel the most comfortable in this classroom as possible.”
I blink. “Thank you,” I stammer, “but I don’t think it’s necessary to—”
A voice interrupts my sentence. “Ms. Carol?” Alex says impatiently. “Can we please get to Math Wars? I mean, before class, Emika was saying that she was really good at math. Maybe we can see? And then you can see what level she’s at, and what she’ll need help on.” Alex smiles a challenging grin in my direction.
“Surely, it won’t take much time to—” Ms. Carol starts, cleary bewildered by such an introduction. I add on to Alex’s statement, accepting Alex’s battle request.
“Actually, Ms. Carol,” I cut in, shooting a dazzling grin in Alex’s direction, “Can we do the Math War thing, please? I want to see what it is. And . . . Alex is right, in a way. I’m doubtful you’ll need to see me after school, but it’d be good to see how high up I am.” I purposely use the word ‘high’, instead of ‘low’ like Alex was probably expecting. I grin wider. What an idiot.
Ms. Carol looks nervous at my confidence. “Are you sure, Emika?” she asks. “I mean, Alex’s opinion doesn’t matter. We can do whatever you’re comfortable with. Remember, you shouldn’t feel pressured to do anything.”
“I’m sure,” I say firmly. Without another word, the dumbfounded teacher nodded her head slowly.
Ms. Carol hesitates once more, and I meet her gaze sturdily. She nods and clears her throat once again. “Well then,” she says loudly so the whole class can hear. “We’ll move onto Math Wars. Please, class—pick a partner.”
Alex and Oliver pair up immediately on the other side of the classroom. I scoot over towards Marissa. She smiles, but her cheeks were flushed. She was worried.
“I really hope you’re good at math. Because Oliver . . . Well, he’s really good.” She blinks at me, waiting for my response. I just chuckle.
“Heck yeah, maybe he is,” I scoff. “But don’t doubt me yet, little sister.” The grin that’s plastered on my face is wider than ever, and Marissa was clearly dumbfounded—but she didn’t question my confidence. She just cleared her throat and looked back up towards Ms. Carols, who was starting to explain whatever this Math Wars thing was all about.
“There are three rounds of Math Wars,” Ms. Carol says in a loud, echoing voice. “You are to work with your partner to solve the problem. Each problem is worth one round. Whoever wins the rounds quickest wins. If there is a tie between students, there will be another three rounds.” She pauses and nods towards me. “Emika, do you understand?”
I nod. “Yup.”
Ms. Carol squints at me. “Remember that these problems are very hard to solve,” she says sternly. “That’s why you are working with your partner. Emika, do not expect this to be an easy task. You haven’t even been here for half the year, and your old school’s curriculum was most likely very different than ours. If you can’t solve the problem, it’s okay. This is even hard for some of our students that have been here the whole time.” She pauses again as she quickly adds, “Remember, I’m always here to help you.”
“Thank you, Ms. Carol, but I’m certain I’ll be fine,” I reply confidently. There’s no line of doubt on my face, but Ms. Carol doesn’t believe me anyway.
She smiles a little, however. At least her old face still has some humor in it. “I love your confidence, young lady, but don’t get disappointed if you don’t win.” She doesn’t even wait for my response before she turns to the rest of the class. “Are you all ready to start?”
“Yes, Ms. Carol,” the class chants. Some of the class seems to be excited about the Math Wars, while others (like Marissa) seemed less interested. I flicked my eyes up towards Marissa, who was about to say something to me, but she didn’t get the chance as we both had to turn our heads to read the problem on the board.
Ms. Carol was right. The problem was hard. Nothing I wasn’t used to, however.
I read it with a small smile on my lips, while others just frowned in frustration. Ms. Carol raised her eyebrows at me, but I didn’t pay any attention to her. I just focused on understanding the problem in front of me.
C=5/9(F-32)
The equation above shows how temperature F, measured in degrees Fahrenheit, relates to temperature C, measured in degrees Celsius. Based on the equation, which of the following must be true?
A temperature increase of 1 degree Fahrenheit is equivalent to a temperature increase of 59 degrees Celsius.
A temperature increase of 1 degree Celsius is equivalent to a temperature increase of 1.8 degrees Fahrenheit.
A temperature increase of 59 degrees Fahrenheit is equivalent to a temperature increase of 1 degree Celsius.
A) I only
B) II only
C) III only
D) I and II only
“Emika?” Marissa asks from behind me. She pokes me to get my attention. “Emika . . . I’m kinda lost. Um.” She frowns as I narrow my eyes at the problem. “Emika? Do you understand?”
I glance towards where Oliver sat in the room. I saw him writing down equations on his spare piece of paper. I do the same—if this is a race, I have to move quickly. II grab my pencil and open my notebook—pages crumpling in my rush—and begin to write. Math and calculations fly through my head. I ignore Marissa, who’s frantically trying to get out her stuff, too. She may be smarter than me about other stuff, but here in math class, I’m the expert.
A minute passes. Marissa is writing down useless equations—but she’s mostly watching me with a keen eye. I scribble down two more equations.
C=5/9(F)
1=5/9(F)
I felt myself pause, my brain coming to halt. Confusion enters my mind, but I quickly push it away. Think. And then my mind forces an image of my Dad beside me, helping me sort through one of my first math problems. I was in kindergarten back then, and Mom was still with us. Dad was still happy. And we lived in Utah.
The image shifts to when I got it correct. Dad’s laugh. Dad’s high-five. And then the Kahoot. His grin was so wide when I beat him.
And he always repeated the same phrase. My little mathematician.
All of the tricks that he had taught me rushed through my mind, and suddenly everything clicked. Everything I read made more sense. As if math was a language that I spoke fluently.
I scribble down more equations on my piece of paper. Everything around me blurs. There was nothing except the equations in front of me and the problem that I had to fight for to solve.
And then all in one swift moment, I knew the answer.
Since 95 = 1.8, statement II is true.
An increase of 59 degrees Fahrenheit leads to an increase of 2581, not 1 degree, Celsius, and so Statement III is not true.
The final answer is D.
I raise my hand so quickly that the pencil I was using scuttles away. I didn’t care at the moment. Ms. Carol looks at me with such surprise that I want to smile triumphantly at her for doubting me, but there’s no time for that. Oliver could raise his hand any second now with his answer, and I couldn’t risk him getting it right.
Ms. Carol calls on me. I break the tense silence in the room. “I’m done!” I say frantically. “Is—is my answer correct?”
The dumbfounded teacher leans over my shoulder to double check my answer. I turn towards Oliver, who frowns at me. Alex just rolls his eyes and mutters something in Oliver’s ear—but Oliver doesn’t take his eyes off me. I still feel his eyes piercing into my back when Ms. Carol taps my shoulder to get my attention.
“Record time.”
Students look up in surprise. “What happened?” one of them asks curiously.
Ms. Carol just smiles at me. “Attention, class,” she says, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Emika here has beaten my personal record on solving this problem. We have a true winner.”
I can feel Marissa gasping in surprise—along with the rest of the class. Marissa doesn’t even have time to compliment me. The class starts hissing at each other so loudly that I can hear.
“Did you hear? She beat Oliver!”
“Record time! Even Ms. Carol can’t do that, I’ve seen her—”
“I don’t understand! Oliver’s so smart, how could she?”
“It’s not possible—it can’t be!”
I can even hear Alex’s stunned voice trying to convince the teacher that I cheated, but Ms. Carol just shook her head. “I watched her myself, Alex. Very carefully. There’s no possible way.”
I watch Alex’s horrified expression with a large grin that I don’t even bother to hide. Marissa smiles to—so large that it brightened her whole face. “I never should’ve doubted you!” she squealed with delight. “You did it, Emi! You ruined Oliver’s reign of terror!”
And I laugh. One true laugh. A laugh that wasn’t forced. A laugh that I truly meant.
One laugh, one tiny spark of hope. A spark of hope that told me everything wouldn’t be as miserable as I thought. Everything might be okay like Dad said. Even if I didn’t have Michael or Nora or any of my old friends—I had Marissa who already knew me so well. I had so many people that were already watching my back.
Maybe Dad was right. Maybe everything will be okay.
After two more rounds of Math Wars, the bell rang—and I could still feel Marissa throwing her body on me and high-fiving me so enthusiastically.
Everything’s going to be okay, Emika.
Dad . . . I think you’re right.
the end of Chapter 2. Stay tuned for more!
Last edited by -Sunmeadow- (Sept. 2, 2023 22:29:34)
- MysticScratches
-
Scratcher
10 posts
Betrayal's Words ☾ Chapter 2
This chapter has enlightened me to the magnificent brilliance of first person as a point of view, giving me a dynamic view of emotions and events.
- BR_3040
-
Scratcher
12 posts
Betrayal's Words ☾ Chapter 2
☽ This chapter was great and I loved it. I didn’t even see it until I was looking at your profile and saw it on the project. Sunny, you are a great writer and I hope to see more of your books in forum version! It’s a lot easier to read and nicer! ☾
- Bee ❥
- Bee ❥
- -Sunmeadow-
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
Betrayal's Words ☾ Chapter 2
This chapter has enlightened me to the magnificent brilliance of first person as a point of view, giving me a dynamic view of emotions and events.
Thank you so much Astrum! <3 You're too kind.
- -Sunmeadow-
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
Betrayal's Words ☾ Chapter 2
☽ This chapter was great and I loved it. I didn’t even see it until I was looking at your profile and saw it on the project. Sunny, you are a great writer and I hope to see more of your books in forum version! It’s a lot easier to read and nicer! ☾
- Bee ❥
Aww thank you, I'm glad that you like it. I was actually worried that people preferred the project - but i guess not! The form versions do make it easier for me, and i'm really REALLY happy that it makes everything easier for you, too! (♡ω♡ ) ~♪
- BR_3040
-
Scratcher
12 posts
Betrayal's Words ☾ Chapter 2
☽ This chapter was great and I loved it. I didn’t even see it until I was looking at your profile and saw it on the project. Sunny, you are a great writer and I hope to see more of your books in forum version! It’s a lot easier to read and nicer! ☾
- Bee ❥
Aww thank you, I'm glad that you like it. I was actually worried that people preferred the project - but i guess not! The form versions do make it easier for me, and i'm really REALLY happy that it makes everything easier for you, too! (♡ω♡ ) ~♪
Np! It makes me happy that it is easier for you as well! BTW this is just a question; is the story in the project as well?
- -Sunmeadow-
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
Betrayal's Words ☾ Chapter 2
☽ This chapter was great and I loved it. I didn’t even see it until I was looking at your profile and saw it on the project. Sunny, you are a great writer and I hope to see more of your books in forum version! It’s a lot easier to read and nicer! ☾
- Bee ❥
Aww thank you, I'm glad that you like it. I was actually worried that people preferred the project - but i guess not! The form versions do make it easier for me, and i'm really REALLY happy that it makes everything easier for you, too! (♡ω♡ ) ~♪
Np! It makes me happy that it is easier for you as well! BTW this is just a question; is the story in the project as well?
<3 No, the reason i made it on forms is because putting everything in the project takes SO LONG, it's frustrating.
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