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Chapter 9

I was sort of iffy about Malone. Don't get me wrong, she was an amazing teacher, and I learned more about the English language in my three years in her class than I ever did. Miss Malone is one of the most brilliant teachers I have ever come across, but at the same time, she was the problem. She was extremely sexist—her favoritism for girls was more evident than the brightly colored posters in her classroom. I'm not the biggest fan of her taste in music either, but I wouldn't mind it if only she didn't discriminate against bands. If she insults The Beatles one more time, I swear my head is going to explode. Malone is very opinionated, and she likes to express her opinions onto people so that they think she's right. About the one thing I absolutely can't stand about Miss Malone is her adoration for Jordan McClennon—I know Jordan was a very good student as she was also a valedictorian, but even Malone said that no one gets a 100% in her class, and Jordan just so happens to have one.

I sat in my seat, staring at my copy of To Kill a Mockingbird, and I felt the air swish as Ashton's hand rose up quickly. I looked to the side, Ashton now in my view. It wasn't that long ago when I had just realized that Ashton was in my English class, much less that he sat right next to me. His hand moved from side to side like a third grader, and that's when I observed that Ashton was the only boy raising his hand. All the other boys didn't know, didn't care, or were too shy. All the other hands in the air just so happened to belong to girls, and that's when Miss Malone called on Jordan. Jordan then started to explain—in very intricate detail, because Jordan was like that—that Scout and Jem found gum in the hole of the tree when they were walking home from school, and I noticed how Ashton put his hand down sadly.

Ashton looked down at his own copy of the book, skimming through the highlighted notes. I saw handwriting in the book that most definitely wasn't Ashton's—Ashton couldn't right legibly to save his own life.

"Is that Michael's book?" I whispered.

Ashton turned to me, pushed his glasses further up his nose, and smiled sheepishly. "Yeah," he murmured.

"His handwriting is so...neat."

Ashton chuckled. "It is, isn't it?"

"What happened to your copy?"

"I lost it in August."

"We got the book in August."

Ashton looked down, blood rushing to his cheeks. He didn't answer back, and I figured he was too embarrassed to. I looked at my own book, highlighting something that Jem had said.

✘✘✘

"Today we will do an experiment on density, and, as always, you will work with your table partners—"

"Hey, Mike, I get the mass, you get the volume, and we'll both get the density, 'kay?"

Michael looked up from his notebook, and at our other desk partner, Elliot Tate. "It's just Michael."

Elliot looked confused. "But aren't best friends supposed to be on a nickname basis?"

Michael frowned. I wasn't exactly sure if Michael considered Elliot as his best friend. According to Michael, Ashton has been his very best friend since they were in kindergarten (it wasn't until seventh grade when the romance kindled), and I never heard Michael call anyone else his best friend. Based on what I observed (and I observe almost everything), Michael wasn't exactly friends with Elliot, but Elliot clung onto Michael like a barnacle attached to a whale.

"I don't like people calling me nicknames," Michael said, trying to avoid the "best friends" part.

"Doesn't Ashton call you any nicknames?"