Paper Flowers (Pretty Plastic People) ★

006. Reality Slap

006. Reality Slap

At Aquino High, if you don't bite, you'll get bitten.

[Erika pictured above.]

I'm still shaky from seeing the necklace around Allison's neck when I settle down in calculus class ten minutes later. Even as I rifle through my folder to find last night's homework, my fingers quiver so furiously that I'm afraid Spencer can sense my nerves.

When my sister walks into the room and I still see the pendant glittering around her neck, my stomach drops. Behind me, Spencer sucks in a breath and immediately leans forward so that his mouth is near my ear.

"Why's she wearing that?" he asks, so quietly I have to strain to hear him.

I bite down on my lip, because I've been trying so hard to forget that he was there, too, and that he saw exactly what happened just like I did. He was there that whole week, and for the first time I thought that maybe we could be something. Days everyone else spent splashing around in the waves we spent on the hammock, talking about everything and nothing, his arm curled loosely around me. I realize I haven't felt his fingers brush my shoulders since then.

"Erika?"

I start and realize that Spencer's still leaning forward. Biting down on my lip harder, I yank out last night's homework and flatten it against my desk. I think I taste blood. "Who knows," I say. I try not to look back at Allison and that necklace, but it's like there's an unavoidable pull. "She never tells me anything."

He grunts in acknowledgement and sits back again, and I realize I already miss his presence. Is it as easy for him to forget everything as he makes it seem? Much as I tell myself that we're not friends anymore, that that era is gone, I can't help but shake that there's something left.

The classroom door shuts and I'm startled out of my reverie to see Mrs. Rutledge entering the room, clutching a group of worksheets. She begins distributing them and I vow, as usual, to forget about everything that's going on outside of class so I can focus. When I pass Spencer's worksheet back to him, though, our fingers brush, and suddenly it's like everything is back the way it was before.

"Erika?" It's Spencer again, and I realize that I'm still holding onto his worksheet with a death grip. I quickly release it and mutter an apology before focusing back at the front of the room. Regardless of what's messing me up today, I know all Allison wants is to get into my head—and I can never let that happen.

"This is just a worksheet on several different types of integration," explains Mrs. Rutledge, taking her usual post at the front of the classroom. "I need to step out for a few minutes, but I would love it if you all worked these problems out on the board while I'm gone. You can work as one big group."

In response to the various nods around the room, she slips outside, shutting the classroom door behind her. Immediately, the room is reduced to dead silence.

Several of the kids in the back of the row shove their worksheets into their backpacks, probably with no intention of touching them until next week. Behind me, Spencer asks, "Does anyone want to go to the board and write down everyone's thoughts?"

There's more silence, except now there's also tension, because Allison and I eye each other. And then it's like our scary twin radar comes to life, because we both stand and say in unison, "I'll do it."

"Sit down," Allison hisses. She's fingering that palm tree pendant around her neck again. "I've got this under control."

Except she doesn't. She doesn't understand what Mrs. Rutledge has been lecturing about—I know this because she hasn't even done the homework for the last several nights. And to let her lead the rest of the class into confusion is practically asking for us to be set a week behind on the syllabus so our teacher can correct the misinformation.