"Okay, can you tell me if this is a set-up or not?" I finally blurt out. 

"Seriously?" Havana leans against the ice cream machine. "Didn't we just talk about trusting each other?"

"I don't remember talking about that at all," I shoot back, rubbing my neck.

"Well, implied!" Havana refutes. 

"Okay, I'll give you that, but what does ice cream have to do with anything we just talked about?" I ask. 

"Well pick a flavor and I'll tell you," Havana says coyly. I don't understand what her game here is, but I'm not one to turn down a game. I eye the machine carefully, my eyes immediately moving to my usual Sherbet popsicle. However, as soon as I look to my bottom left, a sinister smile forms on my face. Well, in my head at least.

"That one," I point towards the Cookies and Cream Dreamcone. I'll be perfectly honest, I don't like waffle cones much, but so long as she's paying for it, I'll play along. And as the most expensive item in the machine, I've dealt a pretty good hand. Your move, Sommers.

"WHew," Havana whistles. "All for the finer things in life, huh?" 

"Not really. Would there be something wrong if I was?" I ask whilst she puts the coins in the machine.

"Nah, not at all. Reminds me of Jhene," she elaborates as the machine whirs my cone out of E3. I shudder at the thought ... me? Like Jhene? Her own flesh and blood is the furthest thing away from being alike. Havana grabs my cone, and passes it to me, and I see her gap part her mouth ever-so-slightly. Like the giggly, happy robot she is.

"Thanks," I say, opening my package. 

"Okay, so question," Havana speaks as she puts more coins in the machine. "Are you an ice cream licker or an ice cream biter? There's a right answer to this."

I give her the most "huh?!" look I can. What on Earth does ANY of this have to do with tutoring or trust or whatever else?! I hold back, though, on saying it out loud because one misstep and I'm back in the doghouse. I sigh, picking at the cookie crumbled outside of the ice cream sphere-like entity.

"I guess I'm an ice cream ... licker." I cringe. I could've just as well said that I lick ice cream but no, I had to use a word like that. Notmany words can make me squirm, but that's one of them.

"Interesting ..." Havana notes, not looking at me as she grabs her Lime bar and rips it open. "Very interesting, indeed."

"Is it now?" I inquire. 

"Oh yeah," Havana nods, then she looks at me and takes a huge chunk out of her bar. "Caush your doin' ih wrung."

"Oh, God!" I revile, a chill running up my spine. "Why?! Does that not hurt?!"

"Ishuhiay," Havana crunches her bar unintelligibly, then swallows. "Sorry, I meant it's the right way! It's a solid! It begs to be bitten into!"

"Next thing you're going to tell me is that you enjoy biting down on jawbreakers, too," I shake my head.

"Well come on, anyone who does that is a fool," Havana says matter-of-factly, very Mal-esque, then finds herself in a bit of a giggling spell. I huff a bit of air through my nose at the sheer ridiculousness. Silence falls on us again, but not for long if I can help it.

"You didn't answer my question," I speak, fidgeting with the cone wrapper. I'm almost afraid to hear the answer, and she's not making it any better by pouting he lip and humming. You know, that "hum" that's all thinkable and whatnot. 

"Sorry, what was the question again?" Havana turns to me, puzzled.

"Y-you're kidding, right?" I ask. "The one about being my tutor?"

"Hm. I don't remember you asking that." Havana smirks. Oh, well played. I'd slow-clap if I had two free hands.

"Well, implied," I taunt. Havana smiles widely, and I swear her mouth did that glowy thing in cartoons. Sure the Sun is setting in the right direction for it, but so weird it happened at a moment like that. She ponders yet again.

"Yeah, I'll be your tutor. Permanently," she answers, catching me by surprise. So she did remember me asking! What is her deal, for real ... "But we play by my rules."

"That's ... fair," I give in. Clearly, my method of doing things failed, so up my white flag waves. "It's not gonna be too hard, is it?"

"If you don't want it to be, yeah," Havana says, then she brings out her rubber ball again.

"God, what is with you and that ball?" I ask, like I've ever seen her with it before today. 

"Oh. It's for my ADHD." Havana admits nonchalantly. "You want to get started?" She starts to walk back to the library before I can even utter another word. ADHD? Like, ADD? Do they call it something new now? But wait, Havana has it? Admitted math nerd Havana Sommers? Huh. How does that work?

-------------------------------

It should be well within my personality to enjoy homework, yet, as most of my peers would say about themselves, I don't. In my opinion, I find homework a tedious task, and the quicker I can stop thinking about it, the better. So, every afternoon when I get home I spend the first hour or two knocking my assignments out of the way. The faster I go, the more free time I have to do whatever I want -- as of late, I've delved into the world of pointillism. Now, I understand the irony of my statement. Homework is tedious but placing a bunch of small dots on paper is the bee's knees? The thing is, with pointillism, I don't have to think about it. I just go, and whatever is led from it is just of my own free will. I let go of the world's stressors with every dimpling of the paper. You'd be shocked how much can be accomplished in a short time as well. 

So, in a twist I hadn't expected, here I am at 8:46 P.M. using trig homework as a means of distraction because I can't focus on my piece. Next thing you'll tell me is that flipping through the Yellow Pages are the newest hot ticket experience over amusement parks. These freaking extra assignments Havana somehow gets her hands on are actually my saving grace from my brain going on total shutdown. Maybe because what I planned to work on had some actual meaning to it; see, months ago I promised Mallory a rendition of her beloved Jonny, so she gave me quite a bit of cutouts to use as "inspiration", not knowing I already found my motivation in her. Yet, as I started dotting the page, I kept finding myself itching to put what I learned to use. During our re-up session, Havana drilled cosine, tangent, and sin well in my head, but, weird as it is, I couldn't stop admiring how excitable she got on the topic after finding out about her ADHD. When I got diagnosed with dyscalculia, my mom immediately shut down any conversation about it.; all she would tell me is "You'll be okay" but not without any solid footing. I was confused, to this day I still am, but just being told "You'll be okay" discouraged me from really delving into the fact that I, in fact, would not be okay. 

Heh. If only 14-year-old me could see me now, cramming for the test when we should be gearing up to watch American Experience in almost 12 minutes. The wildest part? I kind of get it. I mean, kind of, not like I've just become a master in an hour -- oh that's right, instead of 30 minutes we lost track of the time until Mrs. Loren stepped in the room at 5:00 something. Lucky for me, Mom hadn't been home by the time I got dropped off by the Setiawan's, who were actually finishing up with Student Council (well, Jhene at least -- Mal had to sit in). And eerily on cue, my door rattles open.

"You got a minute?" Mom asks me through the crack. 

"Yes ma'am?" I answer. She opens the door fully now but doesn't come inside. Her face, unmoving as ever these days, has a somewhat twinge of worry in her eyes. Or she could be extremely tired -- I'm a bit shocked she isn't in dead sleep right now. 

"I heard back from the Sunworks," she goes. I jump so fast out of my revolving chair it does at least a 1080. I get this sinking feeling when she doesn't continue.

"Is he alright?" I shake.

"Oh, he's fine," Mom goes on, and I almost fall over with the sigh of relief I let out. She still isn't saying much, but these little updates mean the world to both of us. It's not often anymore they tell us anything about my dad. Mom rubs her hand up and down her arm and starts to nod. "We should go see him."

At that moment, I feel as if the world is spinning beyond light years. "We ... should?" 

"If you want to, that is," Mom hesitates a bit, but I nod my head furiously at the thought. It's been seven months since I last saw my dad. The things I've wanted to say, the things I've wanted to hear. It's almost too much to keep my composure, but I down the urge to burst with glee.

"Okay then. How's Saturday?" Mom asks with what I think is supposed to be a smile.

"Yes, Saturday works," I confirm. 

"Good. I'll leave you be." Mom closes the door ever so much, perhaps as a subtle reminder I'm technically not allowed to have my door closed shut. I put my hands over my face and squeal like some overly estrogen-doped-up girl, but I don't even care. I fall back on my bed and stare at my ceiling. My Independence Day poster stares back at me. It's our favorite movie to watch together. Odd choice, I'm aware, but I almost tear up at the thought of finally, finally getting to gush about it together again.

Homework be damned, I can't feel my body to get up anymore tonight.