“He didn’t come to your graduation?”

“No.”

“My mother didn’t, either.”

“Really?” I ask, looking at him. For the first time, I feel there might be a thread of similarity between us, but he ruins the moment.

“But it’s not like I give two shits. I couldn’t care less.”

I balk. “You don’t care that your own mother didn’t attend your graduation? Figures. You must be dumb.”

“Oh, I’m certainly not as smart as you.”

“Hey, I worked hard for this. We’re in a weighted-GPA school. Do you know what that means?”

He shrugs. “Jack shit, truthfully.”

“It means that you are awarded more for harder courses, and less for easier courses.”

“So?”

“So?” I echo, exasperated. “It means that I’m not just any little-miss-smart or whatever. I worked for this. I took the toughest courses and I aced them. I did extra credit.”

“So? So what?” He looks at me and grins. “What’s it going to get you?”

“Well, it got me into LSE. That’s the London School of Economics, in case you weren’t aware. It’s one of the best universities in the world.” I peer at him. “You probably weren’t.”

He grins, like he’s enjoying this, and it just pisses me off.

“You’re a bit of a snob, aren’t you?” he says.

“I’m not a snob. I’m just telling it how it is.”

“What’s that super-prestigious degree going to get you, then? Run through your plan with me.”

“Why should I?”

“Well, the bus isn’t here yet, and you’re enjoying talking to me.”

I make a face.

“So, what’s it going to get you?” he pushes.

“I’ll graduate with honors in political science.”

“And then what?”

“I’ll do my master’s.”

“And then?”

“I’ll teach.”

He scoffs. “You’ll teach? That’s it? That’s your sole ambition? That’s the final step in your plan?”

“Hey,” I say. “The world needs more teachers. Good ones. Smart ones.”

“You’ve got this little plan all worked out. You think that it’s all going to depend on how well you do in your classes, what grades you get. Let me ask you, we go to a good private school, right?”

“Yes,” I say, nodding.

“What do you think of Dunham?”

“He’s my history teacher. He’s—”

“A fucking idiot.”

“No he’s not.”

“Yes, he is.”

“He’s got a doctorate, he’s written books on the first and second dynasties of Chin—”

“And this is where he is! Why do you suppose that is, if he’s so accomplished?”

“No shame in teaching in a good school.”

“Why don’t you ask him if he wanted to teach a bunch of stuck-up teenagers all day?”

“You’re in this school too, you know.”

“Not by choice.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Do you even know the point you’re trying to make, Chance? We happen to go to a very good school. You’re kind of undercutting yourself here.”

“He doesn’t know anything about anything useful. Is that what you want to be? In some stupid little corner, some narrow field of study, that nobody else gives a shit about? You want to go into academics? You want to live and die by what you publish? Have your work peer-reviewed by a bunch of cliquey circle-jerkers? You know they all just suck off their friends, don’t you? You know it’s all one big boy’s club.”

“Can you not be so vulgar? And, anyway, political science is not a narrow field, and my options will be open. I could go into academia, or I could go into, shock horror, politics!”

“Politics?” he blurts, laughing. “God, you’re precious.”

“And I can float between the two. I can always go back into academics anytime I want. What kind of prospects do you have?”

“You’ll be encouraged to specialize over and over again. They will push you into a narrow corner, where you can be the master of all you can see – nothing. You will be a big fish in a tiny, brackish pond.”

“Like you would know anything about academics, Chance. You barely graduated from what I hear.”

He laughs. “Surprised me, too. I hardly went to class.”

“I thought you got caught for cutting last year.”

“I did,” he says. “But this year most of my teachers were women, so of course I made attendance minimums.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re so gross and up yourself.”

“Hey, I ain’t lying. Apparently I’ve attended the minimum number of classes required this year. That’s how I could graduate, but I know for a fact that I didn’t.”

“That’s so much bullshit.” I frown and I’m sure my expression darkens. It isn’t fair.

“Don’t be so upset, Cass. Why does it matter to you what happens to me?”

“Don’t call me Cass.”

“Don’t tell me you never saw a girl hitch her skirt up just a little, pull those puppy-dog eyes to get out of trouble? Don’t tell me you once never saw Nicole Stansfeld or Alice Ortiz get away with not doing their homework? Or get caught smoking in the changing rooms only to be let off the hook because it was a male teacher that happened to walk by and smell the smoke? Those two got away with far more than I ever did.”

“That’s wrong, too.”

“So what if you don’t get accepted into a master’s program?”

I fold my arms. “I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

“Cass, Cass, Cass,” he says, shaking his head. He adjusts his belt, and I can’t help but watch as he does it. For a fleeting moment, his t-shirt comes above his jeans, and I see the beginnings of his trimmed buzz of pubic hair.

I snap my eyes away, breathing a little quicker. God, when is this bus going to come?

“You think you’ve got it all figured out. Life isn’t like that.”

“How would you know what life is like?” I say, glaring into his eyes. I notice, then, that embedded in his hazel irises seem to be bits of silver pigmentation. It’s like his eyes are shining. He doesn’t even blink that much, he just meets my glare with a slightly-amused look.

“Trust me, I know much more about life than you do. You spend all your time with your nose in textbooks, never once asking if what they are teaching you is accurate, or why it is accurate. You memorize the tests, rote learn, regurgitate paragraphs from books you read the night before. So what if you did well in school? How’s it going to prepare you for real life? I mean, have you ever even had a job?”

“Yes, actually,” I say, feeling indignant. “I worked as a barista. And rote is a pretty complex word for an idiot like you, Chance.”

He shrugs. “Maybe I’m an idiot. But at least I’m enjoying myself.”

“You enjoy being a total dick to everyone? You enjoy getting all sweaty with another guy and beating him up?”

“I enjoy winning my fights, yes. And I’m not a dick to everyone.”

“Oh, I mean, except for your stupid group of friends who follow you around like dogs.”

“Hey, I don’t give a fuck about them. I was talking about the girls, actually.”

Don't start, I think to myself. His reputation is known in this school, and the one the next county over.

Chance Hudson has slept with more girls than ten men will in their lifetimes, they say.

Chance Hudson has slept with half the female staff, they say.

I don’t care. It’s disgusting. He’s a dog.

“You’re a dog,” I say. “You’re disgusting.”

He grins, eyebrows flashing up. “I am, aren’t I?”

“You’re proud of it?”

He thinks for a moment, pushing his lips together, and brown eyebrows pinching together like two caterpillars meeting.

“Never really thought about it that way. It’s just what I do.” He smirks at me again, before getting up off the bench. “Come on,” he says.

“Excuse me?”

“Come on. I’ll give you a ride. You know you want one.” He doesn’t even smile, he just plays it straight.

“Yuck. You’re gross,” I say, shaking my head. “No thanks.”

“The bus isn’t due for an hour. You know that right?”

“An hour?”

“What, you didn’t check the timetable? I thought you knew everything.”