Suddenly, Ashley sees it: the chalkboard, of course! She leans forward a bit, able to make out a few words here and there, something about a whale and a dick? What? On my god, did I inadvertently stumble into Sex Ed? Her brown eyes glance quickly around the room for assistance, looking for her best friend Dodger, hoping he can provide some sort of sign, but he’s wedged behind Marissa Debbler and her crazy mop of frizz hair and Aiden’s beefy shoulder. She tries desperately to remember what she had read last night, as fingers within her brain hurriedly whip through pages of her textbook, scanning the pictures and captions, seeking some clue as to what her teacher wants her so desperately to know.

“We’re waiting Ms. Davies…”

Gimlet is leaning against her desk now with her book opened, glaring her direction like a lion, waiting patiently to pounce on her unsuspecting, injured prey.

A drop of sweat begins to creep through the tiny hairs of her left eyebrow, making its way down her cheek. She can almost see the thoughts of her fellow students, floating above their heads, encased in tiny bubbles:

“What a loser”
“Thank god I’m not Ashley Scabies…”

“No wonder her parents didn’t want her…”

“Who cuts her hair, Super Cuts?”

Then…she sees it. Someone’s thought. It’s written in a soft blue, and surrounded by a purple trim. The words seem to float away from the others, begging Ashley to follow them, to protect them:

“I believe in you.”

They are her words, Spencer’s words! The only words that matter, the only thing that matters. Not her absent folks, her cruel classmates, even crueler genetics, not even Dodger…just Spencer.

The room is silent, each student either utterly bored now by this slowly weakening display of theatrics, or silently cheering the downfall and utter humiliation of Ashley Davies. But she wasn’t going to let the latter happen. Not with her here. Not with her watching. Maybe in the schoolyard when the kids knocked her books to the ground, or when one of the lug head basketball players wrote the appropriately misspelled “dike” on her locker; but not now.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Gimlet, I’m not feeling too well. But, I’d like to answer the question if I may.”