“Well, duh.”

I stared, mouth open, shocked at the words that flew out of her mouth. She rolled her eyes at me, clearly frustrated with my stupidity, or in this case my lack of. I glanced down at the pile of papers I held in my suddenly shaking hands, glaring down at the bright red A’s bolded and boasting at the top of my papers.

“Guys never like the smart girl. Why do you think Brett has so many boyfriends? Because she acts like an idiot all the time and guys love it.”

My worn bones froze, while my mouth suddenly became dry and locked in place.  I found myself unable to respond, as she gave me a quick hug, said something about meeting up after school, and proceeded to break into a sprint down the shagged carpet of the crowded hallway, weaving around the masses of sweaty students trudging to class. Ms. Kent, the teacher opposite me, climbed down from her throne, where she sat day after day, watching students rush by her, and quickly approached me. With puzzling eyes and a speedy hand to my head, she patted me on the back and suggested that I make a trip to the water fountain. As she babbled on about the heat, the stress of the end of the year, and other topics that slipped past my head, I could only see his soft blue eyes and his wavy blond hair in my head.

I knew I wanted to do something big at the ripe, young age of four. Scoffing at the kids who aspired to be carpenters or builders or decorators, my mom emphasized the importance of doing something and being someone who mattered in the world. I had carefully observed as she rolled her eyes and laughed at the moms driving the soccer carpools in the minivans, the moms who filled their days with errands and golf dates and book club. My mom had no time for any of that “nonsense.” Instead, she filled her days in black or tan pantsuits, muddling over lawsuits, acquisitions and contracts. Working hard and learning in school was my biggest priority, as success in school directly translated to a positive impression of me in my mom’s demanding eyes. However, with my hours spent bent over books and curled up with Algebra homework, I had turned an ignorant eye to the superficial values of beauty and hotness that were held so high in the minds of my fellow classmates.

Plastered with rainbow colored posters of encouragement, the math classroom door beckoned me as I glided swiftly down the hallway. Upon entering the classroom, I glanced around, looking for an empty seat that wasn’t my usual spot in the front row. Suddenly, my math book slipped out of my hand and hit the ground with a thud, causing all of the girls around me to burst into giggles. Quickly hitting the ground, I scrambled to pick-up the yellowed, ripped sheets spilling out of the textbook, when I saw pair of tan, smooth hands reach out and start picking up the papers with me. He averted his eyes for a moment when I looked up, and I could do nothing more than mutter a quick “thank you” before springing back up to my seat.

Easy to me, class moved by quickly. While the rest of the class spent time grumbling over equations and areas, I found my eyes drifting to him. His salty blond hair, piercing blue eyes, and quick smile shook back and forth as he laughed along, seemingly un-phased by the problems that our teacher had labeled “very hard.” A stack of tests lay over his desk, and I squinted to see the letters on the top. B, C, D, B. Looking up, his eyes met mine for a fleeting second, a culprit caught in the act. He smiled to himself, realizing my intense curiosity, and began to strut over to my seat, glistening as a beam of sun bounced off of him.

“You know, I am happy to extend my tutoring services to you.”

He winked at me softly and turned his back, already knowing my response. My gray t-shirt became damp with my nervous sweat. I spun my head rapidly in all directions, hoping to find a friend to rejoice with in the crowd of seats. Leaning back in my chair after failing to find such a person, I slipped into trance, dreaming about our future relationship that suddenly seemed so tangible.

` The tapping of Ms. O’Tools’s stilettos awoke me from my daydream, as she click-clacked over to my seat and planted my test down in front of me. Another A.  Slipping my hand over the blood red marking, I kept my eyes glued to the front, hoping to avoid the damp question that hung in the air. He sauntered over, saluting our teacher, winking at my seatmate, before approaching me for a second time. Shaggy blond hair draped the sides of his sunburned face, while his lacrosse shorts swished back and forth, creating a constant rhythm for his stride. I glanced toward the beaten clock, praying to hear the sound of the bell event though I knew that it wasn’t coming.
“Whatcha get?”
The question struck me, and I quivered for a moment, before glancing up at the sandy, speckled face.
“Oh, you know, the usual. B-”
He smiled, satisfied with my response, and confidently proclaimed that he was naturally smart, having good genes and all, since his dad was a scientist at MIT. I nodded along, and glanced out the door, where I caught the eye of my friend in her sprint to get to class. Seeing me talking to him, she halted for a moment and cheered silently. I did too, as I raised my invisible white flag, trading in my unwanted brains for beauty.