Art Geeks

Ch. 2: Math is FUN.

“No…”

Cleo rolls her eyes dramatically. “God, Twizz-“

“Gum.”

“Sorry, Gum.” Cue eye roll. “Okay, so will you give me a statement or not?” God, this girl can’t make up her mind about who she wants to act like. She’s just now gone back to Jumpy McGee mode.

I frown, trying to appear like I’m contemplating Cleo’s offer, but to be honest, my mind is buzzing worriedly about what she said before. Berkeley threatened to cancel prom… Maybe that’s good. I mean, that way, the vandal might actually come forward. But it’s also bad. Very bad. For the art geeks, at least. If Berkeley really is going to cancel prom… we’ll be to blame. It may not have been our fault, but it was our art show.

Oh God.

“Um… no, thanks, Cleo,” I answer, still distracted.

Cleo’s freckled face falls dramatically. “Are you sure? Because-”

The second bell rings for first period, and I realize while Cleo and I were talking, almost everyone cleared out of the hallway, save for a girl in a hot pink tube top making out with her boyfriend (God, I do not need to see that. Oh, God. I think I just threw up in my mouth.) and a tall, gawky guy whose books are on the floor. I walk over to help him and Cleo trails me like an obedient, hyperactive puppy on steroids.

Yep. Jumpy McGee it is.

“Please, Gum?” she whines, and I take the guy’s math book in my hand and hold it out for him. Dropped Book Boy gives me a weak smile, and I try to return it.

“Fine, Cleo,” I consent. I mean, she did just get my name right. 

Cleo lets out a little squeal. “Yay! Thanks, Hersh-”

Never mind. Ha ha. LOL.

“Gum.”

“Right. Thanks, Gum.” She holds out her voice recorder expectantly.

“Wait. Right now?”

“Obviously.”

“Fine,” I say, and a high-pitched beep follows, accompanied by a small, blinking red light on the side of the tiny voice recorder. “I think what happened to the Art Gallery was awful, and it never should have happened. I hope they find the culprit and don’t cancel Prom,” I say, my voice dripping with boredom. I honestly don’t care if what I say is lame, as long I don’t get detention for being late to algebra. Again.

Cleo is unimpressed. “Is that all you have to say?”

“Look, I’d love to stay and chat, but I’m late for math.”

Yeah. I just used math class as an excuse to be antisocial. Never thought that would happen.

She sighs halfheartedly and grumbles, “Fine. Thanks.” Cleo stashes the voice recorder into her jeans pocket and trudges off down the close to empty hall.

I begin to walk towards algebra, past rows of closed classroom doors. God, Dad will kill me if he ever gets wind of how many detentions I’ve gotten from Mr. Halbrooke this year. My dad and I are close… but some things are better left unsaid. The amount of algebra-related detentions I’ve received being one of those things.

That’s when I realize Dropped Book Boy is walking behind me. He’s actually taller than I am, which is surprising, because I tower over most of the girls and guys in school. He has dark hair cut really short, and dark tan skin, and big, shy brown eyes that make him look kind of like a puppy.