Like Tel in said, I’m too levelheaded to do anything so impulsive.
Tel in, probably sensing the almost tangible tension in the room, stands, clears his throat, and excuses himself to the kitchen. Seconds later, he’s fleeing the smoochfest he found there for the upstairs.
Quince, who has been standing, rigid and acting as the epicenter for al that anxiety, asks, “What was that real y about?”
“Nothing. I told you, we just—”
“Save it,” he says, cutting me off. “I know you better than anyone. I can tel when you’re lying to me.”
“It’s not a lie.” Not real y. We were playing a game and, even though for half a second I might have maybe sorta thought about actual y considering the idea, I wasn’t real y serious. I insist, “We were playing a game.” He looks at me for a minute, studying, trying to see through my words to decide if I’m tel ing the truth. Final y he closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Yeah, sorry. It’s been a long day.”
I cross the room and wrap my arms around his waist. “It’s been a long month.”
He gives me a quick hug and then leans back, nodding at the open study guide on the table. “You want some help?”
“Of course,” I say, grasping at the safe topic of my SAT
prep. As he settles, cross-legged, on the floor across the table, I ask, “Are you going to distract me by playing footsie?”
“Absolutely, princess,” he says with a wink.
“Then I won’t remember a thing.”
“It’s a samurai training technique,” he teases, spinning the test prep book toward him. “I distract you as much as possible right now.” He slides the book into his lap. “And you’l learn how to test through anything.”
“Samurai, huh?” I tease back, relieved to return to our relaxed positions. “We won’t get anything done.” He winks again and then gets down to business, reading the first question aloud. My good humor evaporates as I focus on trying to figure out the paral el relationship between dog and quadruped.
Chapter 12
“ ’m going to fail.”
I “You’re not going to fail,” Shannen replies patiently. “You can’t fail the SATs.” She signals a left turn, checks both ways, and then pul s out onto the street in front of school.
Her wipers swish back and forth against the tropical downpour. “The worst you can get on each section is a two hundred, I think, but they don’t assign letter grades.”
“Fine,” I whine. “I’m going to get two hundreds.”
“You won’t.” She spares me a glance. “You’l do real y wel in the reading and writing sections.”
With a groan, I drop my head into my hands, knocking it against the dashboard on the way. I just groan again and sink deeper into my freakout. I haven’t had enough time to prepare. I’ve wasted too much of what time I did have. And I’m going to have a complete mental meltdown tomorrow when the test begins.
I’l be lucky if I can speak in complete sentences at my interview after.
“The test is in the morning,” I complain. “I only have sixteen more hours to cram in some studying.”
Shannen pul s to a complete stop before proceeding onto my street. “No more cramming,” she says. “There have been countless studies that show the more you try to learn in the last few hours before an exam, the less you retain.”
“Real y?”
“In fact,” she says, a slightly smug smile on her face, “they suggest that it wil even make you forget things you already know.”
“Oh, no,” I cry. “Then no more studying.”
“No more studying,” Shannen agrees.
Wel , at least that gives me a little more freedom for my Friday night. I was already bummed because Quince had to run errands for his mom and couldn’t give me a ride home
—not that I mind riding with Shannen, it’s just become a routine for Quince and me. The thought of spending the whole night with my nose buried in a study guide was just sad.
At least now maybe Shannen and I can enjoy an evening of board games and wel -buttered popcorn.
“Wait a second,” I say as she speeds past my house. “You missed my turn.”
“I thought we could swing by the grocery store and get some caramels.” She steers onto Seaview’s main shopping street. “Ever have caramel corn?”
“No,” I say, intrigued. “Is it good?”
“It’s amazing,” she says, pul ing into the store parking lot.
Which happens to be right next to Mushu Sushi, my favorite land-based sushi restaurant. I give their red-lacquered doors a yearning glance.
“Want to grab dinner first?” Shannen asks.
Sushi is not her favorite, so I know she must have seen my longing look.
“Nah,” I say, trying to be a good friend. “It’s okay.” The OPEN sign next to their front door is dark. “Besides, looks like they’re closed.”
“Let’s check to make sure. I wouldn’t say no to some edamame,” Shannen says, jumping out of the car and dashing toward the restaurant to escape the rain.
“Okay.” I shrug and fol ow her, never one to turn down a plateful of sushi goodness. I move slowly, letting the water cover me with its soothing energy. By the time I reach the awning, I look a little bedraggled but I feel wonderful.