The Ten-Year Game Plan

Chapter 21- Josie

•••
10 Years Earlier: Seventh Grade
•••

Out of all four of the math teachers in the seventh grade, Ms. Gerdy was the toughest. She would call on students even when they didn't have their hands raised and expect them to answer the questions perfectly.

I made sure that I was prepared every day when I came to class because I refused to be one of the kids that she called on who had no idea what they were talking about. Like the new kid today. Ms. Gerdy was watching him from over the glasses she had perched on the end of her nose.

Frantically, he searched through his notebook as though the answer would suddenly appear to him in the pages.

A crumpled piece of paper landed on his desk and the moment he unfurled it, he looked up at Ms. Gerdy with a defiant expression on his tanned face.

"The answer is -3.78."

"Hm," Gerdy said, turning back toward the front of the classroom.

The new kid turned to me, blue eyes wide and a grateful smile on his face. I shrugged, cheeks flaming, and ducked my head into my notebook to scribble down the equations that were now on the board.

The rest of the class passed painlessly for me and I filed out with the other students after the bell rang. At least I was, until I felt a tug on my arm.

"That was you that threw me the answer, right?"

His eyes were blue. Far too blue to be real, right? The kind of blue you saw when you looked out the window of an airplane sitting above the clouds. The kind of blue you saw off the coast of an island and not the kind of blue you saw in the eyes of a seventh grade boy.

"Oh. Um, yeah. That was me."

"Thanks for the save," the kid said, "what's your name?"

"I'm Josie."

"Nice to meet you, Joey."

"No, I said my name is Jos—"

"I heard what you said," he grinned, "but if we're going to be friends then you need to have a name that only I call you."

I arched a brow. That seemed a bit presumptuous. Just because I shared an answer with him in class didn't mean I wanted to be his friend. I crossed my arms over my chest at both the nickname and his attitude.

"Who said I want to be your friend? And anyways, I don't want to be called Joey. That's a terrible nickname."

The kid leaned against the doorway smiling and unswayed by my objection. He had far too much confidence for a middle school kid. All scrawny limbs and dark curly hair.

"Well, fine. I'm flexible about the name, at least. What's your last name?" he asked.

"Troutman."

He grinned a goofy smile. One that made his eyes shine and a dimple pop out on his cheek.

"Oh. I think I have the perfect idea."

•••
Present Day
•••

I called Caitlin Davies the next night after I spoke to Donovan. She was surprised to hear from me seeing as we hadn't spoken to each other in a few years.

She told me the truth this time around. It wasn't some sordid or dramatic tale. The story was just about a girl in high school who wanted people to like her and went about it in all the wrong ways. She thought the story might make her more popular or sympathetic. She also thought that it would make Donovan notice her, and stop noticing me.