“Drew can have it,” I said.

“What about scholarships? You have the full ride to UT, but you might decide to go somewhere else. You’d talked about Princeton,” he said, and I felt myself getting antsy. I didn’t want him asking too many questions.

I shifted in my seat. “Things have changed. I’ve changed.”

Mr. Beasley tapped at his computer, and my thoughts drifted a bit, getting muddled as I thought of Drew Mansfield, my academic nemesis and former crush who’d stabbed me in the heart. Our GPA’s had been in a race against each other since we were freshmen, and we’d traded off awards and medals every year. One year I’d get the Calculus award and the next year, he would. One year he’d win the Dallas Area History Contest, and the next year, I would. He was the captain of the debate team whereas I was co-captain. I was editor of the yearbook and he was co-editor. Not only was he intelligent, but he also played basketball and lacrosse for BA. Basically, he was the male version of me, only athletic.

We’d also had a fling. It’d started this past January on a debate trip we took together to New York. We’d ditched our chaperones on the first day and roamed around Central Park, with Drew walking beside me. When the other debate members weren’t paying attention, he’d hold my hand or whisper in my ear how beautiful I was. I’d wanted him since seventh grade, and I think he’d wanted me too, but he’d also had a serious girlfriend since sophomore year.

But, they’d broken up a week before the trip.

The next day at the competition, Drew’s team swept the debate, soundly trouncing my team and the other schools’, winning a first place ribbon. With his height and commanding voice, he’d been riveting to watch and, boy, I was riveted. I thought I was in love.

That night we’d gone back to the hotel and piled in Drew’s room to celebrate by orchestrating pillow fights, ordering pizzas, and prank calling the front desk to ask for condoms. By two in the morning, everyone had gone back to their rooms except for me. Even though we were both exhausted from the excitement of winning, it didn’t stop us from giving each other heated looks that eventually led to us taking our clothes off. We spent an hour kissing, touching, and teasing each other. He told me he wasn’t a virgin, and I wasn’t surprised. He might have been labeled as a geek, but, as an athlete, his physique was lean and tight and hard. I lied and told him I was a virgin. And, in my mind I kinda was.

That night I explored him with my hands for an hour, touching him ardently. Later, when I took his length in my mouth, he told me exactly what to do, and I listened avidly to his instructions, wanting to do it right and please him. I stroked and sucked him while he promised to be good to me. Later, he’d returned the favor by kissing all over my body, leaving a trail of little marks across my chest, my stomach, and my thighs. He touched me adoringly, massaging my sex in soft, circular motions until I felt something new and monumental building higher and higher within me. I’d tensed, almost afraid, not knowing what this remarkable feeling was. He’d chuckled at my naiveté, his lips pressed against mine. He asked me if I wanted to come, and I told him yes. He spread my legs wide and licked right in the center of me over and over until I screamed out, coming long and hard. Afterward, he’d pulled me to him, told me how much he’d wanted me forever and made love to me until the sun came up.

He taught me consensual sex could be incredible.

I figured he deserved to be Valedictorian for that alone.

“. . . AP English and a math credit is all you need. I suggest you keep the Engineering Calculus class for that. It’ll look great on your college applications,” Mr. Beasley was saying as I came back to the present. “This means I can drop you from AP Russian History, AP Advanced Latin II, and the Fiction Writing class.” He looked at me over his spectacles. “If I click this button, then your schedule changes,” he warned me.

I calmed my nerves by counting the number of writing instruments he kept in his cup. Exactly sixteen pencils and four pens. This was it. Once Mother got a whiff of this, life would never be the same.

“Click it,” I said.

I also told him to drop me from the debate team, student council, and the yearbook staff. He reluctantly complied. By the time we had my new schedule printed out, I wanted to shout. I wanted to hug Mr. Beasley, but that would only freak him out, so I didn’t. Instead, I tapped out a quick text to Sebastian and Mila. I held my fingers over Leo’s number for a few moments, but in the end, I didn’t text him.

My schedule now showed that my day started with AP English, then a two hour break, and then Engineering Calculus. That put me leaving school at noon. Mr. Beasley said I could work in the office for my two hour break, and as long as I was at school for half a day, then he would give me credit for attending. That was fine by me. With less time at school, my hope was to find a job and start making my own money, so I could leave my parents’ house.

By the time I walked in English, class had already started. I handed Ms. Weinstein my excuse note from Mr. Beasley and searched around for Sebastian, remembering that this was his first day at a new school. I found him in the back of the room. He gave me his usual leer, and I laughed.

There was only one seat left, and I took it even though it was directly in front of Emma. I prayed I could endure the close proximity. With only thirty minutes left in class, it was possible. But when the teacher left the room to make extra copies, she started kicking the back of my desk.

Perhaps growing tired of my muteness, she called out in her snotty voice, “So bee girl, the janitor said he’d go out with you again, if you’d let him sting you!”

Defiance flared. Why had I taken her shit for so long? Why had I let her put me down and call me names?

I turned around. “Emma, if I’m the bee girl then I’d be the one stinging him. Maybe you should think about repeating freshman year science class. But thinking really isn’t your strong point, is it? Sometimes I wish I had a lower IQ so I could enjoy your company.” I smiled sweetly at her.

Because she wasn’t a mean girl for nothing, she smirked back at me, unfazed by my sudden backbone. She brushed an invisible piece of lint from her sleeve. “Wow, impressive speech,” she sneered. “Too bad it doesn’t get you a boyfriend. I truly pity you, having to screw old Mr. Bronski in the cleaning closet at school just to get a date.” She laughed, and I heard her pseudo-friend April join in.