All This Time // H.S. // A.U.

Chapter Forty-Nine

RILEY

"Good job, Tyler." I said, smiling at the freshman who completed the study packet with a solid B. "You're still having some trouble with differentials, but everything else is solid. Make sure to study units twelve and thirteen over the weekend, because Strauss tends to take problems straight out of the book."

"He does?" The boy asked, clicking his mechanical pencil until the lead falls out.

"Yep. He doesn't allow notes on tests, because he's stuck in the fifties, so I don't feel bad about giving you an extra boost. He still believes in memorization as an actual learning mechanism when it only works for a small amount of people. Once you pass his class, you'll probably get Wheeler or Montgomery, and both of them allow notes and give proper study guides." I tell him. It was a well known practice at Harden to give other students hints about teachers. Who would give extra credit to struggling students, which history teacher is more likely to grade on a curve, the best teacher to go to when they need help with course work. Mrs. Hawley was very particular about spacing and front size in all her essays while Mrs. Bardot cared more about following strict essay structure.

"Thank you so much, Riley." Tyler says, shoulder sagging, "I don't know what I'll do without you next year. I'm absolute shit in math."

I give him a look, "No, you're not. You understand it all, it just takes you a little more time. There's no shame in that, Tyler. It's your mind's refusal to accept something without fully comprehending it." He furrows his brows in confusion, so I continue, "Most of your classmates will just take an equation and follow the steps, but never understand why. You want to know why an equation makes sense. It's why you're so good at biology; it explains the why."

His face burns red, nearly the color of his hair. "I'm not that great at biology."

"Then why has your teacher put you on the shortlist for the anatomy society?"

There were a few societies at Harden: anatomy, chemistry, history, scholars, and dead poets. Similar to clubs, they were for those who showed an immense understanding and exuberance of a subject. A student had to be nominated by a faculty member and then invited by the council full of seniors. Scholars Society was the grand culmination of the other four, only the best of the best invited to join. Each society was primarily for upperclassmen, rarely opening their doors for sophomores and never for freshman. I was a member of history, dead poets, and scholars, thankfully not on the council. I had been asked, but I was also class president as well as president of several normal clubs in the school. No way could I pull off adding something like that to my schedule.

"Seriously?" Tyler gaped.

I sat back in my chair smugly, "It's pretty rare for a sophomore to get invited into a society. Keep up the excellent work in biology, ask for help in math when you need it, and it's a sure thing."

By the time he left the library, Tyler was bouncing with excitement. Normally, he would leave in exhaustion, wiped out from trying to understand equations and numbers and how they all fit together. Today I had given him hope and a clear pathway to success.

Most of the kids at Harden were under an enormous amount of pressure. Way different than the pressure set on me with my scholarship. These kids had to go home every night to their parents, parents who refused to have a kid who wasn't extraordinary. I'd seen many kids my age lose it due solely to midterms and finals. And the thought of the SAT's and ACT's was enough to send some students into a near mental breakdown.

"You ready?" I asked, walking up to where Harry had situated himself in the main area. He had been writing an essay for our AP lit class about the Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad.