Open Court by Carol Clippinger Read Free Book Online Page A

digging through her purse, getting into their car. Eve glanced back, knowing she had to go.
    Now was as good a time as any. I pulled out the crumpled, cola-stained cup from my pocket and held it up. “Guess what this is.”
    Eve shrugged impatiently. “A piece of trash?”
    “Luke Kimberlin,” I proclaimed, “drank from this cup!
My
cup. He watched me practice at the club!”
    That got her attention. “Really? Cool. Has he called you?”
    “Well, no. Should he have?”
    “When are you gonna see him again?” she asked, wanting something solid.
    “Maybe at the club.”
    “When is that gonna be?” she pressed.
    I expected celebration, not an interrogation. “Eve, you don't get it—Luke talked to me
on purpose.
It's a big deal.”
    Brake lights pulsed red as Eve's mom backed out. We stepped to the grass. Polly hadn't moved from the curb. Eve's eyes darted toward the car, preoccupied.
    “But you don't know if he likes you. He only watched you play tennis. That doesn't mean—”
    “Eve—”
    Her mom beeped the horn. Eve edged away. “I gotta go. We're meeting my aunt up there. It's an hour drive. Tell me about Luke later, OK?”
    “Sure,” I said, feeling drowned.
    As Eve drove away, Polly walked over, orange lips blazing. “Told you,” she said. “Want some lemonade?”
    I handed her my used Diet Coke cup. “Guess what this is,” I said.
    With no other shade in sight, we trudged across the blacktop of the nearby grade school, our steps clumsy in the swelling afternoon heat. The playground was deserted save for a few boys riding bikes in the dirt. We situated ourselves under the shade of an awning. Polly was genuinely interested, and I was grateful.
    “Luke Kimberlin!” she said, riled up. “I can't believe you didn't tell me before. Luke Kimberlin … wow … this is exactly what you wanted!”
    I know it was silly, but hearing his name made me happy. I shook myself out of my own little world and glanced at my watch. “Hey, Polly, aren't you supposed to be at math camp today? Like right now?”
    She smacked her orange lips defiantly. “I'm supposed to be a genius, too, and I'm not that, either.”
    “You ditched?” I asked, astonished.
    “Math camp blows.”
    “I bet.”
    “Sucks to have math homework in June. Besides, it's not like I'm stupid. But A's aren't good enough, I've gotto get A-pluses. Maren wants me to be a chemist like her. I can't do that being average. I've got to be exceptional. Do I look like I want to be a chemist?” she asked, hugging the nearly empty plastic pitcher.
    “No.”
    She sighed. “I've been to work with Maren. It sucked.”
    I felt the need to hug her or something, but she didn't look like she wanted a hug. Looked more like she wanted to punch someone.
    “But you're good at math?” I asked.
    “Duh.”
    “You don't like being smarter than everyone else?”
    “Whose side are you on, anyway?”
    “Yours.”
    “How many hours a day do you spend playing tennis?”
    “Five. Three hours with Coach. A couple hours on my own, practicing serves.”
    “Five,” she said smugly. “Including math camp, I spend four hours a day doing math problems.”
    I shrugged. “What's your point?”
    “We're twins. We're slaves to sports and numbers.”
    “Yeah, I guess,” I said uneasily.
    “So be on my side. I don't want to be a chemist. I hate math.”
    *   *  *
    Before I knew Polly, I thought she was nerdy. Back in April the seventh grade held their annual science fair. Most of the projects looked like they'd been thrown together the night before. Battery demonstrations, erupting volcanoes, and models of the solar system packed the room.
    Polly's was different. She performed an experiment charting the growth rate of bacteria at different temperatures. Her booth contained petri dishes, a microscope, and an array of drawings of bacteria. Teachers hovered over her like she was the next Jonas Salk.
    At the end of the day the principal announced that even though