I'm not sure where my head has been for the last day. I don't think I'm aware of my surroundings since I dizzied myself yesterday after puking my guts out. All that replays in my head is the word FAILURE. As in I'm going to fail this six-week test for trig, which is eating me up so I can't focus on my subjects meaning I'll fail those too, which means I'd fail 11th grade whilst Mallory moves on without me -- but who am I kidding? Once she knows the root cause, she's going to see me as a failure, and rightfully so, all because I failed to play get-along with Havana, and much as I hate to admit it, I feel as though I failed her, too. 

I'm a failure. 

I've never felt a heavy weight on my chest so unbearably heavy. How could I do this to myself, to everyone else? Oh my god, once Mom finds out, I'm as good as dead. Not even the chill of the early Autumn wind makes me shiver more than the image of my mother's arctic scowl. What hurts me more than anything, though, is the image of my Dad. The next time I see him, all he's going to see is his down-on-luck dumb daughter... if my dealt hand flips itself somehow, maybe I'll be spared by his lost, unremembering stare. 

THUNK!  Just as it would be, I slam my head into the brick wall coating the library. Library, huh ... my haven, or what once was. How I can go in there knowing the purgatory room, becoming a regular spot, no longer serves me? I almost start to miss the awkward silence. I don't get myself; I thought I wanted this. It's not like Havana and I would've become best friends or anything like D.J. Tanner and Kimmy Gibbler (if you ask me now, I'm not sure who the Kimmy in this scenario would be), but at least if our commonalities weren't in line it'd still be beneficial in its way, her tutoring to strengthen by grades and my ... my. If nothing else, maybe my feet lead me here knowing I can't go home quite yet -- to my mother, I'm being a stand-up student citizen to serve the betterment of our school. 

I start to feel a burning itch in the South direction and look behind. There's a group of friends making their way down the hall, none of them in any sort of telling uniform. Are they maybe heading to the Student Council meeting? Should I ... I mean, it's not like it'll be so out of the blue, at least in keeping up with the secret. If there's a secret to keep anymore. And yet before I move, the library door swings open, and since I don't want to look like a dope standing and staring blankly, I swiftly slide inside as the door closes. I put my back against the wall, unsure of what to do now. The Purgatory Room serves me no purpose, and it's not like I have any books to return. I almost miss the awkward silence, funnily enough as I hear the Purgatory Room laughing at me ... my god I need sleep.

"Miss Zora?" Mr. Stutter's voice infiltrates my void. I blink and face him, expecting him to be at his desk but somehow he's made it right in front of me ... how out of it am I? His figure emphasizes the seven inches he has on my height, but his head is tilted to the side as he clasps his hands together. He's got that look of "Should I call the ambulance over?"

"Everything okay?" Mr. Strutter asks concerningly. I slowly nod my head, as the word "yes" is also lost on me right now. 

"Ah, wonderful!" he beams. "How are you feeling now?"

"Uh, fine?" I reply cocking my head to the side. "Why?" 

"Well, we got wind that you fell sick yesterday," Mr. Strutter explains. "Miss Mallory came in to let Miss Havana know so she wouldn't have to wait in the room for your session, but Havana didn't show up anyhow."

I feel my heart caught in my throat. What on Earth did Mal do that for?! Well, I know why -- because she's the sweetest being in the universe who cares about my wellbeing, but if she had seen Havana yesterday to tell her then Havana surely would've spilled the beans about our defunct partnership. Oh God, even if she didn't see her, Havana could've told Jhene who, on the off-chance it was a talking day between them, could've told Mallory! But wait, if she had found out, she would've told me something today, right? Or maybe she's waiting for me to say it and harboring her resentment ... if my airway wasn't (metaphorically) closing I would vomit (physically). 

"R-right! Well, I'll just head inside now," I say, inching slowly to the Purgatory Room to keep face. 

"Have fun!" Mr. Strutter's smile glints with gold, and where at times it's been calming, it doesn't distract me from my hands shaking uncontrollably. God, this is so embarrassing ... but for the next 30 minutes, I need to make it work. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and open the creaky door leading me to my doom. 

I open my eyes and jolt, and before I could process what was going on a rubber ball forcefully bounces against the wall a bit too high and hits me right in the shoulder. I yelp. 

"Oh, crapola!" Havana jumps from her chair, rushing over to me. She puts her hand on my shoulder, and I flinch. I just hadn't expected that, is all.

"Oh, my bad... uh, are you okay?" she asks.

"Yeah, all good," I reply, half-truthed. I'm guessing it's because my body has barely seen sleep and food, but that little rubber ball did quite the throbbing number on me. I can't be too focused on that, though, when my former tutor is standing in front of me. Why is she here?

"W-why are you here?" my brain catches up to my vocal cords. Havana looks at me, then down the the ground, pursing her lips. I take back what I said. Awkward silence is not to be longed for. 

"I ..." Havana starts slowly. "I have no idea. What about you?"

"I --" I catch myself. Suddenly, it made sense -- my feet were leading me to the library knowing Havana would be here, and just so happened to be in the Purgatory Room. This is my second chance! I suppress the corners of my lips from forming a smile, and clear my throat, which I can finally breathe out of again.

"I'm here for tutoring, boss," I say, then walk over to the table. I slam my backpack on the ground and pull out my notebook, exploding at the seams with handed-back assignments I'd like to think of as my past. This is a brand new start, a brand new Zo. A Zo that Mallory will be proud of. I place my calculator next to my notebook, and sharpen my pencil, humming "Kickin' It With You."

"You can't be serious," I finally hear Havana speak, and once again I feel the lump in my throat swelling. Oh, but wait -- of course she'd be confused. I just walked in and sat down like it was nobody's business, I should at least explain!

"Ah, right," I turn to meet her. "I know I've given you a hard time about the tutoring thing, but I am ready to learn. Seriously," I add in just for good measure. Havana looks at me like I've grown three heads.

"Zora ... I quit, remember?" she reminds me, and my smile falters. 

"I -- I mean, yeah, but I thought --"

"That I was here waiting on you?" Havana scoffs, then walks over to her chair, not facing me. "My God, you're cocky." I've been called a lot of things over the years -- four eyes, "slow"-a, things I can't even repeat. Yet I thought the prideful thing hurt, but now I'm cocky? What the hell gives? I'm trying to make things right.

"Look, if it's about what I told you --"

"Oh, you mean when you not-so-subtlely called me an idiot who used my athlete status to get ahead?" Havana turns to me now, and her gaze gives my cold stares a run for their money -- and lives. 

"And I'm sorry I said that," I apologize. "I didn't mean anything by it, I swear."

"Then why did you say it?" she retaliates. "You don't just say things like that and not mean it." Okay, in a way she got me there, but how am I supposed to elaborate on the deeper reasons why? 

"Look, I am sorry, but I need you --"

"What do you need me for?" Havana asks, not letting up. "I mean, someone else could teach you everything else just fine."

"I-I can't have anybody else do this," I admit. "It has to be you." 

"Yeah, forgive me if I'm not so convinced. Why even take this up if you're so against the idea?" What is this, an interrogation?! My breath starts to lose me.

"Okay, look -- you're smart, okay? Really smart, more than I gave you credit for, I admit it," I go on. "I mean, I wouldn't even be doing this if it wasn't for Mallory, but now I know --"

"Wait, wait, wait," Havana shakes her head. "You -- are you doing this for her?"

"In a way, but it's only because she's so proud of me!"

"Are you proud of yourself?" she hits back, and now I'm confused.

"Hold on, you were the one who said I was too proud!" I shoot back. "What do you want me to say, huh?"

"That you're doing this for yourself, not for someone else," Havana answers. "And yeah I did say that, but now I see it's because your ego feeds off of other's opinions of you."

Now I scoff. "Oh, you are not about to read into me like that, it's not fair."

"Oh don't worry! According to a certain someone, I can't read!" Havana raises her voice. "And personally, I don't feel like being disrespected like that when you don't even know what I've been through."

"You don't know what I've been through either!"

"How can I -- you didn't let me know!" 

"Oh, I'm so sorry I'm not this "get along with 90% of the damn school" type person!" Now I'm yelling back. "I can't just come in here and be all buddy-buddy with you like we go way back or something!"

"It's not like I'm a stranger to you, I see you all the time with --"

"Mallory? Yeah! Do you see me with anybody else?" I cut her off, my lungs putting in overtime. "I don't have any other friends to be seen with! She was already ticked off the first time this happened, and I can't let it happen again because she --" I stop momentarily. That is not my place to tell her, especially during a rant. I inhale, struggling to maintain my cool with the burning frustration on its way to erupting.

"You have a lot of friends. You're admired by so many people. Even if you were struggling in a subject, you'd have a hundred arms extended to you to help. And me?" I slightly laugh. "I have a teacher, at most. Whereas everybody else will continue to throw snotty glances and crumpled-up notes reminding me of how much of a nonce I am. Mallory is the one person who has never made me feel inhuman. If I don't have her, I have nobody. I can't even talk to my own mother!" I stop to catch myself before I go any further. That and Havana's just staring at me, but I'm not sure what expression I'm supposed to be reading. "Is that open enough for you?"

I put my head down so I don't meet her eyes, but kick it right back up so the tears swallow themselves up. None of this would even be happening if I just let it go. Havana's right. Of course, she's right. 

"I didn't mean to push you, Zora," Havana speaks softly, but the weight of my name hits me like a ton of bricks.

"Don't call me that."

"I'm sorry?"

"I mean ..." I don't exactly know what I mean. "Just call me Zo, please."

"Okay, Zo," Havana says, rolling my name off her tongue. "Zo. I like it -- suits you."

I huff. "Even after all that you still part niceties on me?" 

"Well ... I think we could all stand to be a little nicer," Havana nods her head. "I wish at my lowest I had a hundred arms like you spoke of." That gets my attention. 

"What do you mean?"

"Eh, doesn't matter right now," Havana smiles, then she bites her lip as she thinks. Maybe we are more alike than I thought. "I want to help you, Zo."

My eyes widen. "So you'll be my tutor again? Like, permanently?"

"That depends," Havana so-sos her head. God, do I have to gravel on my knees next? 

"I'm sorry," I tremble, exhausted from the argument. A genuine trembling, nevertheless. Havana looks at me with her piercing hazel eyes, and it takes everything in me to meet her there so she knows I'm serious, but the tension makes me falter and look away. Since when were her eyes hazel? "I am sorry for ever insinuating you were below me in any way. You can't quite be any lower than the scum of the Earth, I guess."

"You are not that, first of all," Havana says, "and second, it's totally okay. I'm sorry I gave in so easily. But that does lead me to my actual question." She leans over the table and stares at me something serious now. "What do you need from me?"

My nostrils flare and I catch my breath. Why is she doing this to me ... but who am I to complain? I look at her again, feeling like a bee sting caught me right in the throat. What do I need from her?

"I need your help ..." I trail off. "I need your help to be better."

Her flinch tells me that she didn't expect that answer, and I can't blame her because neither did I. What does that even mean?! Yet again I'm thankful again my feverish blush isn't visible so my utter embarrassment can remain under wraps ... well, kind of sort of maybe.

"I mean, you know. Be better at trig, obviously," I quickly elaborate. Havana nods her head, stone-faced as she taps the table rhythmically. I've never felt so small in my life. "I'll do anything you ask, swear," I reaffirm. Havana closes her eyes and starts to hum, and now I miss the silence again. What is this, "Make Zo's Emotions a Pendulum Day"? 

"Well, Rome wasn't built in a day." Havana taps the table one more time then gets up from her chair, making her way to the door. It didn't work. I hitch, trying to keep it together so when she walks out I can at least manage a weep. 

"Come on," I hear her say. I turn, looking at her waiting on me. 

"Where...?"

"Let's go get ice cream. My treat."

Ice ... cream? Is this her way of turning me down easily before I'm escorted by school officers at the snap of her fingers, hoisting me away to a cold, wet dungeon far away from civilization as punishment for my discrepancies? 

Move over R.L. Stine -- I could publish my horror autobiography now.