BEFORE WE BLOOMED

By the time the math tests began making their way back from the front of the classroom, Mara Whitaker already knew she’d done well. She didn’t know the exact score, but she’d checked the last two problems three times. The only thing she’d been unsure about was one step in question seven. Everything else should have been right.

Ms. Corbett wasn’t their math teacher, but she supervised this study-skills class. Standing beside the teacher’s desk, she sorted the last few papers by name, then looked up.

“Before you get your tests back, I just want to say that the class did much better overall than last month.”

Someone in the back gave a quiet cheer. Ms. Corbett smiled.

“And one paper earned a perfect score.”

Mara’s hand stilled around her pencil. She didn’t look up. The room was quiet for less than a second before someone turned to look at her.

“Of course,” Kendra Pike said from the row behind Mara, off to the right.

Not loudly. Just loudly enough for the people nearby to hear.

Jill Haney laughed.

Mara stared at a faint pencil scratch on her desk and suddenly wished Ms. Corbett wouldn’t say anything else.

“Congratulations, Mara.”

But she did.

Ms. Corbett handed the stack of papers to the first row to pass back.

“Excellent work again.”

“Again,” Kendra repeated.

This time two people nearby laughed out loud.

When Mara finally got her test, a red number was written in the upper-right corner.

100.

She looked at it once, then flipped the paper facedown.

She used to be happy about scores like that. In elementary school, if she got a perfect grade, she would spend the whole walk home thinking about how to tell her dad. Neil always looked so pleased.

Sometimes at dinner he’d say, “Your mother never got scores like that when she was thirteen.”

Dana would glare at him from across the table.

“You probably didn’t even turn in your homework when you were thirteen.”

Then Cal would ask, “So if I get a sixty, is that okay?”

Everyone would laugh.

Mara used to love that feeling.

Now she only wished no one had seen the number on her paper.

“Why don’t you hold it up so everybody can see?” Kendra asked, leaning back in her chair.

Mara didn’t turn around. “I wasn’t going to show anyone.”

“Weird. I thought that was your favorite thing.”

Jill laughed again.

In the front row, Marcy Doyle glanced back, then quickly faced forward. Mara heard chairs scrape across the floor. Drew Larkin was saying something to Joel Mercer in a low voice, but she couldn’t make it out.

She slid the test between the pages of her textbook. Ms. Corbett had already moved on to the next assignment, and Mara forced herself to pay attention.

“For this one, you’ll be working in pairs—”

Chairs started moving before she even finished the sentence. Everyone immediately turned toward the people they already knew.

Mara looked at the empty space beside her and stayed where she was.

She used to ask people.

She didn’t anymore.

After enough tries, she already knew the answers she was most likely to get.

“We already planned to work together.”

“I’m with Jill.”

“Ms. Corbett, can we have three people?”

That last one usually wasn’t really a question for the teacher. It was a way of telling Mara they’d rather squeeze one more person into a group than work with her.

Ms. Corbett clapped her hands. “Don’t move yet. I’m assigning the pairs.”

The room erupted in complaints.

“Come on.”

“Ms. Corbett!”

“Can we choose?”

“Not this time.”

She looked down at her list.

“Mara Whitaker and Kendra Pike.”

The classroom went quiet for one beat.

Then Kendra laughed outright. “No.”

Ms. Corbett looked up. “Kendra?”

“Can I switch?”

“Why?”

Kendra shrugged. “Because she’ll do everything anyway.”

A few people laughed again. Mara felt heat creep into her ears. She stared at her textbook and said nothing.

Ms. Corbett frowned. “This is a partner assignment. Both of you will contribute.”

“Sure.”

Kendra said the word as if she meant the opposite.

Ms. Corbett continued down the list. “Joel Mercer and Drew Larkin.”

Drew muttered, “Nice,” and bumped fists with Joel.

Mara didn’t know why she noticed. Maybe because they happened to be in her line of sight. Joel didn’t laugh with the others. He only opened his notebook, like none of it had anything to do with him.

That was good.

At least there wasn’t one more person laughing.

The bell rang and the room immediately turned chaotic. Ms. Corbett reminded everyone to settle on a project topic by Friday, but hardly anyone listened.

Mara shoved her test into her folder. She wanted to get out quickly. If she reached her next classroom first, she wouldn’t have to stand around here waiting.

She bent to grab her backpack. Just as her hand touched the strap, someone passed behind her and bumped the back of her chair.

Her pencil case fell off the desk.

The zipper hadn’t been fully closed. Several pens, an eraser, and two highlighters rolled across the floor.

Mara stopped.

“Oops.”

Kendra stood beside her with her backpack already over one shoulder. Jill was right behind her.

“Sorry,” Kendra said, smiling.

Mara crouched to pick everything up. A blue ballpoint pen rolled to Kendra’s shoe. Kendra looked down at it but didn’t move.

Mara reached for it.

Kendra’s toe came down first.

Not hard.

Just enough to pin it to the floor.

Mara’s hand stopped in midair.

“Can you move?”

Kendra looked at her. “What?”

“My pen.”

“Oh.”

She still didn’t move.

Jill covered her mouth as she laughed. A few students who hadn’t left yet were watching now. Mara could feel every pair of eyes.

That was the part she hated most.

Not even what Kendra said.

The watching.

Everyone waiting to see if Mara would get angry, or cry, or do something that would give them one more reason to laugh.

She pulled her hand back.

“Forget it.”

She reached for another pen instead.

“See?” Kendra said to Jill. “She doesn’t even care.”

“About what?”

“Anything. She just wants another hundred.”

Mara shoved her eraser back into the pencil case. She only wanted to move faster. Ten more seconds. Pick up the last two pens, then walk out.

“Maybe if you studied instead of talking all day, you’d get one too.”

The voice came from the side.

Mara froze.

Kendra turned too.

Joel was still standing beside his desk, his backpack hanging from one shoulder. Drew had already made it to the doorway and was looking back at him.

Kendra narrowed her eyes. “What?”

Joel glanced at the pen under her shoe. “I said maybe you’d get a hundred too.”

Jill stopped laughing.

Kendra moved her foot.

“Why do you care?”

Joel bent down and picked up the blue pen. There was already a crack through the middle of the plastic barrel.

“I don’t,” he said, looking at it. “This is just stupid.”

Kendra’s expression changed immediately.

“Oh, so now you’re her bodyguard?”

Joel frowned. “No.”

“Then mind your own business.”

“I was,” he said. “Then you two got loud enough for the whole room to hear.”

Drew stood in the doorway, trying not to laugh.

Kendra glared at him. “Shut up, Drew.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re laughing.”

“That’s not talking.”

Joel handed the pen to Mara. “Does it still work?”

Mara looked at him.

It was the first time he’d spoken directly to her all day. Maybe the first time all semester. She honestly wasn’t sure.

She took the pen. “I think so.”

Her voice came out quieter than she’d meant it to.

Joel nodded. “Okay.”

That was it.

He didn’t say anything else.

Kendra gave a short, mocking laugh. “Cute.”

Joel turned at once. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Then stop.”

This time he sounded genuinely annoyed.

Kendra didn’t keep going. She pulled Jill toward the door and, as she passed Mara, deliberately knocked the corner of her desk. Not hard enough to do anything, just hard enough to make it wobble.

Jill followed her out. The remaining students drifted away too.

Mara put the last highlighter back into her pencil case. Joel had already put on his backpack.

Drew called from the hallway. “Joel, we’re gonna be late.”

“Yeah.”

Joel took two steps.

“Thanks,” Mara said suddenly.

He turned. “What?”

“For earlier.”

The words sounded strange, so she added, “Thank you.”

Joel looked as if it had never occurred to him that she might thank him.

“It was nothing.”

He paused.

“Are they always like that?”

Mara pinched the zipper of her pencil case between her fingers. “No.”

Too fast.

Joel looked at her for a beat.

Mara knew he didn’t believe her. But he didn’t press.

“Okay.”

Drew called again from outside. “Seriously, man.”

Joel headed for the door. Halfway there, he looked back.

“Your pen really isn’t broken?”

Mara clicked it. The tip came out. She drew a line across the back of her hand. The blue ink looked normal.

“No.”

“Good.”

Then he really left.

Mara stood alone in the classroom, staring at the now-empty doorway. She didn’t know why, but the tight feeling that had been lodged in her chest ever since Ms. Corbett announced the perfect score eased a little.

Only a little.

She packed her things and put on her backpack. As she passed the board, Ms. Corbett came back in from the office.

“Mara?”

She stopped. “Yes?”

“Don’t forget your project with Kendra.”

“Okay.”

The teacher smiled. “And congratulations again. You should be proud of that score.”

Mara smiled too. “Thanks.”

The smile disappeared as soon as she stepped into the hall.

The corridor was already crowded. She kept her head down as she walked toward her next class, her fingers still wrapped around the cracked blue pen.

At lunch, Mara arrived a few minutes later than usual. She had returned a library book and then gotten stuck in a long line at the vending machine. By the time she carried her tray into the cafeteria, most of the seats were taken.

She stopped just inside the entrance.

These were the few minutes she hated most every day.

Finding somewhere to sit.

It sounded easy.

It wasn’t.

If she walked straight to a table, someone might tell her the empty chair was saved.

If she asked, “Is anyone sitting here?” sometimes they said yes.

Ten minutes later, the chair would still be empty.

Mara had learned not to ask anymore.

She looked toward the far side of the room. At a table by the windows, only three people were sitting together: Kendra, Jill, and Marcy.

Kendra saw her and immediately put her backpack on the chair beside her.

The gesture was almost theatrical.

Mara looked away and kept walking.

At another table sat a few boys. Drew was in the middle of some story while Benji Ross laughed around a mouthful of fries. Joel sat on the outside edge.

Mara hadn’t been planning to go over there.

She was only passing by.

Joel looked up and saw her.

Their eyes met.

Mara was about to keep walking when Joel reached over, lifted his backpack off the chair beside him, and set it by his feet.

“Nobody’s sitting here.”

Mara stopped.

So did Drew.

Benji still had half a french fry in his mouth.

No one said anything.

Mara looked at the empty chair.

Her first thought was that maybe Joel had simply been moving his backpack anyway.

Then she realized he’d been talking to her.

“I can sit here?”

Joel frowned. “Isn’t that what I just said?”

Drew laughed.

Joel kicked his chair. “What?”

“Nothing.”

Mara hesitated, then sat down.

Nobody applauded.

Nobody teased her.

Nothing remarkable happened at all.

Benji went right back to whatever he’d been saying. Drew stole fries off Joel’s tray. Joel told him he had hands of his own.

Mara peeled the lid off her yogurt. She didn’t join the conversation. They didn’t force her to.

After a while, Joel pushed an unopened carton of chocolate milk across the middle of the table.

“Want it?”

Mara shook her head. “No.”

“Good.”

He immediately pulled it back.

“I was just asking.”

Mara glanced at him. “Then why do you look so happy?”

“Because I wanted it.”

She couldn’t help it. She smiled.

Just a little.

Joel had already bent his head to stab the straw through the carton and didn’t notice.

Sunlight spilled across the cafeteria floor. The room was still loud. Kendra was still sitting not far away. Tomorrow afternoon, Mara and Kendra would still have to work on their project together.

Nothing had actually been fixed.

Mara knew that.

But that afternoon, for the first time, she didn’t carry her tray all the way to the back of the cafeteria looking for a place no one else wanted.

There had been a chair no one had claimed with a backpack.

Someone had left it open.

Right beside him.