Sarah picked Timothy up at his home several days later. His bandage was off. And, he looked better. She didn’t want to be shallow or insensitive as to what his jaw was like before. But his jaw pushed forward, causing his lips to close all the way. Albeit his teeth are still crooked, at least the gumline of his mouth is aligned. It was evident with the jaw bra before, but with it off, the full effect from the surgery was noticeable.

  He noticed the staring and pulled out his phone and typed. “How do I look?”

  “I’m just going to be honest, good. Real good.”

  “Thanks.” He put the seatbelt on, grabbed his breakfast burritos, and handed one to her.

  Thanking him as she drove, she tried to break it to him with his grade on the paper in Mrs. Witman’s class. “So our report.” He perked up. “Mrs. Witman is accusing you of using AI. I’m not sure how she knows which portions you wrote and which I wrote. But it’s bullshit.”

  He raised a brow.

  “She gave you an F.”

  He kept his mouth closed with an audible sigh. “What?”

  “I got your back though. I had several other teachers who follow me online to grade it. I also asked them to determine if they could spot a different writer. It’s five pages, it’s not like there’s a lot of literacy deviation going on. I think you wrote most of it anyway.”

  “The history,” he typed.

  “And the history. What you wrote on your account is recorded, same as mine. So, I’m going straight to the principal, and going to ask him to ask her to determine who wrote what.”

  “This is bullshit,” he typed.

  “She’s mad at you.”

  “Why?”

  “You cucked her son.”

  “Still just friends.”

  She chuckled. Yeah, sure.

  ***

  She hated being interrupted. Her morning routine was essential to prepare for teaching for the day. Warm coffee sat next to a stack of papers that would soon be returned to her students. She sat comfortably while reviewing the daily agenda to teach her class before her day began. Then the phone rang. The principal never calls to chat or to check in. It was always for something specific. His message was direct, telling her to visit him in his office immediately.

  With her coffee in hand, she marched to the principal’s office. Not knowing what he wants. And when she stepped in, Sarah and Timothy were seated across the principal’s table. She knew. “Mr. Owens. How can I help you?”

  “I don’t have the time,” he said, “how can one student get an A and another an F on a shared assignment?”

  The black suit jacket over a light grey sweater with matching slacks, tied back dark hair, and straight posture will make anyone look professional. Now caught in the act, Mrs. Witman’s perturbed face overwrote her professional attire, like a child hesitating to explain what they did wrong to their parents.

  God, she hated Timothy. Really hated him. Here he was sitting next to Sarah, the daughter she wished she had, and one that had visited her home often until recently. The laughter, the discussions, eating food together, and keeping her son out of trouble irked her. All gone in an instant. And here she was doing that with Timothy of all people. She glared at him, but hid her reaction to what appeared to be a jaw surgery. He looked different, he looked good. And that made her angrier.

  “I have a highlighter,” he said. “Highlight the parts that Timothy wrote.”

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  “I know which parts he wrote,” she said.

  He glanced at his laptop. “I’m looking at their history right now and know who wrote what. Just do it.”

  “Can I do it later?”

  “It’s five pages, now.”

  She grabbed the paper and the highlighter, keeping it flat on a folder. She went through it quickly and highlighted about half the paper.

  “Good job,” he said. “He wrote most of it.”

  “What?”

  “Sarah did some editing and a lot of the citations. She had the books before cheer practice, but no access to a computer. So he wrote most of it using what she found. And I can see all the changes and edits he’s made. Give the kid a fair grade.”

  “It was my mistake,” she turned to walk out.

  “Stop.” The principal said. “Just to remind you, Mrs. Witman, we should all be rewarded for hard work and sweat. It teaches independence. If someone wants something, they need to work for it themselves, which these two did, and they deserve a better grade. Like your son Liam—” Sarah winced at hearing that name—” He works hard, works on his own, and gets the rewards on his own. Work and sweat are applied to academics as well.”

  Mrs. Witman nodded, and the principal waved her off. Fuck Timothy.

  ***

  Later that day, Sarah wanted to surprise Timothy for lunch, but couldn’t find him. With the morning and afternoon drives, she wasn’t sure if he wanted space and didn’t want to message him, but she wanted to surprise him instead. Liam always wanted space. And she didn’t want to invade too much of Timothy’s. Well, she wanted to, but wanted to avoid making him upset. Back at the table with the two boys playing chess. Her smaller friend group congregated around the previous table.

  She got a text message.

  Alicia is now the head cheerleader.

  She grabbed her bag and rushed towards the gym. With hopes coach Hastings hadn’t left for lunch, she wanted to discuss what happened. Sarah ran into her in the hall.

  The coach was startled to see her fast pace, and she knew why.

  “What happened?”

  The coach hoisted a gym bag, looking behind her to ensure she wouldn’t hit a student walking by. “They placed a vote.”

  “I didn’t get to vote.”

  “Only one vote to keep you as head cheerleader.”

  Sarah breathed in, dejected. Coach Hastings always had her back.

  “And it would have happened either way,” Coach Hastings said.

  “What?”

  She adjusted the bag, clearly filled with basketballs she was taking to the smaller gym. “People in a small town liked your story of the head cheerleader dating the football star. It’s heartwarming and brings the town's folks to fill the stadium. People spend money, good money, and the school earns a profit.”

  “So I was voted off because of who I’m dating?”

  Coach Hastings grew sad for her. “Yeah.”

  Sarah wanted to rip the necklace whistle off her and blow it in her ear. “We’re not even dating, feel free to ask Timothy yourself.”

  The coach didn’t believe her. “Regardless, the vote still happened. I’ll see you after school,” she stepped around Sarah, her ponytail swung by Sarah’s face.

  She composed herself and hoped no one would steal her lunch, which she had left at the table. The chess players would be cool and keep it safe for her. Walking by the library, through the tall glass that looks inside, sat Timothy, alone, eating lunch. He took a bite of a large sandwich and focused on an open textbook.

  She snuck in and crept behind him. He turned the page in his classical history book, Greek mythology. She leaned in and whispered. “Zeus invented the golden shower.” Timothy spun, shocked, his head nearly hit her’s. “Whoa,” she still whispered. “Didn’t mean to scare you that much.”

  He chuckled, his mouth slightly opening. With pen and paper, he wrote. “Yo!”

  She helped herself to the chair next to his, and leaned on the table, pondering whether she had made the right decision. Losing Liam, her friends, and now her position as captain of the cheer squad, and now sitting alone with a boy in the library during lunch. It was empty aside from the librarian restocking returned books on the other end.

  Then she realized why he ate alone. Studying, eschewing his peers, and not checking out books.

  “So this is where you hide during lunch. Thought it was closed to students during this hour.”

  He scribbled down a sentence. “She offered me to eat in here when she saw someone trip me in the hallway when I was a freshman.”

  A freshman. At least three years ago, going on four. Jesus, she thought.

  “A lot of fun can happen in a library.”

  He sneered at her. And wrote, “Thanks again for fixing my grade.”

  “No problem. How was your class after gym?”

  “Someone said you’ll always be Duck Face and then shoved me into the locker.”

  Jesus. She thought again. “Punch him then say ‘now you’re the Duck Face’”

  “As soon as I can speak again.”

  She pulled out a textbook, deciding she was no longer hungry, and studied alongside him.