Math Team Sagas

In which we talked about Moody's instead, for perhaps 75% of the time. Maybe that was a minor reason as to why our school did not replace Treeburg as number one in the county. When every single person on A team, barring Argon, who was a sophomore, was on a Moody's team, I don't think there was too much packet-dissecting.

Bryant's excuse? "I do worse when I do the packets."

But our school still did really well. We were second, which is remarkable, and we did even better than last year. Melissa baked cookies and cupcakes to celebrate our last meet, and I attempted to... well, cook. Not really. I mixed instant pudding mix in the morning for funsies, since I had promised I would bring something but I really didn't find the time to earlier.

Owen's reaction to my pudding was rather... off-putting. Well, everyone reacted badly, and I blame the butterscotch, but Owen was really, really petrified. We proposed to leave a plate full of butterscotch pudding on Treeburg's table, and Melissa and Tybalt bravely walked over to make the "sacrifice."

We were over-reacting though. Treeburg accepted the plate of pudding without any words. I'm not exactly sure why, but as we were rid of really awful butterscotch pudding, and I was left with chocolate pudding, we were all happy.

Our team as a whole performed consistently. As in, everyone on A team either got a 12 or a 13. No exceptions. I must say, that was the closest we had ever scored, in perhaps the lifetime of Paperclip math team. The huge exception was Dino's 16. Too bad he wasn't on A team. (I still think it's the pressure thing. He can't stand the pressure, which is why his performance isn't so stellar when he is actually on A team.)

On the bus, Melissa prepared to hand out the monthly prize for the highest scorer. We all looked at Dino expectantly, when, all of a sudden, Melissa held up a plushie and said,

"I would like to, as a team captain, give this prize to the person who, along with me, also brought food."

"Wait," Dino said. "No, no, no. That prize should be mine."

"Well, maybe you guys can share," someone said. I think it was Tybalt.

"No, no. I had a speech all prepared."

"Here," Melissa said. "As the highest scorer this month, you get... a cookie."

"No, come on. I was ready to--"

"Why don't you go make some friends? Go talk to the girls up there." This was directed at the sophomores, who normally sat at the front of the bus.

"Well, I was going to," Dino said, "and give them the toy as a gift."

Which launched the entire back of the bus into a heated discussion about prom, as always. This time, the discussion was centered around who Owen should ask out to senior prom, and although we all know pretty much anyone he asked (barring someone like Cheryl, who already has a boyfriend) would probably accept. Irving tried to give sound (or maybe not so sound) advice, but then the conversation would turn to him, and who he should ask out ("Mario, of course"), and he shrunk away in his little corner at the back of the bus. Mario added inappropriate comments every now and then, much to the dismay of Bryant, who sat next to him and made a face every time Mario said something he shouldn't have said.

Dino piped that Owen should ask Umber, since they had known each other "since forever, and it would be like a fairy tale come true."

Besides being in awe that Dino actually read fairy tales and believed in them, I was rather saddened by this statement. I've never known anyone "since forever." I've never known anyone and stayed with them for longer than three years, save for my parents. I kind of feel left out in this whole fairy tale thing.

Well, I guess focusing on the present is always better.


And, as promised, the other part of my story.

On Saturday you did not show up. I waited for half an hour in the study hall, then decided you were not going to come. I had another hour and a half to waste, since I had told my parents my plans, and I did not want to go home early to their prying natures. I took the bus on Red Street and sat down in the last seat, simply waiting for it to take me somewhere. Anywhere. I had been so tired for the past few months, I just wanted to escape.

On some random stop, I thanked the bus driver and got off. It was barely three, and there were plenty of people. I wandered along the sidewalk, counting my steps in an off-beat pattern. After a while, I felt someone tugging at my bag.

I spun around, alarmed, only to look into your blue eyes.

"Hey," you said. "You're here."

"Am I supposed to be?"

"You're... you're not here because of my note?"

I was about to ask, but you were distracted again. Someone I vaguely remembered from school had arrived, sneering at the two of us.

"So, Blondie, you decided to bring your girlfriend along to watch you get your ass kicked?"

"Whatever," you said. "I'm leaving."

And you left me there, pondering over your words. What had you really meant? What did you want to tell me that day? I never got to know, and it eats away at my heart every day.

I am not a regretter. I do not regret. No matter what happens, I had always prided myself in being okay with what fate doled out to me. I was, after all, only a small player in this world of mastermind games.

But I do regret that evening. I cannot lie to myself anymore. I had been trying to do that for the past few years, and it had gotten me nowhere. A little more brazen, perhaps, but much less brave. I walked down a path that led to nowhere but pain and suffering.

That evening, I went home. I kicked off my shoes and dropped my bag onto the couch. I sat into my chair and started writing my homework.

That was it.

I did nothing else.

It was what people expected me to do, anyway. I was supposed to be the good student who did her homework on time, despite any side arrangements. I was supposed to be home. I was in high school, with little time left to go on to do anything else.

But I could have. I could have stopped. I could have turned around, ran after you, held your hand, and stopped you. I could have.

Ever since that first day.

I always missed my opportunities. I saw them in my peripheral vision, but ignored them because they were not directly in my line of sight. When I realized them for what they were, it was always too late.

I missed you just as I missed everything else that mattered.

"I really like your art."

We were in the study hall on Wednesday, and the remark threw me off slightly. But the reaction was short-lived. I was too vain for anything more than a fleeting impression.

"I didn't know you cared."

"I'm sorry. I thought maybe we could know each other better."

I scoffed. "What else is there to know? You're failing every single subject except English. I am your temporary tutor. There is nothing else to know."

"I had been thinking... maybe--"

"You, thinking? I highly doubt it."

"I laugh, I love, I hope, I try, I hurt, I need, I fear, I cry. And I know you do the same things too, So we're really not that different, me and you."

I stared into your eyes. They were the same, ever so blue, but something was off. I could not place it at the time, but I can now. You were trying to prove something, to me, to everyone else. You were trying to prove your humanity. Trying to prove that you were capable of caring.

I knew that, you know. I knew that you were human, capable of love, but also capable of hurt. And those days, I saw more pain in your eyes than anything else. I knew that and so much more, and I should have known enough to say something, but at the time I did not realize that what you wanted, perhaps, was merely a confirmation.

Maybe fate, just like Heaven, hates me as well. Maybe it's this thing they call karma. Maybe I just have bad luck. Maybe we were never meant to be.

I go through such questions late at night, when I forget what it meant to be young and naive. I wanted so desperately to have something to blame. The city. The people. Anything. Everything. That night.

I had just finished my physics homework when the phone rang. I heard my mother's footsteps as she made her way over to the phone, a few muffled sounds, and then a holler.

"You've got a phone call!"

I picked up the receiver in my room, and, after making sure my mother hung up, said, "Hello?"

I could hear the faint bustling of the streets in the background, but no one spoke.

"Hello?"

I was about to hang up when I heard a croaking cough.

"Hello?"

"Hey, I... can you come out right now?"

"Who is this?" I asked. I thought the voice was familiar, but I could not quite place it.

"Please, at the train station, right now..."

"Get over here, you wimp!" "Yeah! Get your ass over here!"

"Who is this?"

"Please, just, I can't, just come, please."

The line went dead.

I told my parents that I was going over to a friend's for the night, as we had a last-minute project to finish. My mother said nothing, but my father asked me why I had not finished my work earlier.

"I had other things to do."

He gave me a look that showed that he clearly did not believe me, but let me go anyway. I had never done anything wrong before. I would know the limits.

I had some spare pocket change, and I hailed a caddy a few blocks away from my apartment.

"Train station, please."

We rode in silence. He did not ask me why I was going out so late, and I did not ask about his life. We both knew how valuable ignorance was by this point. I had a fleeting moment of sadness, of losing my obliviousness so early in life that I would not have any happy memories left to share in the rest of my life that was pure.

When we reached the train station, I paid for my fare and searched around for any signs of recognition. There were some shady characters, but they did not glance my way. I was yet another girl, not pretty enough to be noticed, yet not ugly enough to be picked on. Average was a mean thing to be.

And then I saw your eyes, blue, so clear, looking my way.

I walked over, and when I was within speaking range you smiled.

"You came. You're here."

I had a sense of déjà vu. "Were you the one who called me?"

"Hn. Yeah. It was me."

"What did you want?"

"I wanted to talk."

I should have known better than to trust something so apparently simple. I should have been alert, more wary of your intentions. But what would that have amounted to? What would have happened? Perhaps I would have cherished the time more, but I would have found it harder to let go as well.

We talked about some trivial things. You mentioned how you hated our school's dirt courtyard. How you loved to stare at the stars. How some nights, the wind seemed to sing a melody that called out only to you. I smiled. I nodded. I pretended I understood, but really, how could I?

You talked about a world that I was not privy to, and the more I heard about it, the more I realized how far away our worlds were.

You were like an angel that fell from Heaven, but that could not be so, because Heaven hated me. Or perhaps that was precisely why you were here, on the ground.

We walked over to the local park, and you whistled a tune I did not recognize.

"Do you ever wish things were different?"

You stopped to look at me, and I was once again entranced by your eyes. Deep blue, taunting. You opened your mouth, to speak, when something white drifted between us. I looked up.

Snow.

The first snow of the year.

We fell in silence after that. It was as if there was some sort of unspoken vow, a pledge to keep our secrets among us and our mysteries hidden. The whole time, I felt as if I should cry, as if something significant was occurring and there should be some action made to appreciate that fact.

You were gone by the next day. Did you know that no one ever asked where you went? We just accepted your disappearance. Whether you were here or not did not matter to our lives.

I wanted to scream, can't you see someone's missing? Why are you not concerned?

But eventually, that voice quieted down. I went back to my drawings, mere sketches of a hollow world. I saw, but I did not see. I heard, but I did not hear. I was what I used to be, before I ever saw your eyes. You came and went, just like a ghost.

Perhaps you knew already.

Winter came and went, and came again with the first snow of the season. I sat on the windowsill in our classroom and looked outside. One of the boys who used to tease you came over as well.

"When it's really white," he said, "the snow looks blue."

"It's so familiar," I said. "This blue. I feel like I've seen it somewhere before."

He nodded. We basked in the silence for a while, enjoying what could have been, had we only tried to reach out for it.

Five years later, I received a letter.

Hey,

I know this is sudden, and I don't even know if this will reach you anymore, but I never had a chance to explain. I think I'm ready now.

Can you meet me by the train station tonight?

It was unsigned, but I fingered the silver chain that came along with the letter. I looked up at my walls, plastered with artwork. Pictures of blond hair and blue eyes and vacant expressions. I always threw out all the ones with expressions. None of them ever seemed right.

I put on a casual dress and tied my hair in such a way to conceal my efforts. And as I did all of this, a small part of me was singing, coward, coward, over and over again.

I left my cellphone by the dresser and took a piece of charcoal with me as I left the room.

Even now, I sometimes wonder, had you tried to reach me that night? I had no doubt you would be able to find my number if you really wanted. After all, you had already found my address. I sometimes ask myself that, right before I make myself drowsy by crying.

Your eyes were still the bluest I had ever seen, but her eyes were blue as well. Blue and soft, large and sweet. She had an air you and I did not have. She trusted you with an overwhelming emotion that transcended the rivers of prejudice placed between us. Or perhaps she never had to face them.

"Hey," you said, your voice filled with a new edge I did not recognize. "This is Mireille. Mireille, this is--"

"There is no need," I replied, more curtly than I had intended. "You said you wanted to explain. Do it within fifteen minutes, or I'm leaving. I don't have the time."

"You're still the same as before."

"Thank you for noticing. I am most honored."

"Look," you said. "That day... well, you were the first person to ever smile at me, here, in this place. And I thought that maybe..."

"You thought. How original. If you don't have something interesting to say, then I really do have to leave--"

"I," you grabbed my hand. "I loved you." And you kissed me, softly, on the lips, just as I had envisioned you would all those years. But this was not the fairy-tale ending I had been hoping for.

I closed my eyes. I took a deep breath. I opened my eyes again.

"But not anymore," I whispered, more to myself than to you. And I ran, just like the coward I knew I was. I ran away as far as I could, as fast as I could, until I could not hear myself anymore, and I did not know where I was going, and everything was this soothing blur.

The bar was full, and it was clichéd, but I had no other choice. I walked in with a swagger I had not known I would possess, and sat down at the first stool I could find. Someone was sitting in the stool next to me, and when I settled down, he turned to greet me.

"Hey," I said.

"You're pretty," he said, more as a cursory statement than as a truth, but I accepted it nonetheless. "What're you here for?"

"To lose myself."

He laughed, a cracking laugh that had seen happier days. "Aren't we all? We're all here to lose ourselves, but if no one finds us, how do we know we've lost us?"

I nodded, half in confusion.

"Look here, pretty. What's your favorite color?"

I thought about it for a moment. "Blue."

"Alrighty," he said. "Bartender? Get the lady a tropical berry daiquiri. I'm paying."

"Oh, you don't have to," I said, but he cut me off.

"I'm tryin'a prove a point." We waited for the bartender to come back with a drink in the prettiest pastel blue color I had ever seen. The man took the drink and placed it in front of me, but stopped me when I tried to reach out for it.

"Look carefully now," he said. "What do you see in this drink?"

I squinted hard. "I don't see anything."

"Then you're not looking hard enough."

I rubbed at my eyes and tried again. "I see... my reflection? And it's blue, and I see... I see... I see his eyes. Oh, I'm sorry, it's the blue, it's making me nostalgic."

"No, don't be," he said. "What you see is yourself. You're seeing yourself in that drink. It's blue because you wanted it to be blue, because your heart is filled with blue. And if someone doesn't take that away, then how do you lose it? You're stuck with it forever, pretty, until someone takes it away."

Mireille came over later, after you were gone. I was going to slam the door in her face, but she stopped me with her eyes. They reminded me so much of yours that I felt obligated to give her at least one chance. A chance that the world did not spare you.

"I'm his sister," she said, even before she fully stepped into my apartment.

I opened my mouth to speak, but she stopped me. It was just as well. I would not have known what to say. I was in a state of mindless shock.

"He wanted me to give you this." She handed me an envelope. "He really loved you. But he knew he couldn't. He wasn't--"

"No more," I whispered. "No more excuses. I don't need to hear them."

She nodded, and left, leaving me alone with your last memories.

I had seen the obituary in the newspaper earlier. A foreigner, in his mid-twenties, with an unknown cause. A private affair. No flowers, please. The unspoken, unwritten words were: there would be no flowers sent anyway, so might as well leave some lingering hope.

I opened the envelope carefully, afraid I would tear some important word that would completely change my perspective. I pulled out the thin sheet of paper, with only one line on it, in a bold print.

If you live to be one hundred, I want to live to be one hundred minus one day so I never have to live without you.

I stand here today, wishing you can hear my voice. I have a lot to apologize for, but so do you, and apologizing will get us nowhere. I had thought about following you, just as Juliet followed Romeo, but I could not bring myself to do it.

We each had our vices, didn't we? We were both cowards and missed our chances when we still had them. But we were both outcasts. We both belonged to a world that rejected our souls.

But here, at the summit of our journey together, I would like to thank you for everything you had given me. I would like to apologize for everyone who had mistreated you. I would like to ask for an explanation as to why you left, every time I thought I was about to have an answer.

Most of all, I would like to tell you:

I love you.