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Speechless(40)

By:Hannah Harrington


                She sighs with a curt nod. “Very well, then.”

                If Mrs. Finch thinks the threat of detention is enough to deter                     me, she really doesn’t understand the scope of my stubborn streak.

                No Brendon in detention this time, but the Indian girl from                     yesterday is there again. I sign in and sit down next to her. Today she has a                     single orange on her desk, but she isn’t looking at it. Instead she’s knitting                     something out of teal and purple yarn while reading a folded up newspaper. The                     only other person I know who knits is my grandma Doris. But this girl is good at                     it; she moves the needles in smooth, quick motions, in and out, in and out, not                     even looking down at her work as she reads. It’s oddly fascinating to watch.

                I pull out my geometry assignment and get to work. Or I plan                     to, anyway, except five and a half problems in, the numbers start blurring                     together. I end up doodling spirals all over the page while I stare into space.                     I don’t mind detention, really. It’s boring, yeah, but it’s not like I have                     anything better to do. There could be way worse punishments. Mrs. Finch can suck                     it.

                The girl next to me shifts in her seat, the chair legs scraping                     against the floor, and I glance up just in time to see the orange roll off her                     desk and toward mine. I put my foot out to stop it, then bend down, pick it up                     and extend it back to the girl.

                “Thank you,” she says brightly. She takes it from me and peers                     at my open textbook. “Hmm. Asymptotes are so depressing.”

                I stare at her, trying to figure out if she’s actually serious.                     She looks like she is.

                “The curve goes toward the line, you know, and they get closer                     and closer, but they never get to touch,” she explains. She shrugs. “It’s just                     sad, is all.” She holds out the fruit. “You want my orange?”

                I shake my head. The detention teacher shoots us a stern glare                     from behind her book.

                “I’m Asha,” the girl hisses out of the side of her mouth, when                     the teacher’s buried her nose back in her trashy romance novel.

                I look back down at my textbook, pretending to be absorbed in                     the nonsensical formulas and graphs displayed before me, but I can feel her gaze                     on me, like she’s expecting a response. I consider ignoring her; it’s what I                     would’ve done before. Normally I wouldn’t bother with some geeky freshman loser                     dressed in the most unfortunate fuzzy purple sweater I’ve ever seen in my life.                     I don’t associate with freaks.