Forget Green Gables

...And Then a Hero Comes Along

I don't know anything about my math teacher before walking into her room, but I know I am going to like her class. The petite woman seems cross, cranky, and armed with a thousand strategies for making math simple for even my convoluted brain.

Ten seconds before the bell rings to begin class, Dustin Martinez plunks himself down in a seat against the far wall. "Oh, it's the ugly, fat freshmen who made varsity cheerleading," he says scathingly when he sees me. I ignore him, turning my attention to the sample algebra problem on the front board. Boys like Dustin are predictable, cruel, and never worth the time.

"I thought the freshmen cheerleaders were too smart for freshman math," Dustin sneers as we file out of the room 55 minutes later. "Guess you're not as smart as you act, you stuck up-"

"That is enough," our teacher cuts in over the din in the hallway, corralling Dustin to the side.

Before she asks me what happened, I slip away, ducking across the north hall to my fifth-period gym class. I bolt up the bleachers and sit down next to Jamie, who is doodling all over the five-subject notebook that she bought the previous afternoon at Staples.

"What's wrong?"

"I hate Dustin Martinez," I answer, slamming my meticulously prepared, organized, and decorated binder down on the bench beside me.

"Yeah," Jamie adds another layer of ink to her drawing, a slowly forming softball. "That's a common feeling."

Our conversation is cut short by a whistle summoning us down the bleachers. I cannot wait for the end of the day. Cheer practice always makes things better.