Chapter 8

                                    

                                          
"Sucks that we have math first thing." Cora shook her head. They were now at her locker, and she was rummaging around inside for her textbook. 
Pictures of her and her friends smiling and beaming into the camera, usually wearing their cheerleading outfits covered the metal door. 
                          
Next to her, Dusty opened her own locker, which was undecorated. Dusty didn't feel comfortable sticking pictures all over it like the other girls did. She didn't like leaving aspects of herself anywhere, fearing that if she got shot one day, it would just mean that someone had to come clear out her locker, taking down the pictures of her smiling, then crying because they knew she was gone. She wanted to spare someone that pain 
                          
"It does," Dusty said. The last time she'd seen Ms. Quinn, she'd stormed out of the room and demanded her never again ask her about her father. She sickened with dread, fearing that she would bring the issue up in front of her friends. 
                          
"Yep, sucky, sucky math." Cora found the textbook she was seeking and shoved it into her bag. "But at least we get to check out Ms. Quinn," Cora added, smiling. "I was talking to Emma Laddon about her, and she was saying that all her classmates totally have a crush on her too." 
                          
"We don't have a crush on her," Dusty corrected her friend. 
                          
"Speak for yourself." Cora laughed. "I'm totally crushing on Ms. Quinn. She's older, well dressed, beautiful , likely has her own car." She was ticking these qualities off on her fingers like a checklist. 
                          
"Is our teacher." Dusty did a finger check of her own. 
                          
"The teacher-student thing is hot," Cora defended. 
                          
"And illegal." 
                          
"No, not illegal. Frowned upon. Definitely against school rules. We're eighteen and therefore, in this state, officially women." 
                          
"She's in a position of power; to embark on a relationship with a student would be seen as perverting that," Dusty explained. 

                          
"So you think she's a pervert?" Cora asked, confused. 
                          
"Uh, never mind." Dusty waved her hand. "Let's just get to class."  


                          
Dusty sat down at the back of the classroom at a desk adjacent to Cora. Ms. Quinn had her back to her, busy with some papers on her desk, so she'd been unable to read  as she entered the room. Dusty just prayed that she wouldn't say anything to her about her outburst. 
                          
"Right," Ms. Quinn began when everyone had entered the room, beating the bell, which rang just as she commenced speaking. "Glad to see everyone in their seats on time." She nodded to her students in approval. "I bet you're all excited that it's Friday and have big plans for the weekend." A few students nodded and grumbled in agreement. 
                          
Justin turned to catch Dusty's eye, which made her assume that whatever plans he had, he hoped they would somehow include her. She'd heard whispers of a victory party, not that she was in any mood to celebrate. 
                          
All she wanted to do was find somewhere dark and quiet where she could listen to Paramore, and try to silence the panicked voice in her head. Ever since that day, a voice had screamed inside of her head: the world was a vile place and nothing would be the same for Dusty. 
                          
"Well, before you can commence your weekend, you've got an algebra test." Ms. Quinn distributed test papers among the desks. Almost everyone groaned in protest. 
"Don't worry. You're not being graded on this test. It's just to give me an idea of your abilities and where you're at," Ms. Quinn explained. As she dropped a paper on Dusty's desk, Cora gave a not-so-subtle glance at her rear. 
                          
She shot a disapproving glare. In all fairness, Ms. Quinn did have a cute butt, held by a pair of jeans. Cora winked in response. As Ms. Quinn gave her a paper, she thanked her, her voice dripping with seductive overtones. Ms. Quinn continued passing around papers, oblivious to Cora's flirtation. 
                          
"You whore," Dusty whispered across to her friend. "You prude," Cora said. 
                          
"Everyone quiet for the test, please," Ms. Quinn ordered her class. Ms. Quinn made a note of the time and asked them to begin.  

                          
****

                          
What Dusty had always liked about mathematics was the order. With math, there was a definitive right answer, so you could be either right or wrong. She found comfort in that. 
The ambiguity of English literature, where it was all about your interpretation of a text, made her nervous. 
                          
She didn't want to think, to delve into her own feelings. She wanted to find sanctuary in something methodical, something with rules and order. She'd always been like that, even before her father died. 
                          
He used to call her his little number nut. "You take after your dad, the way you like numbers," her mother would say as Dusty eagerly pored over her math homework. Sadly, it turned out that her father's enthusiasm for numbers didn't match his skill with them, which was why the family was now in debt. 
                          
At her private school, Dusty had excelled at math, working on problems set way above her current grade. Her teachers encouraged her, prompting her to try calculus and algebra when other students were still struggling to grasp much simpler aspects of study. 
                          
Dusty loved it; she loved learning new, improved ways to work with numbers. Even now, when life in the trailer got to be too much, she took out her old textbooks and worked through a variety of mathematical problems. 
                          
It calmed her mind and was the only way, other than loud music, that she could silence the worried voice within her head. 
As Dusty scanned the test paper in front of her, it pained her to realize that the questions were even simpler than those in the textbook she had been working on at fourteen. 
                          
She could easily answer them and in half the allocated time. The drama of the previous night kept replaying in Dusty's mind. If she listened closely, she could still hear the sirens ringing in her ears as the police arrived at the scene, could still hear the blast of the shotgun that ended her father's life. 
                          
She needed the distraction of math. She began to work on the questions, relishing the familiarity of it. She didn't notice how Cora glanced across at her, shocked to see her friend working away so feverishly. 
                          
When Dusty finished, she looked at the test sheet, assured that she had scored a perfect 100. She felt Cora's eyes on her and remembered where she was and, more importantly, who she was trying to be. 
                          
Panicked, Dusty went back through her answers and changed most of them so that they were incorrect. As she did so, she felt a second pair of eyes upon her and glanced up to see Ms. Quinn watching her with a quizzical look on her face. 
                          
When Dusty's eyes locked with hers , Ms. Quinn blinked and looked away. "Time's up," she said just as Dusty finished doctoring her test paper. "Papers to the front." 
                          
She handed the sheet to the guy who sat in front of her and sighed, her heart racing. "You looked like you were nailing that test," Cora said as they entered the hallway. There was a hint of suspicion in her voice. 
                          
"No, I was just writing anything," Dusty bluffed. "I just wanted to look like I was working; don't want Ms. Quinn giving me another detention.
                          
"Really? I wish she'd give me a detention," Cora said. "I'd love to be alone in a room with her." 
                          
"You've got a dirty mind," Dusty teased. 
                          
"A dirty mind is a healthy mind." Cora smiled and the girls walked down the corridor, arm in arm, to their next class.






                          
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