Read Online Love and Other Unknown Variables by Shannon Alexander - Free Book Online

is watching us, mystified. I can’t help but realize how insane our complaints are because there couldn’t be an easier assignment than to shut our traps and listen up.
    The noise around me is peaking. James is looking victorious. The class is a united front on this issue, and they want me to join, sign my name on the Declaration of English Sucks. Shit, even Charlotte’s John Hancock is all over this thing—well, not the English sucks part, but she’s definitely signed off on the annoy Ms. Finch clause.
    Charlotte cannot be my sole reason for joining this fight. I fight for math and the Brighton way. I am Mathman, able to solve tall problems in a single, well-calculated bound.
    God, that’s lame.
    If I lead my classmates, will Charlotte come to my room again to congratulate me?
    I grit my jaw to banish the idea of Charlotte anywhere near my room before I can stand at my desk. The class turns in unison to look at me, their pleas falling silent on their lips. Ms. Finch watches me with interest. I want to apologize to her for some reason. Instead, I clear my throat and stuff my hands in my pockets.
    “Ms. Finch, why waste our time with the novel if there is no test?”
    There. I’ve signed my name. Happy?
    The class nods and begins to murmur again. All eyes are on Ms. Finch. She takes out the novel in question and leans on her podium. “You think experiencing a brilliant piece of literature is a waste of time?”
    I shift my weight from foot to foot. “Um…yes, ma’am. I guess I do.”
    Ms. Finch’s face pulls into a look of disgust.
    Stupid libido thinking it’s so smart. This is so going to blow up in my face. Everyone is quiet as we wait. My palms begin to sweat and my knees wobble.
    Or maybe this has nothing to do with my southern hemisphere. Maybe my standing up today is the result of the way Charlotte looked at me, in the dimness of my room last week, like I’d be some kind of hero if I helped distract her sister. And the way her fingers, cool and soft, felt in mine as we sat in silence at the kitchen table last night, thumbing silently through the pages of each other’s minds.
    Ms. Finch studies the book in her hand, running her fingers over the cover. Looking up at the whole class, she asks, “So you want a test on this novel?”
    There’s a wave of nodding across the classroom.
    “If we listen to the story, then we should be fairly compensated through a corresponding grade.” I sound like some ridiculous cartoon using every fifty-cent vocabulary word I’ve ever learned, but I can’t stop myself. “On the first day of class, you said that you knew all about us. If you want to motivate us, you’ve got to grade us.”
    James snorts.
    Greta exhales, a small sound like, ohhhhh .
    I cross my arms across my chest to keep my hands from shaking as my ears burn. Ms. Finch’s forehead wrinkles, and she nods a few times. And for a fleeting moment, my chest seizes, thinking I’ve convinced her.
    “No. No test,” she says. Without another word on the subject, she begins her lecture for the day.
    I slowly take my seat. On the one hand, I’m glad there’s no test because I haven’t been paying attention to the novel. On the other, Ms. Finch has demonstrated once again that she is the one with the power in this classroom. We’re at her mercy.
    I’d forgotten about the whole Revolutionary War that followed the signing of the Declaration. I’d forgotten that signing was only the first step. It’s not like John signed his name all huge and the king handed over the keys to the country saying, “Right then, you win.”
    We’ll have to earn our independence.
    ---
    T hrough some sick twist of fate, my locker is on the humanities hall, right beside Ms. Finch’s office. She sings when she works. Toneless and nearly tuneless songs seep out around the closed door into the hall. I would laugh, but there’s something earnest about this private singing.
    Suddenly, the song ends, and Ms. Finch steps out of her