I scribble numbers. I list whatever information I can come up with on the proofs that I am not sure how to solve, while wishing that I had taken Rose up on her offer to study with me last night. She is seated near the door, and by the way she is toying with her stylus I can tell she has already completed the work. Not a surprise. Ever since first grade, Rose has caught on to assignments faster than me, probably because she just does the work and doesn’t insist on understanding what practical use the information has. I’m annoying that way.

Somehow, I manage to come up with answers for all the questions by the time Mr. Greene says, “Time is up. Now let’s go over the questions one by one. If we do this right, you should be ready to ace your final exam.”

A bunch of guys behind me groan, and Mr. Greene laughs.

“Think of it this way,” he says, pushing up his green-wire-rimmed glasses. “The sooner tomorrow’s test is over the sooner your summer can begin.”

There are several high fives and calls to cancel the final exam as Mr. Greene quickly talks through the review test. He is going through the last problem for the third time as the bell rings. Everyone grabs their stuff and scrambles for the door. Over the chatter and sound of scraping chairs and desks, he shouts a reminder to get a good night’s rest. Rose raises her eyebrow at me from where she waits near the exit, pausing there so we can walk together to our next classes. I grab my bag off the back of my seat and glance out the window one last time.

A guy in a black hooded sweatshirt, blue jeans, and black high-top sneakers is strolling down the sidewalk toward the bush I’ve been staring at. He slows for a second and I wonder if maybe he sees something the police missed. But he keeps walking.

“How did you do on the review?” Rose asks as we navigate the noisy hallway.

“Fine,” I say. “A few things were wrong, but I understand enough to pass tomorrow’s test.” Which might not be good enough for Rose but is perfectly fine for me.

“Why don’t we get together after school and study?” Rose offers, waving to one of her brother’s friends. “Mom is working at home today, but she won’t mind if you come over.” Mrs. Webster can focus even when Rose and I are at our silliest. Rose’s dad cares less about fun and far more about the rules. I never see Rose when she runs out of excuses and finally has to spend a weekend at his place.

When I hesitate answering, she smiles and adds, “Isaac will probably be around, too.”

Which I know Rose thinks is a selling point. With his good looks and slightly crooked and adorable smile, Rose’s older brother, Isaac, is the reason almost every girl we pass in the hallways would jump at the chance to hang out at Rose’s house. Maybe it’s the fact that everyone else has a crush on him that makes it hard to think of him romantically. Or maybe it’s knowing how hard it would be to keep his attention that makes me not want to bother. I’ve tried to tell Rose that I’m not interested in dating Isaac, but somehow I always pick the wrong words and make it seem as if I might be. I guess there is no good way to tell your best friend that her brother is just too obvious a choice without sounding stupid.