Though the audience has gotten considerably smaller in the last half-hour, there's still the bit of us who are hanging on to find out who will take this all the way. I can hardly believe it, but I'm quite frankly on the edge of my seat. All we need is one. One! I know how to count to one! I bite the remnants of my nails with every dramatic pause Roscoe takes before asking away the next question. 

Crap, Spirit takes the point. And the one after that. And the one after that. Only two more to go! 

BEEE! Yes!

"98 with a remainder of 3?" Marnie says unconfidentally. 

"Oh, sorry!" Roscoe sucks her teeth. Shoot! "Other side?"

"94 with a remainder of 3?" Max answers.

"Hell yeah!" Roscoe cheers, clamping her mouth quickly after. "Oops, sorry folks!"

"Damn!" I slam my hands on the armrests, which wakes up a sleepy Mallory. 

"Hm?" Mal yawns. "What happened? Did we win?"

"No, we didn't -- yet," I tell her. "It's the last question."

"Already?"

"Yeah, sleepyhead," I shake my head. "Come on, the match hasn't been that boring."

"I'm sorry," Mal yawns again. "I don't know why I'm so tired, honestly."

"Okay, the final question --"

"I think I've been losing sleep over the concert, actually."

"Well, you and me both, but you don't see me slumping over in a chair during a match."

"Jeez, sorry," Mal perks up at my snappy tone. Damn. 

"I didn't mean anything by that, sorry," I correct myself. 

"-8!" One of the Spirit kids yells out. Crapola, they got it. I'm not even sure what they asked but I know they got it. A negative number doesn't just come out of nowhere. Roscoe raises up her rubber chicken with the widest smile on her face, but immediately chucks it down and sighs.

"Fartin' gorgonzola," Roscoe shakes her head. "Much as I'd love to lie, that is incorrect. And we're definitely practicing this next time!"

"You!" Roscoe points. "What is your name again?!"

"Havana," she answers. Oh, the stress on her face is palpable. And the odd thing is that she's not saying anything. None of them are. Why aren't they saying anything?! 

"Well, Havana?" Roscoe tips her head, ready to raise the rubber chicken to call time. "You have ten seconds."

Havana looks to her team. None of them know what to say. EVvn Yasmin at the scoreboard isn't sure of what to do. Oh my god, what happens now? Do we leave with a tie? The other side gets one more shot, they get it and we lose?! Just then, K.D. meekly raises his hand.

"Yeah, bud?" Stewart turns to him. K.D. shows him his workboard, which he uses to not only answer if need be but communicate his ideas. Stewart reads over the board, then nervously hands it to Havana. 

"Three. Two. One --"

"The answer is inconclusive!" Havana shouts before the cut-off. Wait, inconclusive?

"Elaborate," Roscoe demands.

"After the initial calculation, you're left with an imaginary number. Therefore, the second equation isn't possible. to solve, leaving an inconclusive answer," Havana reads off of K.D.'s board. I want to say this make sense, but what would I know? Again, I didn't even hear the question the first time around, and if I did, I still wouldn't be able to answer it. There's a long, almost unnerving pause. Roscoe clicks her tongue.

"That's it," she smiles, waving around the rubber chicken in defeat and triumph. "Fireside High wins!" Ah, yes! The audience claps wildly -- or at least, I do. I don't know what it is about it but hearing the win and seeing the team high-five each other proudly just stirs something in me. I've never been involved in many team efforts over the years except for the ones given through our NHS assignments, but those are even few and far in-between and I just stick around with Mal. Until this point, I didn't have anyone else to cheer for, but I forgot how good it feels to do it. I'm proud of them! I'm ... proud of Havana, who let's be honest, carried the weight! 

"That was so good!" Mal claps alongside me. "This was fun!"

"Wasn't it?!" I beam, but jolt a bit when I do. I don't mean anything by this, and I'm glad that she came after all because our time together after school has become sparse, but between the GameBoy and the sleeping, it just ... I don't know, I mean how do you measure whether something or not was fun if you missed a lot of it? Well, I still had fun ... even amid other things. Speaking of, it seems Yasmin is nowhere to be found, again. I really hope she's okay.

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

In the hall, everyone starts to leave the school but the teams, Mal and me. Roscoe stands with her hands on her hips, and I think she's trying to scold her team for the loss but she keeps laughing when she does it. Max somewhat laughs along, but the other kids roll their eyes. What a fun bunch they seem to be. Roscoe turns her head and looks directly at me. 

"Oh, hey!" Roscoe yells. "You don't go here, right? You're a Fireside kid?"

"Uh, y-yeah," I flinch. 

"Cool! Hey, I got a question," Roscoe continues at lightning speed. "How did you like the rubber chicken idea? Again, we didn't have any real buzzers to use, so then I went to the theater kids and they suggested using these rubber chickens that they had from a show they did about Old MacDonald last semester, and you know the others thought it would be a stupid idea but --" Roscoe takes a breath, then stares me down. "Oh jeez, my bad! I'm just talking my head off, aren't I?"

"You're good," I rub my arm. "The chicken idea was good. Funny."

"Right?! I thought so, too!" Roscoe beams. "Thanks, stranger. Get home safe!"

"Thank you ..." I say meekly. Ah, but ... "Uh, you were really good, by the way!"

"Hm?" Roscoe turns back around.

"At the hosting, it was engaging," I elaborate.

"Oh, thanks!" Roscoe gleams proudly. "I appreciate that!"

"Yeah," I nod. Well, I'm glad that made her happy. "Yeah, you uh, remind me of our Student Council president. If the president was a girl, that is."

"Ooo..." Roscoe winces. 

"H-he's a good guy, I promise," I wave my hands. "Albeit a bit cocky at times, but I'm sure you're nothing like that."

"Oh nah, it's not that," Roscoe says. "It's uh ... well I don't like exactly being called a girl, haha!"

"Huh?" I cock my head, confused.

"Eh, well it's a bit hard to explain," Roscoe rubs her chin. "It's just that ... well, I don't like being called a girl. Huh, I guess that wasn't so hard to explain!"

"Uh, I'm sorry?" I apologize, still not understanding.

"Let's put it this way --" Roscoe puts up two thumbs, and points at herself. "Just call me Roscoe! You could even call me Roscoe's Chicken 'N Waffles, if you want! I won't take any offense!"

"Ah ..." 

"And you are?"

"Uh, me?" I point to myself. Well, duh, who else would she -- she? Her? She? Roscoe. Ros-coe. Who else would Roscoe be referring to?  "I'm --"

"Zo!" Havana calls out. "You ready?"

"Ack, uhm, yeah!" I yell back.

"Zo ... I like it," Roscoe nods. "Catch ya later, Zo!"

"R-right," I wave shyly. I know this is going to sound silly, but my brain is currently in a malfunction mode. I don't think I've ever heard anyone say they didn't like being referred to as a girl. Even the tomboys I'd come to know over the years still stuck their tongues out at the idea of anyone comparing them to an actual boy. But something about this feels different ... and by that, I mean that I can understand where Roscoe is coming from. I also hate being referred to as a girl. A her. A she. But isn't it a bit wild to think that I should have people refer to me as "Zo" only? As if I'm always in the third person?

Third person ... Oh, shoot, they're waiting on me! I rush over to Havana and Mal; looks like the rest of the team took off. 

"Hey!" Havana smiles. 

"Hey, congratulations!" I greet back. "You guys did really well."

"Thanks!" Havana scrunches her nose. Hah, she really can't take compliments. "So? Did you have fun? Please tell me you had fun."

"Oh, yeah, I-I did!" I admit. "Can't wait to see what happens next."

"Y-you want to see what happens next?" Havana blinks, shocked.

"Well, I've already done this three times over," I shrug. "Why not?"

"Alright!" Havana starts reaching out excitedly but pulls back. She chuckles shyly, and you know what? Hah, for whatever reason, it's working. I reach out my arms, and she doesn't immediately take. 

"Well?" I motion forward. The spark in Havana's eyes once she realizes I'm actually inviting this is unmatched; it's like I gave her a freaking Christmas present. And with that, we both share our very first hug. Oh, if only I was an athlete because my goodness that letterman does wonders. But as we hug, there's something still itching at me that I can't get over.

"Question?" I ask, pulling away to meet her eyes. "How do you know me?" Havana looks at me perplexed.

"Like, before the tutoring ... of course, it's no shock who you are, but how did you know me? I doubt Jhene raved to you about who I was, and I know you've seen me with Mallory ..."

"Actually," Havana interjects. "It was at the district art show last year that I first found out about you."

"Wait, huh?" I must look as bewildered as I feel. "You went to that?"

"Yeah, to support a friend of mine," Havana continues. "Tommy Davis?"

"Tommy!" I gasp. "Yeah, I know him. I mean, I've never talked to him, but he's really good at sculpture. Ah, right, he had won the sculpture category that year ..."

"That he did!" Havana smiles. "So, I went to support him and started to look around the joint. That's when I got to the 10th graders' work and stumbled upon yours -- The Iridescent Bloom."

"Y-you remember the title?"

"Oh yeah, how couldn't I?" Havana goes on. "I'd never anyone use shredded paper to make art before. It was so cool and creative! And ... serene?" She flinches. "Sorry, I don't know what constitutes as proper art talk."

"No, it's alright," I nod, then smile slowly. "Thanks."

"No problem," Havana says. "I'd happen to stumble upon the award ceremony, and there you were accepting the 2nd place medal. You ... didn't seem too happy about it, though."

"Oh?" I think back. Oh, shoot ... that's right. The ceremony was on the day my mom had to drive out for an emergency visit to Sunworks. I wanted to go with her, but she told me to stay back and enjoy my art show. Hah, so much for that. I didn't think anyone else noticed that ... I don't even think I noticed how I came across. Mal hadn't said anything, but then I hadn't told her about what happened. Sheesh.

"Still, you looked really nice," Havana goes on. "I know it's late, but ..." She looks right at me and starts clapping like a madman. That takes me out of my trance, and I giggle.

"What's that for?" I ask.

"To congratulate you!" Havana states. "And I'll do it again at your next one."

I perk up at that. She wants to go to my next show?

"T-that is, if I'm allowed!" she quickly corrects herself. I mean, who would I be to turn away another guest? Thing is, because of the circumstances of the last show, I hadn't planned on entering anything this year. I just couldn't stomach the idea of missing out on something as dire as seeing my dad if the time ever called for it, no matter what I had going on. And Mom's not going to stop me again.

"W-we'll see," I simply say. 

"Right then," Havana claps her hands. "Shall we?"

"Okay," I start to follow her outside, along with Mal who's been slumped against the wall this whole time. Poor thing must really be tired, which makes me feel so much worse for snapping at her earlier. I think I channeled some sort of Yasmin energy then. Oh, wait --

"Wait, where's Yasmin?" I ask, looking around. 

"She's waiting for us in the car already," Havana answers. "Didn't feel much like talking with the team about strategy and whatnot."

"Is that right?" I gulp. Is Havana aware of what's going on with her? I shiver at the evening air now that the sky has begun to transition into indigo hues. Thank goodness Havana doesn't notice this time as she leads the way back, because something in me just knows she would've given up her jacket again. Which ... isn't such a bad thing, right? 

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

On the drive back, Mal slumps on my shoulder. The warmth of her head against me makes me feel home-y. Yasmin is also asleep in the front seat. We listen to the radio as Eminem's "My Name Is" filters through the speakers. It's a bit odd seeing nightlife from anywhere but my room window, which I rarely do anyway because I'm so hyper-focused on schoolwork, amongst other things. The roads are crowded with the after-work traffic still abuzz.

"So, what are you doing when you get home?" Havana asks me suddenly. 

"I don't know. Study, maybe?"

"Ooo, fun!" Havana waves her hands sarcastically.

"You're one to talk since we are just coming back from your math competition," I scoff. "A practice one. For fun!"

"Rats, got me there," Havana chuckles. "I guess you'll be ready for finals, then?"

"Let's hope," I sigh. 

"You are. I know it," Havana nods. "Then you can relax your brain soon after."

"True," I agree. We pause for a moment. Hard to believe mere weeks ago I was drowning in the overwhelming sense of failure, and though I haven't become some sort of Equation Einstein, I think I can approach trig in a different way now. A more ... hopeful way. "Hey, thanks for being my tutor. I know I didn't make it easy on you, but I'm really glad you did it."

"Well now, you make it sound like a finality!" Havana says, and I can hear the pouting in her tone. 

"W-well, I mean you know ..."

"Know ...?" Havana repeats. "Did you want to stop here, then?"

"I -- well, I just figured you'd get back to your life?" I explain. "OR, maybe you had other tutoring assignments or something. OR maybe you'd get back to football practice."

"Well, I can tell you neither of those is happening," Havana shuts both of those possibilities down, to my surprise. "So you can keep me all to yourself."

"It's not like that!" I jolt embarrassed. Put me on the spot, why don't you?

"I'm kidding," Havana giggles. We stop at a red light, then she turns my way. "But really, did you want to stop here? 'Cause we can."

If I had been asked this question six weeks ago, I would've lunged at the chance to say yes. I did, in a way! Then I changed my mind, then I messed it up and Havana wanted out, then we talked it through. Now she's even seen me cry over this stuff. I don't know, I've never had to think about whether or not to continue tutoring because I'm only just now doing it. And yet, it's not even about that mostly, now. The only way I'd ever see Havana is through tutoring, but now there are these meetings. Other than that, how would I continue? Wait, do I want to continue? Apart from math, what else would I be seeing her for? Mal slumps on my shoulder ever so slightly, and then I'm reminded of that part of the connection, too. I feel ... sickly, all of a sudden.

Do I want to continue?

"Uh ...?"