I have math first period, which typically means I'll be half asleep for the entire class.

I'm going to my usual seat at the back of the classroom when Mr. Cromey claps his hands loudly to get our attention.

"Alright, class! I hope you had a great weekend!" He says. Then he mentions something that makes us all groan. "New seating chart!"

Mr. Cromey returns to his desk and logs into his computer, projecting the new seating chart on the screen at the front of the room.

I squint at the board, frowning when I see I'm no longer at the back. Thankfully, I'm not in the very front seat next to the teacher.

People start to stand up, causing a shuffling noise as everyone finds their new seats. Finding my own seat, I plop my bag down next to my desk and sit in the chair with a heavy sigh. The guy already sitting in front of me smiles. I recognize him from my history class and I guess he does too, but I don't know how he's smiling this early in the morning.

The desks are divided into groups of four, but my other two seatmates are still not here. A girl with glasses and curly hair pulled into a bun slips into the seat diagonal to mine, and she smiles politely at me. The corner of my mouth perks up in a half-smile back, and Mr. Cromey clears his throat to start the lesson.

He's still talking about the same 'sequences' nonsense that he was yesterday. I don't know how I'm going to survive this class. And the third member of our little group of desks still isn't here. But the door suddenly opens and I barely look up.

"To what do we owe this pleasure?" Mr. Cromey asks in his annoyingly cheery voice. He really seems like the type to teach English, not Math.

"Sorry I'm late," a firm, but sweet voice says. I raise my gaze, confused when I see a flustered Hazel. She holds her hand out behind her to help the door close without slamming.

She's wearing jean shorts today, and I try not to let my gaze linger too long on her legs.

"That's quite alright, Miss Vaughn. I'll give you a pass this time." Mr. Cromey says, turning back to the board. Hazel just looks around the room, clearly confused about where to sit now that the seats have changed.

"Uh, Mr. Cromey--" she starts.

He turns back around, realizing the issue. "Oh, that's right. Your new seat is over there, next to Casey's." He points at me and Hazel follows his finger, her eyes land on mine. I look away.

"Thanks." I hear her say, and she starts toward her new seat. I'm scribbling something indecipherable on my notebook, and I glance up at her as she approaches the desk next to mine. She's holding her water bottle to her chest with her arm, with her phone in her hands, and after setting down her backpack and slipping her phone into the front pocket, she sits down.

A sweet, familiar scent fills my nose as she does this, and I pinpoint it as lavender mixed with something else. She's wearing a simple dark green hoodie that perfectly contrasts her hair, which is also all I can see because she has her back turned to me.

Some of her hair gets caught under her hoodie, and she gently reaches around to bring all of it over one shoulder, before flipping it back behind her.

Why am I staring? Am I really that bored?

Mr. Cromey pauses his lesson to hand out worksheets, and I take that as an opportunity to speak to Hazel in class for the first time.

"I wasn't expecting you to be late," I say, leaning close to her.

She turns, furrowing her brows like I've said something stupid. I begin to wonder if I indeed did say something that wasn't particularly intelligent, when she answers.

"You're right. I'm never late."

Now It's my turn to furrow my eyebrows, this time out of confusion. "But you were late," I say.

"It wasn't my fault. Technical difficulties." She answers simply.

I raise my eyebrows out of doubt, but by now Mr. Cromey has reached our table. Hazel turns back around, taking the papers in his outstretched hand. He rounds our table and we each take one.

I look at the paper on my desk with disdain. The front side of the page alone has over fifty problems.

"Done," Hazel says from my left. "What'd you guys get for number one?"

I gape at her. "How-- ?"

She looks at me. "There's only twelve problems."

I blush out of embarrassment at my blank worksheet. The girl sitting diagonally to me raises her head then. "I'm done too."

Then the guy in front of me puts his pencil down. "So am I--"

"Okay, I get it," I say, frustrated. "Just tell me the answers."

I learn that the girl diagonal to me's name is Alyssa, and the guy from my history class is Jacob. After a while, the bell rings. Instead of packing up and being the first one out the door, I find myself lingering by my desk with my backpack on.

Hazel glances at me as she packs up, raising her eyebrows quizzically.

"You're Casey, right?" She says.

I nod. "The one and only."

"Hmm. So how come you're so dumb?"

I stare at her. "What? That's so rude. I am not dumb."

"You couldn't do a single problem today." She states, her caramel eyes boring into mine. She breaks eye contact to grab her water bottle from her desk.

I hate how visible it is when I blush.

"Okay, so maybe math isn't my best subject, but that doesn't make me dumb," I argue. "Besides, it's seven in the morning!"

Hazel doesn't seem like she's listening to me as she puts on her backpack and starts toward the door. I trail after her. When we reach the door, she stops and turns. "I could help you, but it'd be a waste of my time." She says. "You wouldn't be able to understand anything."

I frown. "You really think I'm that stupid? You've only known me for a total of four hours."

"Fine, you're not stupid." she closes the door behind her, making sure it doesn't slam again. We just stand there in awkward silence. She has light freckles sprinkled over her nose; ones that you wouldn't notice unless you were up close. She tucks a lock of her hair behind her ear with one hand and adjusts her grip on her water bottle with the other.

I blink and speak. "I would really, um, appreciate it if you did help me, though."

She looks away. "Um, okay. When?"

"Today right after school would be great," I say. I don't have practice on Mondays.

Hazel hesitates. "I can't. I have to leave right when school ends."

I raise an eyebrow. "To do what?"

"Nothing." She says quickly, avoiding my eyes. Then she turns around. "I'm going to be late for my second period."

She starts walking down the hallway, and I call out to her. "Wait, aren't you going to tutor me?"

She stops and sighs. Reaching into her pocket, she pulls out a slip of paper which she rips off a corner, and scribbles something onto it. Then she turns and places the tiny corner into my hand.

I look down at the small piece of paper. It's her phone number, written in semi-neat handwriting.

When I look back up, she's gone.

*****

It's lunchtime, or in other words, my favorite part of the school day. I make my way to my usual table after seeing my friends already seated.

"Are you a cigarette? Because I want to suck on you until you're finished." My friend Carson grins at me from the table.

"What the hell?" I say, shooting him a concerned look.

My other friend Brandon slides in next to him with his tray of food. "He's practicing his pickup lines for this new girl he met in science," Brandon explains, rolling his eyes.

I nod slowly, taking my seat next to the third addition to our friend group, Alex.

"So maybe don't use that one," I say to Carson. "Ever."

The other two nod in agreement as Carson frowns. "Fine, how about this one: 'Are you on a diet? Because--"

"Hell no," I interject. "How about you start with being a decent person to her first, then ask her out?"

Carson shakes his head at my suggestion. "That will never work, she'll just friend-zone me."

"Well, maybe that's exactly what you need, instead of trying to get into everyone's pants. Don't be gross."

He just shrugs, and I know he's not going to take my advice. Turning to Alex, I pop a tater tot into my mouth. "What were you saying earlier about the paint?"

Alex takes art and is constantly trying to get us to do something great and symbolic with them. Something extra, like graffitiing on the south wall of the school.

And sure enough, that's exactly what they're talking about. "Spray paint," Alex clarifies. They shake their semi-curly, dark brown hair and grin, batting their lashes.

"I'm not committing vandalism with you, Alex," I say.

Alex scoffs. "It's not vandalism. It's a valid form of self-expression through art."

"That's not what it says in the student handbook," I retort.

Alex rolls their eyes. "The handbook is just a suggestion," they say. "And since when did you become such a stickler for rules?"

"Right when I decided to try to get into a good college," I answer, taking a bite of my sandwich.

Brandon looks at me. "You aren't going anywhere with that math grade."

I frown. "You too? It's really not that bad."

Alex squints at me. "Dude? Having a 'D' at the beginning of the quarter is kind of bad."

All three of them stare unblinking at me as I chew my food.

I swallow. "It's okay. This girl in my class offered to tutor me."

Brandon raises a brow. "Did she offer to or did you beg her?"

I look at him. "She offered," I say, taking a drink of my water. "Then she changed her mind because I was 'too dumb'. So I asked her to."

All three of them burst out laughing.

"What?" I say impatiently.

"I like her already," Carson says, shaking his head.

I look to Brandon for help, but he just shrugs. "Honesty is the best policy."

*****

I get home, and immediately pull out my phone. I take the slip of paper Hazel gave to me out of my pocket, and type the number into my phone. Should I call or text? I ask myself.

I decide to text her. She answers after a few minutes, saying she's busy right now, but she'll be free in an hour. And my first tutoring session with her is over a video call.

During that hour, I shower and get some work from other classes done. For some reason, I'm feeling excited for her to call. Who knew I would be this enthusiastic about getting better grades?