Chapter Text
“Heather, your test grade is final.” The teacher sighed, “You’ll just have to do better next time, I can’t just raise your grade.” The teacher thought for a moment, “Well, I can give you some extra credit if you join the mathletes.”
Heather scowled. Ew, those nerds? No thanks. But Heather desperately needed that extra credit…and she was getting bored of the same old drama in her popular friend group, so maybe a change of company could be interesting.
Heather reluctantly agreed, and luckily for her, there was an after school meeting that same day. Great.
As she walked into room 110, all the people in the room turned to stare at her. A short boy in a red hoodie and glasses, Cameron, nervously asked her, “Are you looking for someone?”
Heather just glared and took a seat in the back of the classroom. After a pause, Harold spoke up, “You’re welcome to join us at the front.”
Heather glanced up from her phone for a split second before returning to scrolling. Harold continued, “Uhh, I’ll pass out the problems and after 30 minutes we’ll discuss as usual.”
Heather could hear the rustling of paper and footsteps coming towards her. Harold’s loud breathing assaulted her ears, and she suddenly remembered that Harold had asthma. Back in eighth grade English class when they had read “Lord of the Flies,” some kids would constantly say “sucks to your ass-mar” to Harold and make fun of him.
BEEP. The start of the timer shook Heather out of that random memory, and she looked at the sheet of math problems. “If there are 500 students who attend White Pines High School, and 10 are randomly selected…”
Soon the 30 minutes were up, and everyone had arranged their desks in the front. Heather supposed she should join them. She walked up to the nearest occupied desk, and ordered the kid out. The frightened student quickly scurried away and dragged another desk to the other side, away from her.
The mathletes discussed the problems, and Heather had actually gotten all of them right - though she didn’t tell any of the mathletes. She wanted to avoid interacting with them as much as possible. Heather remained silent during the whole discussion, only scoffing when somebody tried and failed to explain their incorrect answer.
As soon as the discussion ended, Heather hurried out of the classroom. Ugh, she did not need to spend any more time with those nerds.
She was already down the hallway when she realized that she didn’t have her car keys. Her stupid, idiot brother had taken the car today to hang out with his friends. Heather mentally ran through a list of her friends for a potential ride and concluded that none of them could see her around the mathletes, it would be social status suicide.
“Fuck,” she muttered and headed back to room 110 hoping someone was in there. When Heather came in, Harold was alone in the room erasing the white board.
Heather decided to ask directly; it was embarrassing enough without having to explain herself, “Hey, I need a ride home.”
“Uh yeah, sure,” Harold responded, a bit surprised.
They walked to Harold’s small blue car, Heather walking a good 10 feet behind Harold. She got in the passenger seat and threw her bag in the backseat between a tuba and a stack of textbooks.
While Harold was fumbling around with items in the trunk, he had left his phone on with the music open. Curious, Heather leaned over and glanced at his playlists. She noticed that the currently selected one was labeled: “sex playlist.” That piqued her interest. She found it kind of funny, as if Harold was getting any, she thought.
Harold finally got in the driver’s seat and turned on the car. Suddenly, the speakers started blaring “Lonely” by Chloe x Halle at full volume. Red and flustered, Harold quickly snatched up his phone and tried to stop the music. He only succeeded in playing the next song, “Freak” by Lana Del Rey. Panicking, Harold just pulled out the aux cord, which finally stopped the music.
Heather burst out laughing. Bringing her hands to her mouth, she tried to cover it up. Harold realized exactly why she was laughing and inwardly cursed himself for leaving his phone alone with her.
“Some of us want to feel wanted and less lonely, gosh” Harold said in a small voice, “like you’d understand,” he looked down at his lap.
Oh but Heather definitely understood. Sure she had her clique of populars, her posse of lackeys, her masses of admirers and haters, but she never felt a true connection to any of them. All the vapid drama was meaningless, but Heather didn’t have anyone else. She’d thought about it a lot, the politics of high school popularity. If she left the school one day, a new queen bee would replace her, and she’d be forgotten in a week. Heather was a disposable figurehead, and no one actually cared for her as a person.
Heather had stopped laughing minutes ago, and her knees were now drawn up to her chest. Harold cleared his throat, “Heather? What’s your address?”
They drove wordlessly to Heather’s house. Maybe playing Harold’s “sex playlist” would be less awkward than the silence, she thought. As she turned to get out of the car, Harold spoke, “You know, you’re really smart, you’re a great mathlete. And let me know if you ever need a ride, I’d be happy to give one any time.”
“Thanks,” Heather replied, a small smile gracing her lips.