Eighteen

Some people have a very easy time in school. I'm not one of those people.

Sitting in my algebra class, I wait, to my dismay, for my recent test to be returned to me. Around the room, I see people comparing their grades joyfully. One makes fun of their friend for getting an 85, which pales in comparison to their 97. If I'm being honest, I just hope I got above a 65.

The worst part about all of this is the fact that I'm in the class that's meant for the students that don't do well in math.

At the very bottom of the ladder, we have our little algebra II class, filled with the juniors that don't give a shit about anything or can't do math at all. Next, there's the honors algebra II class. Those are mostly advanced sophomores, and a few juniors who want to step it up. There's also the precalculus classes, either filled with the "smarter" juniors, or the less apt seniors.

Then, there's the highest part of the ladder. That's where Austin sits, pretty comfortably. These are the people that take AP calculus as juniors.

The test that I get handed simply has an F on it, circled in red. I quickly hide my paper under my math binder, feeling disappointed in myself.

"As you all know, finals aren't that far away anymore! That means we have only a few more topics to cover before the end of the year," my teacher, Mrs. Miller, tells us. On the board, she writes down some of our final topics: more polynomials, radicals, more parabolas, and exponential functions. I wish I could even tell you what most of those mean.

Once the bell rings, Mrs. Miller asks me to come talk to her. Of course, the other students all turn to look at me as if I have three heads. I sigh and walk up to her desk while everyone else walks out.

"Dylan, you need to come for extra help. I've already told you it's an option, but now, we might need to make it mandatory. If you don't, I'm not sure you'll be able to pass the class," she tells me, her tone quite intense. I purse my lips.

"I'm not sure it'll work for me. I just... really don't get this stuff," I tell her.

"I understand that it can feel embarrassing to ask for help sometimes. But I'm here to help you succeed. I need you to come work with me. Okay?" she pleads. I simply nod, feeling a pit in my stomach.

I walk out and just sit on the floor in front of some lockers, not really wanting to go to my history class yet. Even though I know there are teachers around doing hall duty, I need a break.

After a minute or two of just staring at the wall, I hear footsteps coming down the mostly silent hallway. I look up and see Tristan in the distance. He notices me and makes a quizzical face.

"Don't you have class?" he asks me, standing next to where I'm sitting.

"Well, yeah. But I don't want to go yet," I sigh. I pause and furrow my eyebrows. "Wait, shouldn't I be asking you the same?"

"You know I skip class, that's not new information. But what about you? Don't you usually have pretty good attendance?" he asks.

"Yes. I just need a break. I'll go to class soon," I brush him off.

"What's wrong?"

"I failed a math test, which means I'm on my way to flunking the whole course and having to take it again," I say, putting my head in my hands.

He purses his lips. "Did you go for extra help?"

"No, but I know it won't help."

He thinks. "I know going for extra help kind of sucks. Would it help if you got help from a friend instead of a teacher?"

"You think you can teach me algebra II? Didn't you take that twice?" I ask, totally puzzled.

He lets out a hearty laugh. "I meant Austin, dingus. And I know for a fact he'll help you, unconditionally."

I frown a little bit. "I don't want to put any extra burden on his back. He's so busy with his AP classes as it is," I tell him, feeling unsure.

"Listen. I'm a year older than him and he's the reason I passed most of my classes. Hell, him and I hate each other a lot of the time but he still helps me with my work when I'm struggling. If it's someone he loves, he won't even think twice. You should talk to him about it," Tristan says.

"Alright, I guess."

"He'll help. Trust me," he says, walking off in the other direction. I finally get the willpower to go to class myself and head off.

I decided to head to the library after my last class to get a head start on homework. Since Austin and I carpool, I made sure to let him know I was here.

"Hey, how's it going?" Austin asks me, taking a seat next to me. He looks chipper.

"I'm okay, but I did fail my math test from last week," I tell him. He looks at me sympathetically.

"Do you need any help? I loved algebra," he says. I smile, thinking about how much of a dork he is.

"Actually, Tristan was telling me to come to you for help earlier. But I don't want to put any more work on your plate. You're so busy already," I tell him, feeling guilty.

He instantly shakes his head. "If you need help, I'm going to help you. It won't be a problem at all," he insists. I purse my lips.

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

I smile and thank whatever deity sent this angel to me.

"So, what's your homework for tonight?" he asks, peeking at what I have pulled out on the table.

"It's a worksheet on polynomials. We just did some on the test I just failed."

He pulls the worksheet closer to him so he can scan through it for himself.

"Okay, can you maybe start one and show me what's giving you trouble?" he asks me, as gently as possible. I nod.

On the sheet, I start scrawling the numbers to the equation in the example, and attempt to start solving. He watches me intently, but not in a judgmental way. Something about it was comforting, actually.

At one point, I find myself stuck. He takes notice of this and glances at my equation attempt closer.

"Okay, so I see what happened. See how something got a little wonky here? You gotta make sure you divide these before you keep going," he says, pointing to one piece. I erase and try what he suggests. To my surprise, it works.

"How'd you know that?"

"You weren't that far from finishing it, and I realized that. So I sort of retraced your steps to see what we could fix," he explains.

Continuing through the sheet, Austin helps me at every road block I hit. In the process, he helps me genuinely understand what I was doing. That's way further than my teacher has ever gone. She goes way too fast and just assumes everyone gets it.

By the time I make it to the end of the worksheet, it feels as though not much time as passed at all. With him by my side, it actually felt doable for the first time.

As the two of us walk out to where his car is parked, I smile to myself and say, "Thank you for everything today. I didn't think I'd ever get that stuff to make any sense."

He smiles back. "You did really well. I'm proud of you."

I blush and get into his passenger seat. Making sure no one's around first, I lean over and kiss him.

"Thanks, teach," I laugh. He grins and starts backing out of the space.

"Seriously, though. You're way smarter than you think, Dylan. I know you're going to pass the class," he reassures me.

I close my eyes and smile. Maybe it's not all so bad.