Page 19 of What You Left Me

What’d he look like

A mummy basically

But he’s alive

Just unconscious

He has another surgery today

Omg

What are you doing now

We’re swimming at Daniels!

You should come!

I want to hear more about this

I can’t

I’m at the mall with Mike Turrey

I’m sorry. Who?!??

I’ll explain later

We get our pizza and find a table. Turrey smothers his slice of sausage with unfathomable amounts of cheese. “Need some?” he asks. He hands it to me. It’s not a question. I give the shaker a few smacks over my cheese and set it down. “So?” he says as a precursor to his first bite. “What’s your deal?”

“My deal?” Our car ride broke some barriers. He’s a little less intimidating now that we’ve both hummed along to Top 40 radio together.

“Exactly,” he responds, like,Figure it out on your own. I’m not getting more specific.

I mimic his confidence. It always helps to pretend. “You first.”

“Played a lot of sports, but just basketball and football this year. Going to ISU.”

“Okay. I ranked eleventh in the class. Did a lot of activities. No sports. Going to Notre Dame.” My default answer spills out of my mouth before I remember that it’s not the way I want to define myself. And that it’s not exactly true, anyways.

Turrey laughs at me the way most people do. Intimidated, impressed, and somewhat embarrassed. For themselves or for me, I’ve never been able to determine.

Suddenly I want to let out a little of my mess. “Actually, I might not be able to go,” I say.

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t technically graduate.”

He coughs on his straw. “What?”

“Yeah.”

Turrey looks away from his pizza to recalibrate his image of me. “I thought you were Miss Eleventh in the Class?”

Justgraduated. “I am.” He looks confused. “It’s complicated. I missed my Honors Algebra II final last year. Instead of failing me, Ms. Hornsby gave me an incomplete, so my GPA got weighed differently than it would’ve if I’d gotten a letter grade. It’s kind of confusing, but basically she helped me out.”

“Damn. Hornsby straight up stole my phone for a week when she caught me texting during an assembly.” He shakes his head. “How’d you get her to do that?”

His reaction is unexpectedly understated. I exhale a bit. “Well, before I was Miss Eleventh, I was Miss Second. I’m not great at math, but I always tried really hard, and I did all of Ms. Hornsby’s ridiculous extra credit assignments, which she liked. No one does those. She told me I could retake the exam at the beginning of this year or repeat the class. I didn’t do either. Then she said I could take the test during winter finals. I didn’t. Without the credit, my rank fell. Now the administration’s agreed to let it be a pass or fail mark instead of a letter grade, so I meet the minimum course requirements to graduate.”