Chapter 3

The only good thing about having my mom as my teacher is that it means I have math last period. Meaning once it's over, I can get away from school and go home. If I survive the class that is. I take a seat by the window as Bridge sits in the desk paired beside me.

Others pile in and Peter, one of the boys who always ends up in my classes – which isn't hard since there isn't a lot of kids – looks back at me and smirks. "Mom as a teacher, sucks to be you."

I glare at him. He's one of those douche-bag types and we've never got along. Especially not since he asked me out over the summer and I rejected him. "Fuck off."

The room goes silent as I say it which makes my mom look up. She shoots me a stern look before standing up and announcing, "I don't approve of swearing in my classroom so take that as a warning Emilia."

I glare at her, forgetting that for the next hour she's not my mom but my teacher. I notice Bridgette shooting me a sympathetic glance. Most likely because all the class is trying not to laugh at me. How could my mom embarrass me on the first day of school?

She goes over the attendance, calling me Emilia which pisses me off even more. Is she still mad about what I said – probably, she hates swearing – or was she not paying attention and just reading what the sheet said? Either way, I wasn't going to tell her to call me Millie like I had to with most of the other teachers. She is my freaking mom; she should know my name.

Next she goes over the course outline making me begin to panic. This stuff looks a lot harder than what we did last year. And I already suck at math. Taking a peek over at Bridge, I notice she doesn't look the least bit phased. Like Wyatt, she's naturally really smart.

We start doing this thing called factoring and instantly I'm confused. Why are there letters? Just to make everything worse, no one asks any questions when Mom asks if people don't understand. Not wanting to be the only one who asks, I don't say anything. Even when she looks directly at me.

While we're working on the sheet that's for homework if we don't finish, Bridgette smiles up at me, "At least this stuff is easy." I know Bridgette, she's too nice to say anything meant to hurt someone. Clearly she thinks I get it.

Quickly I shuffle around my papers so she can't see the lack of math done on my page. "Yeah."

When the bell rings, I stuff everything into my bag and wait for Bridgette. She looks up when she realizes that I'm waiting and smiles shyly. "I'm going to the soccer tryouts so you don't have to wait for me."

Tryouts on the first day of school? I find that a little strange but I guess I don't know much about sports. Plus, Bridge is really good at soccer and she likes sports. I used to do gymnastics, but I quit last year. I was good, too. Obviously not as good as my mom was – or anywhere near that – but good enough to get a scholarship if I stuck with it.

I didn't and besides Wyatt, no one knows why.

"Okay, see you later." I rush out of the room, ignoring my mom when she asks to talk to me. Screw that, I'll just wait until Dad is home so I have someone on my side.

I don't need to stop at my locker so I go in search for Wyatt. He's with a few guys – one of them is the guy from earlier – so I don't know if I should go over. I am a freshman, and walking into a group of seniors is something I've been avoiding all day.

But I know Wyatt won't let them do anything to me. I walk over smiling at Wyatt only a little shyly. "Hey."

He looks down and grins. "Hey, Emi." He looks like he's about to introduce me to his friends but decides against it. "You ready to go?"

I nod, feeling uncomfortable as his friends stare at me. "Yeah."

I start walking down the hallway to the door but notice Wyatt glare at his friends before following me. "How was your first day?"

I shrug, not in a good mood after math class. "I just had math."

Wyatt chuckles. "Guessing it didn't go too well."

"No," I admit, frowning. "First, I told that Peter guy to fuck off 'cause he was being a douche like always and my mom heard me and frigging embarrassed me. Then, she started teaching and I don't get any of it! And everyone else got it so I didn't want to sound stupid and ask a question. Plus, Bridge was all like 'oh this is so easy'. Which made me feel even more stupid."

He sighs, getting into his car and waiting until I'm in before he speaks, "You're not stupid Emi. Math can be hard; don't be afraid to ask questions. I'm sure other people had some too."

"I doubt it."

"What were you learning?"

"Factoring."

He smirks and I have a feeling he's only holding back a laugh for my sake. "Okay, maybe no one else had questions," he teases. "But come on, I'll help you with it. My house or yours?"

"Yours. My dad and the twins are home."

Wyatt nods, driving out of the parking lot. Driving-wise it doesn't make a difference because our houses are right beside each other... But it's also safe to say my dad doesn't always like Wyatt. I don't really know why. When I ask my dad, he says he doesn't know what I'm talking about, and when I ask Wyatt, he just says my dad's being protective which is just stupid.

No one is home at his house since Emily is out shopping and Sam's working. We go into his room and I sprawl out on his bed while he takes a seat on his spinning chair at his desk. He wheels it over, grinning. "All right, now let my ingeniousness enlighten you."

I roll my eyes, throwing a crumpled up piece of paper at him. "Are you gonna help me or not?"

"Of course. Now scoot over." He shoos me over so we can both lay on his bed. Despite us having been this way a million times before, I still feel fidgety laying so close to him. "Okay, so which is the sheet for homework?"

I show him and he starts to re-explain everything to me. We go over question after question and by the end of the hour, I slightly get it. But my sheet is done so there's nothing else we could do. Until Wyatt says, "I can make up more for you if you want more practice."

I smirk at him. "Do you know me at all? Why the hell would I want to do more math?"

He smirks back, resting his arm across my stomach. "Because I think you should."

"Too bad. I hate math and am not doing any more than I absolutely have to," I announce, sticking my tongue out at him. I groan dramatically, stop supporting myself on my elbows and crash to the bed.

Wyatt chuckles, doing the same. "Stop complaining. Are you in AP Calculus?"

"You're the one that puts yourself in that torture so no I'm not sympathetic. And you're smart so it's not bad for you."

He shakes his head at me. "Whatever. Just 'cause you won't admit that you're smart doesn't mean that you aren't."

I grin teasingly at him, pulling myself off the bed. "Whatever."

His stomach growls and we forage through the kitchen to see what we can have to eat. It sucks when Emily's not here; we have to get food for ourselves. Eventually we make grilled cheeses and sit down on the couch.

There's nothing much on television except a replay of last years Olympic Games so we watch that. Just our luck, it's the gymnastics days. We watch and eat in silence. It makes me drift back to the day I quit gymnastics. I was at a meet – my third level 9 meet. Everything was going great and I won the All-Around by a long shot. But even an amazing performance doesn't make the critics go away.

"I don't care that she won. I expected way more from Everlie Callahan's daughter," a blond girl from a gym in Seattle says in a stage whisper.

I hide a cringe knowing that she knows I can hear her.

"I know!" her friend replies, not even trying to whisper. "Like really, her legs didn't stay together on her turns and did you see her toes? So weren't pointed as good as her mom's always were. Oh, and those balance checks? I mean really."

I want to turn around and point out that gymnastics talent isn't genetic and that at level nine it's not logical for me to be as good as my mom was at elite. I want to point out that I had one balance check. I want to shove my medals in their faces – a first, two seconds and a third – and ask where theirs are. I want to point out that next season I would be level ten while they'd probably still be in level eight, if that.

I don't though, I just hang my head and keep walking. Because they are right. I'm no where near as great as my mom was. I'm too scared to even try some of her more difficult tricks. I'm built heavier and at five-foot-three I'm almost too tall to do well at competitive gymnastics. But I should be used to this by now. It happens at every meet, every practice, every time I do something gymnastics related. There's always another gymnast, or a parent, or a coach that says they expected more or were disappointed with my performance.

I notice Wyatt waiting a little ways down the hallway with a forced smile on his face. I know he heard what they just said, but I also know he'll ignore it for now. Shifting my gym bag on my shoulder more comfortably, I run at him and hug him tightly.

"Congratulations! You were great," he enthuses, kissing the top of my head.

I grin up at him slightly. "Thanks."

He grins more prominently and takes my bag for me. "I mean it Emi. You were awesome. Don't listen to the bitch that can't even do a pike dismount."

I gape at him, watching the girl that was behind me's face drain before she storms out of the hall. I laugh when she's gone – still shocked that he of all people said that. I remember her now and don't feel as bad as I did when she first said that. Her routines were horrible and she's only a level seven.

"That was a little mean."

He grins innocently. "I'm sorry, I don't know what you're talking about."

I roll my eyes. "Come on, let's go find my parents. I want ice cream."

"Thought you weren't supposed to eat much junk food."

I'm not, I think, when I'm still in gym. On our way to find our parents, I overhear more people talking. And just because luck hates me, it's about me. And how I'm not small enough. My leaps aren't strong enough. My splits aren't straight enough. My tumbling isn't clean enough. My dismounts aren't good enough. But mostly: I'm not good enough.

I try not to glare at them but how should I be expected not to? It isn't just girls, parents and coaches from other gyms that I don't know, it's girls and parents from my own gym. My supposed friends. My lip trembles and I feel like I'm going to cry.

Wyatt squeezes my hand gently but I pull it out of his grasp and cross my arms. We're almost to where we have to meet my parents when I hear the usual critics but from a voice I never expected to hear it from. Anna.

Besides Wyatt and Bridge, she's one of my best friends. Until now.

She lives in Forks but we've always been at the same gym. "Oh really," I say before thinking over the situation.

Her head snaps up guiltily. "Millie... I, um..."

I roll my eyes and sneer. "So tell me what exactly makes you think you can walk around and talk about how much I fucking suck, huh? Was it my first place? The fact that next meet I'll be two levels higher than you?"

She stumbles over her words, looking really embarrassed.

"You know, the funny thing is, that you of all people here are in no place to judge me. I don't walk around meets talking about how you can't do a sheep jump on the beam or how you can't hit a hand stand on bars to save your life. And I could. I could point out all your flaws, but I don't. 'Cause I thought we were friends. I guess I was wrong."

I storm away, ignoring her 'sorry's.

…

That night Wyatt doesn't give me the signal to go to the woods. So I send him one and charge for our spot. I'm so pissed and he's the only one I can talk to. I wait in my limb of the tree until he finally shows up. Sliding down, I sit at the truck.

When he's sitting beside me, I say, "I'm quitting."

He nods, not looking surprised in the least. "I figured as much."

"They're all so fucking bitchy."

"You shouldn't let them get to you, though. You know you're better than them."

I rest my head against his shoulder and sigh. "I hate it, Wy. I'm obviously never going to be as good as her. She was one of the best in the freaking world and it's stupid to think that I could be. I don't want to be. But I hate doing amazing and having everyone ignore it and still criticize me. It'd be different if I sucked, but I didn't."

"I know. I get it," he says gently. "Have you told your parents?"

I shake my head. "I wanted to tell you first."

He chuckles, wrapping his arm around my shoulder. "That's my girl. You scared for their reactions?"

"My mom's," I admit. "My dad will be fine with it. She won't understand though. She would have given up everything to still do gym for a little bit more. She'll be really disappointed in me."

"Em?" I bring my thoughts back to the present to see Wyatt snapping his fingers in front of my face. "What are ya thinking about?"

I shrug. "The day I quit."

"Oh, you mean the day you were wrong?" he jokes.

I shoot him a confused look.

"You said your mom would be disappointed in you," he clarifies. "She wasn't."

I smile at the memory. She had understood which took me by surprise. She wasn't even upset. She just asked me if I was sure, and when I said yes, we never talked about it again. "I guess you're right."

"I'm always right." He winks at me, making me laugh.

But he is. He's always right.