scrapes across the linoleum floor. He doesn’t even look at me as he gathers up his stuff. “See you next year,” he says, before going to sit with Ezra.
I snarl as the two of them high-five each other over their project grades.
This can’t be happening. Quint can’t be in charge of my grade, my success, my future!
“Pru? You okay?” says Jude, sliding into Quint’s empty seat.
I turn to him. My insides feel like a thundercloud. “What did you and Caleb get on your report?”
Jude hesitates, before pulling a paper from his school binder. There’s another blue sticky note. Straight As across the board.
I groan with annoyance. Then, realizing how that sounds, I give Jude a begrudging look. “I mean, good for you.”
“Real convincing, Sis.” He glances at the back of Quint’s head. “You really want to try to redo it?”
“Yeah, but Quint refuses. I’ll think of something, though. He can’t keep me from resubmitting my portion of the project, can he?”
“Quint or Mr. Chavez?”
“Both.” I cross my arms, scowling. “Evidently, I didn’t include enough science. So right now, my plan is to science the heck out of this report. I will dream up a Fortuna Beach tourism sector so mired in science, the residents will be given master’s degrees by default.”
“Excellent. That will save me a lot of money on tuition payments.”
Jude pulls out his sketchbook and starts drawing a group of bloodied, war-torn elves. He has no problem relaxing, as he well shouldn’t, with his sticky note full of As.
By the end of the period, Mr. Chavez passes back our papers. Our last, inconsequential homework assignment. For opting to take on the adaptations of an anglerfish, I get an A+. It does nothing to subdue my rage.
As soon as the bell rings, I leave Jude behind as he starts to put away his sketchbook. Quint and Ezra are already halfway out the door. I chase after them. “Wait!” I say, grabbing Quint’s arm.
His … bicep?
Holy cow.
Quint spins back to me. For a moment he’s startled, but his expression quickly cools. “Now you’re just acting desperate.”
I barely hear him. What is under this shirt?
“Prudence?”
Snapping back to reality, I withdraw my hand. Heat rushes into my cheeks.
Quint’s eyes narrow suspiciously.
“Please,” I sputter. “I can’t have a C on my record.”
His lips quirk to one side, like my little problems are hilarious to him. “You make it sound like you’re going to jail. It’s just sophomore biology. You’ll survive.”
“I heard that!” calls Mr. Chavez, who is tidying his desk.
“Mr. Chavez, please!” I say. “Tell him he has to do this with me, or … or say I can do it on my own!”
Mr. Chavez looks up and shrugs.
Gah.
“Look,” I say, turning back to Quint. “I know it’s not the end of the world, but I’ve never gotten a C before. And I worked really hard on that model! You have no idea how much work I’ve put into this project.” My eyes start to water, catching me off-guard. I squeeze them shut, trying to reel back my emotions before I give Quint even more ammunition to attack Workaholic Prudence.
“You’re right,” he says.
I open my eyes, startled.
“I don’t have any idea how hard you worked on that project.” He takes a step back, shrugging. “Because I wasn’t trusted enough to help.”
You weren’t trusted? I want to scream. You didn’t even try!
“Besides,” he adds, “I have more important things to do with my summer.”
I snort. “Like what? Play video games? Go surfing?”
“Yeah,” he says with an ireful laugh. “You know me so well.” He pivots and starts to walk away.
I feel like I’ve run out of options. Helplessness sweeps through me, further igniting my anger. I do not like feeling helpless.
As I stare at Quint’s retreating back, I ball my fists and picture the earth opening up beneath him and swallowing him whole.
“Oh, wait, Mr. Erickson?” calls our teacher.
Quint pauses.
“Almost forgot.” Mr. Chavez riffles through his papers and grabs a folder. “Here’s that extra-credit assignment. Great work here. The photos are really impressive.”
Quint’s face softens and he takes the folder with a smile. “Thanks, Mr. C. Have a good summer.”
I gape, stunned, as Quint leaves the room.
What was that?
I spin on Mr. Chavez. “Hold on. You let him do an extra-credit assignment? But I can’t do something to bring up my grade?”
Mr. Chavez sighs. “He had extenuating circumstances, Prudence.”
“What extenuating circumstances?”
He opens his mouth, but hesitates. Then he shrugs. “Maybe you should try asking your lab partner about it.”