When 5th period transition rolls around, my stomach churns. A-Hall is clusterfucked of students either trying their best to get through, those who are catching up with friends, or the select few who engage in the most "flattering" of PDA. All's well for me, at least, whereas I wouldn't stand a chance alone, I have Mallory with me, who gets along with everyone so well they just let us through. Real charmer, she is, but I guess I've painted enough of a picture by now.

"You're still coming over today, right?" she asks.

"Yeah, why?"

"Just making sure. Unrelated, my fridge is totally stocked on supplies for PB&J, and I may or may not have a new edition of Tiger Beat at home," Mal informs me. I've been told on more than one occasion that I have an "old soul" – now whether that's because of my self-admitted PBS enjoyment or not keeping up with talk-of-the-hall gossip, I don't know, but I wear it like a silent badge. That said, I am but a wee sixteen-year-old, and I'll be damned if I don't enjoy the pop culture pantheon that is Tiger Beat. No time to relish yet, though, as we make our way to Room A12 – the home of Grade 11 trig, and my daily trip to 45 minutes in Hell.

"Well, time for me to fail yet another assignment," I sigh.

"Oh, no no no no no, you will NOT speak that in the universe!" Mallory proclaims, putting her hands on my shoulders.

"Say it with me – I ..." she pauses.

"I...?"

"I... at least go a 'C'!" Mal "speaks" to the universe. I push her arms off, annoyed at the prospect of even a ... a... I can't even say it.

"How reassuring," I utter.

Just then, Mallory trips a bit to our right after a bump-in with some incoming cheerleaders.

"Excuse you!"

At that, the head of the pack turns her head. Amazing how the same jet-black hair as Mallory's can hold such a different weight to it, a more ... "evil" sheen to it. Jhene eyes dart up and down her sister, then scoffs.

"Be serious," she quips. Yeah, in almost every way these two are physically similar but in size. And Jhene wasn't afraid to let her sister know it, no matter who it was in front of or the ramifications of it. I can see Mallory turning red but staying silent at Jhene's retort. The cheerleaders walk away without fanning the Setiawan flames any further.

"You roll your eyes any harder and they'll fall out of your head," I joke, trying to lighten her mood.

"Be lucky the worst you have to deal with is a math problem," Mallory mutters.

"I'll count my blessings," I say. A twinge of flusters creeps along my body. I suppose if I'm to be knocked back down to reality, I might as well dive in and get it over with. Mal and I dap each other up and part ways, but before I walk in fully, I peek my head out the doorframe watching Mal leave the hall. Again, I feel my glasses fog up in a pink haze, but the bell interrupts my mini-day dream.

I may not be able to count much, but I certainly can tell the time. I don't even need to look at the clock to know that it's been 20 agonizingly long minutes, and that's solely on the fact that I've isolated the noise brought about by my classmates not paying attention to the lesson in favor of the ticks of the clock. 1,238 ticks of torture so far. Despite so, I take my notes as diligently as possible, but when I look up at the board again, anything Ms. Carmone is trying to explain is lost on me. The board is morphing, all the numbers are dancing and squiggling on AND off the board and I can feel my eyes forming those dizzying whirlpool spirals. I tap my face just to assure myself that I wasn't missing my glasses or anything, and just as I thought, they're there, totally failing me at this moment.

"So, then you'll see the answer is 6. Now, who wants to try the other example?" Ms. Carmone surveys the class, with none of the kids jumping out of their seats to solve the problem. Here's the thing – most of them aren't even looking in Ms. Carmone's direction, but see I know better than that. I look directly at her, as if to send Ms. Carmone a message that I know exactly how to solve the problem, and as a result, shouldn't have to go up to the board. Let one of the other kids flail about for a bit, and as such guide them through the problem easy-peasy.

"Zora?" she calls. Well. Shit. Here I sit, arms weak and knees ready to not even buckle, but straight up fall off. Now all the attention is on me, and the ticks of the clock are now traded in for the snickering of my classmates, who I'm convinced can smell my fear. The words are losing me. Have you ever been both frozen and absolutely riddled in quivering at the same time? That's where I am, and I think Ms. Carmone finally takes note.

"That's alright, Zora ... how about you, Yazmin?"

I feel the air in my lungs surge back into me, but it's not an immediate relief from the drowning I endured. All I can do is thank my lucky stars that all I can do is thank my lucky stars that no one can see the blood rush to my face. Bless this Ghanaian skin.

I ended up counting another 1,194 ticks.

******

"You want anything to drink?" Mallory calls to me from the kitchen.

"What do you got?" I ask back, sprawled on one of the couches in the Setiawan living room.

"Let's see ... Sunny D, SoBe, Arizona, Hi-C ..."

I shrug. "Eh... water?"

I hear Mallory make some movement in the fridge, then close it. She chucks me a water bottle and hands me a PB&J, then sits next to me on the floor with her Hi-C and sandwich.

"You know, I don't understand where those dummies get off," she starts. "I mean, none of them were exactly jumping at the chance to answer it, either. At least from what you told me."

I ended up recounting what happened during trig earlier, if not because of my trust in her, but most definitely because I find it super cute when she becomes riled up. It's also just heart-warming the way she goes to bat for me. That said, it's not my favorite subject to talk about, math and embarrassment.

"Guess I'm just the easy target," I say flatly. "Oh, look it's on."

"Ahh!" Mal squeals. Our attention is glued to the screen as MTV comes back from a commercial. The glint of a familiar screen comes up, and we're greeted by our favorite group UnDoSieTech as their latest single "Kickin' It With You" starts playing. It's an upbeat tune dedicated to the relationship between the band and the fans, of course, sung through the guise of a cheesy romantic-like tune. Surely it shouldn't work as well as it does – most anyone can see through to the company's intent. And yet ...

"God, aren't they beautiful? Especially Jonny... ah." Mallory drools.

"Oh yeah, he's good-looking," I say, my voice trailing. Mal isn't wrong by any means, Jonny is arguably the most attractive of the group. Yet my eyes totally lead me somewhere else.

"That background dancer with the beads, though..." I gush. Mal giggles a little and pats the couch.

"You are so gay." Again, very much not wrong. I can't enjoy the moment for long, though, when the front door opens. I scoff, a tad annoyed.

"Speak for yourself," I mutter. Mallory looks up at the door, her eyes growing wide.

"Hi, Havana!"

Havana Sommers, or as I've come to adopt her, "public enemy #1". Her 5'8" frame stands just a little below the doorframe, the sun glowering on her class letterman decorated with patches galore. She flashes a thousand-dollar smile walking in the door.

"Hey, Mal!" Havana beams.

"What are you doing here? And how did you get into our house?" Mal asks, getting up from the floor to meet Havana at the door.

"Oh, your sister let me in. I just needed to set my bag down real quick," Havana answers as the two of them hug, with me failing not to notice. I feel a vein in my heart crinkle.

"Hi, Zora!' Havana calls to me. I wave begrudgingly, not meeting her direction.

"Ooo, is that – "

"UnDoSieTech, yeah!' Mallory gushes.

"Man, that Jonny really is something, huh?"

"Isn't he?!" Oh brother... now of all things to have in common, they share the same favorite UnDoSieTech member. That's on par with sharing the same favorite color, food, or hell, air to breathe! The video is drawing towards a close, but there's no need for it when something gets thrown at Mallory's shoulder, breaking the attention.

"Hey!" Mal yells, picking up the item from the ground. It's a pack of glitter stickers, and when the assailant makes her way to the door, it's no surprise that Jhene led the charge.

"Nice assault, Lisa Frank!" Mal grumbles.

"Calm down, nitwit. That obviously meant to go to Havana," Jhene retorts, turning her eyes on Havana, "who isn't helping me!"

"Ha, sorry!" Havana apologizes.

"Seems as if the stickers have spoken, though," Jhene says, then turns her eyes back on Mallory. "Go help Havana get our things."

Mallory looks at her in disbelief. "Uh, hello? Kind of hanging out with Zo?" At the mention of my name, I wave sheepishly, but Jhene doesn't look my way.

"Okay congrats, now go help." Jhene shoots back. Mallory's face starts to turn the same red as before.

"Dude!" Uh oh.

"It's all good, J, I got it," Havana steps in. "What's left, a few bags or somethin'?" Havana pats Jhene's shoulder and walks out the door, her caramel-colored braids whipping behind her and slightly smacking Jhene's arm. Call it karma?

"You're lucky she's nice," Jhene tells Mallory.

"I sure am. Maybe it'll finally rub off on you one day." Mallory quips back. Both of them stick each other's tongues at one another, and if I've learned anything about the Setiawan sisters, tongue drops usually lead to a fizzle out or an argument. Thank goodness for that, but I can see both of their hands shaking in an attempt to not flick each other on the forehead, and that would've meant war.

"What are you guys doing, anyway?" I ask Jhene.

"We're organizing posters for the game," Jhene answers. "Which means some of the squad is also coming to help. Which means Zo can't stay here."

Mal and I both groan, all the meanwhile Havana is walking back and forth with what seems like a million bags. 'A few left' they are not, but it doesn't faze the issue at hand.

"That's not fair! We have things to do too, you know?" Mal tells. Jhene looks over.

"Really?" she asks, not convinced by the set-up of snacks and TV watching.

"What, you expect us to get right to it when we just got out of school?" Mal asks, crossing her arms.

"Whatever, lame-o. I'll give you until 5, then she goes." My body winces when the word "she" leaves Jhene's mouth. I don't know if it's like, one of those "gay" things or not, but it doesn't sit well with me as of late. It never really has, to be honest, but one thing at a time to tackle I guess.

"It's already 4:20!"

"Just go to her place then!" Jhene whines.

"Uh, we can't," I cut in. "My mom isn't home."

"Then I guess you need to make these next 40 minutes count," Jhene says, pretty much banging the gavel on our case and making the final call. Havana returns with the last of the bags, Jhene picks up a few of the bags on the ground, and she directs them to her room upstairs.

"And take your dumb stickers with you!" Mallory yells, throwing the pack up the stairs. She slumps on the couch next to me this time now that I've made room, taking a pillow to her face, and screaming in it. I wonder how therapeutic that is.

"God, she's exhausting!" Mallory complains.

"I don't get it." I start.

"Me neither! I mean, why does she HAVE to be in charge when our parents aren't home? Hello, I'm 16! I think I should be able to –"

"Not that, although it is a pain," I confess.

"Oh. Then what?"

"What do you see in her?" I ask, my face burning up when I do. I know with what just happened that I shouldn't be focused on the interaction between them, but I can't focus on anything else.

"In ... who? Havana?" Mallory asks.

"Well, I'd never refer to myself in the 3rd person, and I'd like to rule out having a thing for your sister," I tease.

"Gross! Not funny!" Mallory shudders.

"I'm serious. What, you share one boyband member in common and suddenly it's head over heels for you," I point out. So much for being above jealousy.

"That's so not true! I've told you before, Havana is just ... you know, really cool!" Mallory explains.

"She's a former jock turned school mascot and is best friends with ... Jhene." I remind Mal.

"I swear that's her one and only flaw! That, and the fact that her favorite member isn't Jonny but Tae-Young, but that's beside the point!" Mallory stares me down, and I'm just hoping she can't feel the nervous sweat popping off my face.

"With the way you've asked me so many times, I'm starting to think you're jealous ..." Mallory calls me out. It's not that I'm trying to be, but what would you feel if your best friend and the girl you love felt that way toward someone else? Someone, need I remind you, is on the opposite side of the battleground! It takes everything for me not to dart my eyes in another direction because maybe it didn't work on Ms. Carmone, but keeping eye contact with Mal, in this case, will stand my ground that I am, in fact, not jealous. Might convince me as well one day.

"I don't know what you mean," I tell her flat out.

"Well, allow me to squash your fears 'cause nothing will ever happen between us," Mal reassures me, though I'm not sure how much I believe it. "For one, she's a year above us, and two, she is best friends with JHENE." I suppose if nothing else were to be a dealbreaker, that would be it.

"Well not that I needed any 'fear squashing', but if you say so," I tell Mal, trying to keep the cool in my voice. God, I hate how she just somehow knew, and I can't have that. I don't want Mal to sleuth around just enough that she discovers the root of my worries.

"By the way, I know you used the music video to distract away from what we were talking about," Mal says, I'm guessing in reference to the trigonometry talk we were on. I take a swig of my water as my throat dries up at the prospect of reliving the day.

"I, again, have no idea what you're talking about," I say definitively. I think Mallory picks up on my tone.

"Whatever you say, Zo."

We end up just watching TV for the remaining time I'm over.