"Zo!" 

I turn around and see Havana waving towards me. Her posse is staring me down, but waving right back. I wave back sheepishly, trying not to make eye contact long before they all turn me to stone. Havana wasn't joking when we had that talk. 

We're ... friends. And it is the weirdest feeling in the entire world. Now that everyone is aware of my connection to Havana, people wave at me that I didn't know existed. Nobody has really bothered me in class (there are some of the usuals, but whatever). Also, I know how strange this sounds, but I swear I've been getting extra food from the cafeteria workers. I've said on occasion that my life feels like a movie, but this? I couldn't write a script like this if I wanted to. What's worse is now Mal has this look in her eyes and that pinched smile of hers. The "I told you so" combo. Like the one she's giving me now. 

"Look at you two, being all buddy-buddy," Mal teases. I roll my eyes.

"Will you stop that?" I plead. "This was going to happen eventually."

"Oh, even you don't believe that," Mal rebuts. Yeah, I really don't. 

"Fine, but so what? It's not a big deal," I semi-lie. "At least, it shouldn't be."

"What do you mean?"

"What do you mean?" I shoot. "You haven't noticed how different everyone has acted towards me lately?"

"You have?" Mallory quips. "Wow, looks like you've been paying more attention to Havana's influence than you once thought."

"You literally stared me down right now because we've become friends," I point out.

"Friends," Mal claps her hands. "My best friend and my ... well, sister's best friend, becoming besties!"

"Woah!" I stop her. "Let's cross the friend hurdle first, at least." I can hardly be upset at her adorable enthusiasm, but it's a lot to get used to. I wonder if any of Havana's past tutored students have gone through the same thing. Wait a minute ... maybe one of them has! 

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

Just because I got a passable grade on my six-week test doesn't mean trig has gotten any easier to sit through. I'm telling you, those 45 minutes are the most excruciatingly long minutes of the day without fail. Ms. Carmone has been eyeing me more these days, too; again, the one upside about becoming Havana's friend as of late is that most people leave me alone now. Yet, that somehow makes me even more nervous. Maybe they're afraid of what'll happen if I were to actually get into specifics with her ... but then that puzzles me, too. Sure, before when I unjustly saw her as some brute, I would've been the type to believe her capabilities of committing some physical offense. Now, as the classic saying goes, I don't see her hurting a fly. Oh, well, maybe not -- there was that fly a couple of days ago in the Purgatory Room that wouldn't leave us alone and she ever-so-elegantly smashed it on my paper. To her credit, Havana did screech in disgusted horror afterward; meanwhile, I had to walk right out of the room so I didn't puke in my mouth. Point is, I suppose I'd become so accustomed to the taunting that it almost feels eerily silent without them. 

Today feels a little longer than usual, too, because I'm itching to talk to Yasmin. After she handed me the money Havana gave her to deliver, I hadn't thought too much about it, but fleetingly I wondered, "How on Earth would those two know each other?" Then it hit me -- of course, the math genius of my class would have ties to the math genius of 12th grade. Perhaps she got to learn what she knows through her. Or maybe the two have tagged teamed together in some tutoring coalition and helped out other students.... either way, Yasmin would know how the Havana Effect would feel like; besides, she's the next person I could ask that isn't Mal, and need I say more about that? 

As soon as the bell lets up, I wait for a bit rather than rush out per usual. Why? Well, because I'm always rushing out, and the fact that I couldn't care less about where anyone else is heading next that isn't Mal, I don't know where Yasmin heads for her next class. If I know that, then it'll give me an idea of how to formulate my questions: how much time I have to ask them, specifically, because my next class is a little ways away from A113. I stand against the wall, and as soon as I see Yasmin's auburn curls pass through the door, I hold out a little bit so I don't seem like some creep, then make my move. She doesn't seem like she's going far ... oh, and my suspicions are proven correct when she walks in the C-Hall. That works for me since my next class is in E, so I rush a little more to catch up. As I'm about to tap her shoulder, as it were, I bump right into my good ol' "friend". 

"Oh, hey!" Havana cheeses. There's no posse behind her this time, which is a relief, but I missed my chance! Shoot! I clutch my hand back and force a small smile.

"Hey there," I utter. 

"This is great, huh?" Havana asks cheerily. "I just got wind that we're going to have a rapid-fire meeting today."

"Wait, huh?" I cock my head. "What does that mean? Look I just started to maybe sort of grasp this stuff, I can't exactly --"

"No no, not us," Havana stops me. "The decathlon team! So I was going to ask you if you wanted to tag along again?" 

"Oh ..." I rub my neck. Surely I thought that was a one-time thing. "I mean, I was hoping we could just get some tutoring done ... for once. N-not once as in we don't ever study, I mean you know, that I .. .want to ... do ... it. Yeah." Oh, good God, my face could melt off if it wanted to. 

"Oh, well yeah that makes sense," Havana nods, her expression solemn. "Yeah, of course! I made a commitment to our sessions so I shall, well, commit!" Hm. There's this twinge of disappointment in her eyes, but her commitment to promises is sincere. Still, she seemed so excited to go ... 

Bing. Bing. Bing. Bing.

Ack, wait!

"Crap, I got to get to class!" I note. "I-I'll see you later?"

"You betcha!" Havana bids me adieu gleefully. Well, that's just great, isn't it? I missed out on a chance to talk to Yasmin about her relationship with Havana, whom conveniently I just crushed with my careless words about "wanting" to be tutored. I'd kick myself in the ass if I could reach. 

When I reach my art class, I quickly pull out my sketchbook and start caviar doodling. The guilt is eating away at me with every circle I scribe. What does a rapid-fire meeting even mean? Havana did say she just caught wind of it happening ... maybe it's one of those unplanned things, a quick refresher or something. Extra practice or the sort.

Oh my god, but of course, it would be extra practice -- that's all these meetings are, right? Extra practice for a greater competition later down the line? I mean, I don't doubt that Havana also practices at home, but what if it's better for her to learn in a team setting? For goodness sake, she's an athlete! All they do is team activity, so maybe that's where she shines best. Oh, but here comes me, withholding her from this thing she actually enjoys doing, whereas I, even with knowing how much any assistance is good assistance, don't get much out of this the way she does. I'm not passionate about mathematics, and I want to be a forensic scientist one day! I might not know what Havana wants to be, but she loves this stuff. I feel a tap on my shoulder, which startles me, and standing right over my shoulder is Ms. Sanders.

"Love the use of different canvas material, Zora, but -- and I say this just by what my job title tells me to -- maybe refrain from scribbling on the desks, okay?" she bats her eyelashes at me serenely. I look at her a bit confused, which probably doesn't shock her at this point; akin to Mr. Halloway, Ms. Sanders truly is your run-of-the-mill liberal hippie, so sometimes her attitude is so laid back none of us know whether its a serious teaching moment or whatever she smokes kicking in. She points to the desk, and I gasp in horror. Looks like I did end up scribbling off my sketchbook from being so lost in thought. Well, that's humiliating. 

"Sorry, ma'am," I apologize, flustered. "I'll get some napkins to clean up."

"Oh, no need," Ms. Sanders clamps her hands. "Students, join me." Wait, what? Everyone starts to gather around the two of us, just as confused as I am. Oh, no ...

"Take note of the rough strokes on these scribbles," Ms. Sanders starts showing everyone my accidental "genius". "Tell me, if you were to call this anything, what would you call it?"

I gulp so hard that they should hire me for a soda commercial. "Uhm ... 'Lost in Thought'?" 

"Ah, yes -- fitting!"

I take back what I said earlier. These next 45 minutes are about to be the longest of the day.