Alex: "That fire at my grandma's house was something else."

Hannah: "Yeah, and so were the math club tryouts on Wednesday. I can't believe I was so nervous—I was sweating like crazy!"

Hunter: "Me too, but only because of who I met when I got there..."

Azalea Rose Jackson:

After my Calculus III class at Stanford, I drove back to Gallensley. Today was the day that I would host the Mathletes Tryouts that I had told Hannah about—the day I'd choose the boys and girls worthy of competing by my side.

I had been the Varsity Mathletes team captain since Junior Year, when I'd edged out brainiac Eric Lim by three votes and two quality points on the ACT. And as such, it was my responsibility to evaluate the burgeoning crop of number crunchers who thought they were Mathlete material.

As I pulled into Gallensley's senior lot and screeched my wheels to a halt between two grungy white lines, I wondered silently if Hannah would show up.

I really hoped she would.

After locking my car, I crossed the black asphalt overlaying the lot and strode through the high school's double doors, flipping my hair to the side before strutting down the leftmost hallway. Three doors from its end, I cut another left, officially claiming Room 107 for Mathletes tryouts.

While I waited at the front behind what normally would've been a teacher's table, students began to trickle inside, timidly finding desks to seat themselves, glancing around nervously as they sized up their competition. My eyes drawn into thin lines as the prospectives shuddered hesitantly, rooted to their chairs, I kept watch over all of them...until a certain someone walked in.

"Hey," his voice echoed from just beyond my line of sight. "Is this the right room for math club tryouts?"

I turned my head to face him, my eyes rolling immediately—it was that football player from earlier. Not this screwball again.

"Why?" I spat. "Did the chess club run out of freshmen for you to shove inside their lockers?"

I lifted my head, pursed my lips, and waited wide-eyed for his inevitable generic comeback—something about my natural hair that he'd probably call weave. Or maybe he'd make fun my "home situation" and say I should scurry back to the projects, unaware that my family was heir to more money than he'd ever see in his life. Perhaps he'd try to bribe his way on to the team by promising to get me a slice of watermelon from his pawpaw's farm. Or just pull what I imagined must've been his mother's favorite routine: ask to speak with the team's real captain—no way could that be me!

Right then and there, I decided to simply sit back, snicker, and sneer at whatever buffoonery he allowed to spill out of his mouth.

But what he did next surprised me.

His brows furrowed, and his eyes dropped to the blandly tiled floor. "I—I'm not sure what you mean," he began, "I mean...um...I'm here to try out."

It was all I could do to keep from rolling on the floor in laughing disbelief. I'm sure he saw a smirk glide across my face as I formed my next demeaning sentence. "You?" I glanced around the room, eyes sweeping the walls and aisles. "What is this, some kind of joke?"

He paused for a second, his own eyes glancing away in fear. "I—I really did come to try out," he said lowly. "Are you the captain?" He hesitated for a brief moment, then finally returned my gaze with what looked like confidence.

I gasped as he extended his hand. "Hi, I'm Hunter. I think we met...Monday in the cafeteria, I mean." His cheeks flushed, the vigor in his eyes darting back again to fear—or was it remorse? "I'm really sorry about what happened to your friend."

I'm sure I must have stared at him for a solid fifteen seconds before extending my hand in return. His grip was firm, smooth, friendly.

As I looked up at him, I held my guarded and uncertain stare. "Are you sure you're in the right place? You're really interested in joining the math club?" I peered warily at his boyishly charming face.

"Yeah," he gulped, blinking twice before nodding—before briefly flashing that sharp, even smile again. "I'm sure."

"O-okay," I said with as much composure as I could manage. "Well, tryouts start in ten minutes. We test the Junior Varsity Mathletes first, then Varsity. Do you know which one you'd like to—?"

"Varsity," he blurted. "I'd really like to try out for—"

"Okay, pump the breaks." I held up a hand to silence him. "I'm just gonna stop you right there. Varsity Mathletes competitions are not child's play. We solve problems to the tune of honors Senior calculus, not petty trig and algebra."

"Great." His voice warmed. "Sounds like my kinda team."

"Doubtful," I shot back, my eyes narrowing. "Have you even seen an integral?"

He smiled again, wider this time.

Is he mocking me?

"What's so funny!?" I thundered.

"Nothing," he mused gently. His words were honest and kind, smooth honey to counter my vicious vinegar. "I'm just glad you're captain. I can tell that you'll be a good one." He stuffed a single hand in his pocket. "You're serious about what you do, you know what you want, and you won't take it easy when it comes to training and preparing for competition."

Was that a compliment? Impossible. This freak doesn't even know me—he must be working some angle.

"And, to answer your question," he said, "yes, I've seen an integral. Over a hundred, to be exact. I finished AP Calculus BC last year with A's both semesters. Since that's the last math course Gallensley offers, I'm currently in the dual enrollment Honors Calculus III class taught down the road."

Down the road—he was being very modest. The only college "down the road" that offered Calculus III for dual enrollment was Stanford University; I knew because I was in that class. He's impressive, I thought to myself, but I'm not going to let him scare me.

"What a coincidence," I began matter-of-factly. "I'm also in that class. How'd you think lecture was today?" My tone was effusively condescending, and I just knew it would make him squirm.

To me, it was always a joy crippling the high horses of people who thought they were so much more educated and qualified than I. And I was going to writhe with pleasure the moment he blanched at realizing that my intelligence equaled—no, outstripped!—his own.

...But blanche he did not.

"It wasn't too bad. I've always loved math, especially in three dimensions."

"Oh, really?" I huffed, shifting back in my chair to cross my arms. "So, you think the class will be a piece of cake, then?"

"Well, I mean, calculus is calculus. I guess it's not exactly easy, but I like it. It's abstract, not just black and white. There's so many ways to think about it, so many methods that give you a right answer. It's my kinda math." The edges of his lips rose into yet another smile. "Plus, now that I know another person my age is in there, it always helps having a friendly face around." His shiny blue eyes turned a few shades brighter after adding that last part.

I looked away, taking a moment to repoise myself before returning to face him as I cleared my throat. "Well," I finally spoke, retreating as quickly as possible to a cold business tone. "Like I said, tryouts for Junior Varsity start in about ten minutes. If you want to try out for Varsity, be back here in thirty."

"Great," he said, his smile intact. "See you then."

****

That thirty minutes felt like ages. When Hunter returned, I actually smiled, though I don't think he saw. Steeling myself briefly, I shook away whatever spell he was trying to cast with those sky-blue eyes. I locked my jaw, tightened my gaze, then stood to address everyone present. "Junior Varsity tryouts have ended. We will take a five-minute break and then commence with testing for Varsity Mathletes."

I retook my seat at the front of the room gracefully, curving my figure into the cushioned wood chair beneath me. My eyes rose and fluttered across the room, searching darkly. I spotted Hunter again, positioned at the edge of the class, as he chatted with one of the other prospective Mathletes, a guy named Alex.

I didn't know Alex; we'd only crossed paths a few times. But he seemed friendly enough, and I'd heard rumors that he'd managed a perfect SAT Math raw score on his first attempt.

As the boys carried on, Hunter looked up, his eyes meeting mine. I flicked my head to the side, fiddled a finger through my long black hair.

Once I was sure he was no longer staring, I stood and excused myself from the room to "get water." But as soon as I'd marched into the hall, I turned and pressed my head against the doorway—I just knew those two would be talking about me:

"Yeah, dude," Alex began, "When you first came in here for tryouts, I saw her giving you the third degree. From what I've heard, she's pretty insane, and not in a good way."

Who does that nutjob think he—!?

"She seems pretty solid to me," Hunter froze me in place. "Like, she really knows her stuff. I hope I can make it in...Maybe then things can be different."

Alex paused. "Different? Like, what do you mean?"

I shuddered in silence.

"I just...want some things to change." He sighed. "It's just, like, everybody knows I play football for the school. Everybody knows both of my parents went to Hale University on athletic scholarship and married because they were the two social sharks at the top of the pile. And just because I'm their kid and I play the only sport I've ever been any good at, everybody thinks I'm some airhead who wants in every girl's pants. There's just no way I could be good at math or...or anything that's not football."

Alex paused again. "Well, dude, I mean, you are super athletic and popular. And all the girls love you. That counts for something, right?"

"Yeah, whatever," Hunter exhaled. "I guess that's all I can hope for."

Shielding my face with the wooden frame as best I could, I peeked around the door's edge just as Hunter's eyelids dropped, shielding the sadness of eyes blue as the sea. For the first time since he'd approached me and Hannah on Monday, I saw Hunter's perfect smile deflate—not just dart away or hide, only to return twice as brightly as before. All that happiness and confidence...it was gone.

Alex looked off. "Hunter, wait. That's not what I meant." When Hunter didn't say anything, Alex turned back to face him. "I'm sorry, Hunter. I seriously didn't mean anything by that." He placed a single hand on Hunter's shoulder. "Come on, man. Cheer up."

As Alex sighed, staring back at Hunter, I heard a girl come in through the room's backdoor. "Um, hi, guys," she spoke sheepishly. "Is this the room for the math club tryouts?"

I recognized the voice immediately. Hannah?

"Yeah," Hunter spoke up, his face regaining some of its brightness. "Hi, I'm Hunter. I think we met—or I guess, we kinda met—in the caf on Monday."

She smiled weakly and glanced away.

"Um...sorry...what was your name again?" Hunter tried.

"I'm Hannah," she answered, her voice gaining an octave of courage as she turned back to face him. "It's...nice to meet you, Hunter." She shifted to Alex. "And you are?"

"Alex. Hi. Nice to meet you, Hannah."

"So...where is everybody?" she asked.

"Well, they just finished Junior Varsity tryouts," Hunter answered. "And we're taking a five-minute break before Varsity starts."

"Oh, okay," she said, then glanced at a desk adjacent to Hunter's. "Mind if I sit?"

"Not at all." Alex smiled.

I spun away from the entrance to the classroom and put my back to the wall as Hannah briefly looked up, facing my direction. I wasn't sure if she'd seen me; but just to make sure, I stood outside silently while about ten other students trickled in. A few of them had familiar faces, but most were new. And as more and more of them arrived, conversations rose and overtook the one I was spying on.

After the five-minute break was over, I strutted regally back inside and reclaimed my table at the front of the classroom to explain the rules.

"Good afternoon, everyone," I began. "My name is Azalea Jackson, and I'm the team captain of the Varsity Mathletes. When tryouts begin momentarily, each of you will receive a booklet of thirty-five multiple-choice problems, and you'll have exactly twenty minutes to complete it. All answers must be recorded on the accompanying scantron. The top seven scorers will advance to the speed round." I was firm and authoritative, my voice an iron fist of security and determination. I could tell that several of them were intimidated, but I didn't care. It was definitely better than the alternative.

I lifted my eyes, surveying the new prospects, then spotted Hunter smiling at me. I almost freaked, but I managed to glance away quickly enough to maintain my perfect stance before the fledgling neophytes; and with a single, elegant turn of my hips, I sashayed forward and began passing out the exams.

Hunter was still smiling when I handed him his. I averted my eyes and kept walking, steeling myself again but also silently praying that he would fall in the top seven.

The moment everyone opened their booklets, my eyes shot to Hunter. I watched his jolly blue eyes narrow into focused spheres as he read and scribbled, lead blazing across the page. Besides Hannah, he was the only one to actually finish all the problems, and he turned them in with a smile.

Once the twenty minutes had elapsed, I collected the booklets and retreated from the room—from Hunter's eyes, his warm and welcoming aura—and trekked to the grading lounge. After feeding everyone's answers into a giant metal machine that dinged and buzzed as it marked their mistakes, I returned to the classroom with the scantrons scored.

I could feel the tenseness of nerves throughout the room; but even so, I read the list of names mechanically, without emotion, until all seven were announced: "Marcos, Hannah, Lexie, Hunter, Alex, Jameson, Alicia."

The other students left dejectedly as I gave a generic congratulatory spiel to the seven best mathematicians in the room. The whole time, I avoided looking at Hunter.

As we commenced with phase two of tryouts, everyone lined up behind a buzzer and checked to make sure it worked. I stood in front of them all and rested my hands atop a hardwood podium, a set of twenty calculus derivatives and integrals before me.

The next ten minutes went by in a blur, the competitors answering like lightning—Alex, Hannah, Hunter, Marcos, Alex, Hunter, Jameson, Hannah, Alex, Hannah, Alicia, Alex, Hunter, Lexie, Alex, Hannah, Hunter, Alicia, Marcos, Hannah!

I knew that Hunter had made it; it wasn't until I officially tallied the scores that I figured out Hannah and Alex had actually answered more correct than he had, or that the three of them together had left everyone else in the dust.

When I announced the results—that Hunter, Hannah, and Alex would be the three new members to join the Varsity Mathletes—Hunter grabbed Hannah and Alex in a big bear hug. "We made it, guys!" he gushed at both of them, Hannah smiling back at him and Alex nodding along.

I walked over to where they stood and gave a professional, thin-lipped smile. "Congratulations," I deigned. "Welcome to the team."

Hunter blushed, and Alex was the first to speak back. "Thanks!" he exclaimed as he shut his eyes, then gave pause before sighing with relief. "Competition was pretty rough."

"Agreed," Hannah confirmed. "I'm seriously surprised I even made it. Thanks again for suggesting I join." Behind her back, she grabbed her left arm with her right, then swayed slightly from side to side. "I know we just met, but you're kinda like my hero."

I wanted to share in her joy—in all of their joy—but I knew my role. I was a leader, not a merrymaker. I gave Hannah a small smile before clearing my throat. "So," I said, immediately shifting back to business. "Now that you all are on the team, there are a few things you should know: meetings are Wednesdays after school from three o'clock to four-thirty. The first forty-five minutes are spent in the actual meeting, and the second half is spent practicing under timed conditions. Of import to note, if you're interested in being a math tutor for the school, you receive special consideration since you're a Mathlete; and you get compensated double what a normal tutor would. So, yes, it does pay to be the smartest kids at this school." I eyed all of them with satisfaction. "I'm really looking forward to being on the same team with you three this semester. May I have everyone's phone number?"

They all looked surprised, scared. Alex even took a step back.

"What!?" I asked, my tone suddenly sharp as I arched a hand on my hip. "Why do you guys look so terrified!? It's just your number. It's not like I'm asking for your social security or something." When no one said anything, I let out a labored sigh. "Look, I know I may have seemed really mean earlier, but I had to act that way or no one would have taken me seriously. I promise I'm nice." I donned as friendly a smile as I could muster.

Silence.

"Tell you what. How about I prove it to you?"

They still hesitated, eyes darting back and forth.

"I'll buy everyone Starbucks after this." I lowered my hand from my hip, tried smiling again.

"....I—I like Starbucks," Hannah said lowly.

I shook my head, chuckled for the first time all day. It's something.

****

My car engine barked twice as it started, whirring to life with an angry rumble. I almost felt like it was chastising me for how rigid I'd been at tryouts earlier.

You had to do it, I reassured myself, shaking my head as I drove home from my coffee date with Gallensley's three newest Mathletes. So what if you freaked them out a little bit? You bought them coffee, didn't you? They'll survive.

I sighed, stared out the window as the traffic light in front of me shifted to red. It's better to be feared than disrespected.

As much as my parents had fed me that line over and over again, it never made me feel good—I was never happy that this was my life.

I often looked on other people's conversations—their blissful, free conversations—with jealousy. I didn't like hiding behind a stone façade of formality and erudition. I didn't like the life that was chosen for me, preconceived within the skin tones of my ancestors. But whether I liked it or not, I was a black girl. I would never be anything different.

I would walk into a room, and everyone would listen for the cries of my fatherless children, passing judgment on a girl who had never once even been touched in a sexual way. Sure, I'd had boyfriends, but never anything serious. Society didn't care, though—I was a black teenager; I must have been a single mother several times over, guilty of every mistake imaginable.

So I have to prove them wrong—that was the message hammered into me since the time I could crawl. Spending my life gaining the best education that my parents' vast monetary resources could buy left me gasping for air. Fighting against the stereotypes that pervade society was exhausting, and it left me nowhere to turn but inward; it left me serious, callous, uncaring—at least that's what others perceived.

It's not always fun being an introvert, especially when you've got no say in it; sometimes it's nice to have others to share life with. But finding the courage to branch out—ah, that precious, coveted courage—that is a different story altogether.

But wasn't coffee enough? I pleaded with the voices of disapproval still bouncing through my brain and berating my bluntness. I tried to be sociable, tried to laugh.

With a low sigh and a twist of regret, I turned my attention back to the road as the light in front of me blinked back to green. I placed my foot on the accelerator, then launched out into the intersection.