class. Perhaps you could use your time to discuss literature.”
He tilted his head back to meet her gaze. “Oh, we are discussing literature, Professor.” Clearing his
throat, he tapped the screen pul ing up Kimbrough’s 39th published work, Marooned in the Asteroid
Labyrinth. The explanation bubbled up as smoothly as they always did, a skil he’d been cultivating since childhood. “As you can see, dramatist Joel Kimbrough often played on themes of loneliness and
abandonment, in which the protagonist is forced to overcome not only external obstacles like space
monsters and malfunctioning spaceship engines, but also the internal devastation that comes with
complete solitude. His works often employ the vast emptiness of space as a metaphor for social
isolation. In the end, his protagonists overcome their feelings of insecurity only after they accept the help of an unlikely assistant, such as an android or an alien or …” His mouth quirked to one side. “…a pretty girl who happens to be a skil ed marksman when she’s handed a high-powered ray gun.”
A wave of tittering rolled through the class, confirming Carswell’s suspicions that he now had an
audience.
“You, you see,” he said, gesturing again at the screen, “I was just telling Miss Fal ow that the themes
in Kimbrough’s work are symbolic of my own personal struggles with math homework. I so often feel
lost, insecure, confused, completely abandoned …but by joining forces with a pretty girl who
understands the problems I currently have to work through, I may yet overcome the obstacles laid out
before me, and achieve my ultimate goaclass="underline" high marks in math class.” He gave a one-shouldered shrug
and added, for good measure, “And also literature class, naturally.”
Professor Gosnel stared down at him with her lips pressed and he could tell that she was still
annoyed, although simultaneously trying to hide a twinge of amusement. “I somehow doubt you’ve ever
felt insecure about anything in your whole life, Mr. Thorne.”
He grinned. “I’m a teenager, Professor. I feel insecure all the time.”
The class chuckled around him, but Professor Gosnel sighed. “Just try to stay on task, Mr. Thorne,”
she said, before turning her back to her own screen and listing some of the literary terms students
should be using to discuss their assignments – words like themes, metaphors, and symbolism. Carswell smirked.
Then a voice broke out of the mild chatter, loud enough to reach Carswel , but quite enough to
make it seem like it wasn’t intentional. “If it’s a pretty girl that he needs to help with his ‘problems,’ it’s a shame Kate Fallow is the best he can find.”
Someone else guffawed. A few girls giggled, before putting their hands over their mouths.
Carswell glanced back to see Ryan Doughty smirking at him – a friend of Jules. He shot him a glare,
before turning back to Kate. Her smile had vanished, her eyes filling with mortification.
Carswel curled his hand into a tight fist, having the sudden, unexpected urge to punch Ryan
Doughty in the mouth. But instead as the class quieted down, he ignored the feeling and once again
scooted his chair closer to Kate’s.
“So, like I was saying before,” he said, teetering on the line between casual and nervous, “maybe we
could eat lunch together today, out in the courtyard.” He would have to cancel the afternoon’s card
game, which would put him behind schedule, but if he could submit today’s homework during math –
completed and on time – it would be the fastest way to start turning around his marks. And he only had
a week to show his dad that things were improving before mid-July break started. “What do you say?”
Kate’s jaw had dropped again, her blush having returned ful force.
“Carswell?”
Sighing, he didn’t hide his glare as he turned back to Blakely. “Yes, Blakely?”
Her glower put his to shame. “I thought you and I were going to be partners today.”
“Uh – I’m not sure, Blakely. I’m afraid I already asked Kate, but …” He grinned in Kate’s direction. “I guess she hasn’t given me an answer yet.”
Blakely harrumphed. “Wel then, maybe we should cal off our date to the dance, too. Then you two
can go fight obstacles and achieve goals together.”
He sat up straighter. “Huh?”
“Last week,” Blakely said, curling her fingers around the edge of her desk, “I asked if you were going
to the Peace Dance and you said I’d be the girl you asked if you did. I’ve been planning on it ever since.”
“Oh, right,” Carswell was losing track of how many girls he’d said some version of this line too, which was probably bad planning on his part, but at the time Blakely had asked, he’d been hoping to get
her to invest in his Send Carswel to Space Camp fund.
“Unfortunately,” he said, “it’s looking like I may have to be babysitting my neighbors’ toddlers that
day. Two-year-old triplets.” He shook his head, “They’re a handful, but so blasted cute, it’s impossible
not to love them.”
Blakely’s anger fizzled into war adoration. “Oh.”
“But if they end up not needing me, you’l be the first to know.”
She squinched her shoulders up from the flattery. “But do you want to work together today?”
“Ah, I’d love to, Blakely, but I did ask Kate already … er, Kate?”
Kate had her head down, her hair falling over her face so that he could only see the tip of her nose.
Her body had taken on a new tenseness, her knuckles whitened as she gripped the stylus.
“It’s alright,” she said, without looking up at him. “I’m sure the teacher will let me work on my own.
You can work with your girlfriend.”
“Oh – She’s not - We’re not-“
Blakely grabbed his arm. “See, Kate doesn’t mind. You said that you chose Joel Kimbrough?”
Clearing his throat, Carswell looked first at Blakely, then back up at Kate, now hidden behind her
wall of hair.
“Um, fine.” He leaned toward Kate again. “But, are we still on for lunch? So I can, you know, check
out that homework assignment?”
Kate tucked her hair behind her ear and leveled a look at him that was both annoyed and intelligent.
It told him that she knew exactly what he was doing, or trying to do. To her. To Blakely. To every girl
he’d ever asked a favor from. Carswell was surprised to feel a tingle of shame down his spine.
Her jaw twitched. “I don’t think so. And we probably shouldn’t study together after all.”
Turning away, she fitted a pair of speaker-plugs into her ears, and the conversation was over. In its
wake was a feeling of disappointment that Carswel couldn’t quite place, but he didn’t think had very
much to do with math.
~~~~~
“Seven card royals,” said Carswell, dealing another hand of cards. “Aces are wild. Triplets beat the
house.”
“Why don’t we ever play that doubles beat the house?” asked Anthony, picking up his cards and
rearranging them in his hands.
Carswell shrugged. “We can play that way if you want. But it means the pots will be smaller. Not as
much risk, not as big a payout.”
“Triplets are fine,” said Carina, needling Anthony in the side with her elbow. “Anthony’s just afraid