This whole week has felt like a dream. A busy dream, but a dream nonetheless. Cooper and I have worked on his truck until ten p.m. almost every night—although, admittedly, a good chunk of that time has been spent sneaking kisses and subtle touches. Sloane and Asher came over to his place Tuesday to help build and paint the gingerbread house while Cooper and I made baked goods out of sheets of colorful foam. We just have to attach thebaked goods to the house and do any other final touches tonight. Then, other than finishing the costume, we won’t have to worry about parade preparation at all next week.
My next two classes drag on forever, full of note-taking and lectures. Then, finally, I get to go to econ, where Cooper is waiting for me.
He grabs a pencil out of his bag. “I heard we have a pop quiz today.”
My blood freezes. “In here?”
“Yeah.”
I rack my brain for the last time I even looked at my notes for this class. Two weeks ago, maybe?
Mr. Davies knocks his knuckles on the desk as the bell rings. “Everything away except a pencil.”
“Cooper,” I whisper, “I haven’t studied.”
“You’ll be fine. You’re the smartest person I know.”
“Because I study!” Panic grips me.
“Relax, Ellis. You’ve got this.”
Mr. Davies passes out our quizzes, and I take a deep breath. Shoulders back.I’ve got this.
I stare at the ten-question quiz.
I definitelydon’thave this.
We have fifteen minutes to complete the quiz before Mr. Davies says we’re moving on, so I do my best to fill in the answers, then turn it in. But I struggle to focus for the remainder of class.
“What can I do for you, Ellis?” Mr. Davies asks when I approach him after the bell rings, after everyone—includingCooper—has gone.
“Um, I know it’s not something you normally do, but I was wondering if you’d be willing to grade my quiz,” I ask. “Now, I mean.”
He must see the worry eating away at me because he walks around his desk and grabs the stack of completed quizzes.
“I’ve been working on stuff for the parade…,” I say, feeling the need to explain myself before he uncovers my failing grade.
“Ah, yes, a hazard of living with your aunt, I suppose,” he chuckles. He pulls my quiz from the pile and examines my answers. “Well, good news. You only missed three.”
I think I might be sick. “So, a seventy percent.”
“Three wrong answers is still decent, Ms. Mitchell.”
I stare at nothing as I nod. “Thank you.”
With my backpack slung over my shoulder and my eyes stinging, I leave the classroom, grab all my books from my locker, and head to the flagpole to meet Sloane, Asher, and Cooper.
“What were you doing?” Cooper asks.
“I got a C,” I mumble, still in disbelief.
“He graded it for you?” Cooper asks, surprised. “Okay, well, it could have been worse, especially if you thought you wouldn’t do well.”
“I don’t get Cs. In fact, I’ve never even gotten a B.Ever.” I shake my head. “Do you guys think you can handle the float today? I need to study.”
Cooper takes my hand. “Ellis, that ten-point quiz isn’t going to drop your overall grade from an A. You’ll probably have a ninety-nine instead of a hundred.”
“That isn’t the point. I’ve been distracted, Coop. Collegeapplications are due soon. I can’t let my grades bomb at the finish line.”
