Lipstick Apology by Jennifer Jabaley

laughed at my blank face. “So this is how it’s going to be, huh? I’ll be the only one paying attention.”
    â€œSorry,” I said. “Brain fart.”
    He pushed over his notes. “Well, let me know when your mind is done breaking wind, because apparently a lab write-up is due every week,” Anthony said. “And then a final report with all our calculations and findings is due at the end of the semester. And we need to, like, pick a topic.” He twirled his number-two pencil in his hand, and I noticed the pencil had bite marks on it.
    The classroom door swung open, and everyone turned their attention to the front of the room. A new girl walked in. She handed a slip of paper to the teacher and adjusted her weight awkwardly from leg to leg.
    Mrs. Klein scanned the sheet and said to no one in particular, “Transfer student.” Mrs. Klein looked up and said, “Class, this is Carly Stroud. She transferred from a school in Connecticut.”
    I had been at Darlington for a couple weeks now and was starting to feel a little less like a fish out of water. It was now almost the end of September, and I wondered briefly why Carly had just transferred, a month into junior year.
    Carly looked innocent, doe-eyed, and hopeful as she yanked her too-tight green shirt down to cover her midriff better. I cringed. Even in my old school filled with imperfection, she wouldn’t stand much chance. She was clearly trying too hard, wearing a uniform that was probably several sizes too small. The worst things about this new girl standing in the front of the room, worse than being a little chubby, worse than her mousy brown hair and lack of makeup, were her huge plastic tortoise shell glasses with diamonds on the sides.
    There was no applause for Carly. No school-wide request for a “warm welcome.”
    The teacher continued, “Let’s see, you’ll need a partner.” As she scanned the room, Mrs. Klein’s eyes fell on a group of three, nestled in the corner.
    â€œEthan,” Mrs. Klein said, “I’d like you to pair up with Carly.” Then she turned her eyes to the new girl. “Stay after class and I’ll bring you up to speed on the project.”
    I recognized Ethan as the beanpole basketball star from the lunchroom.
    As Mrs. Klein pointed her finger at Ethan, he collected his things slowly, reluctantly, and I saw him exchange an unmistakable expression with his buddies. He was not happy about this switch. With his books in his hand, Ethan dragged himself toward Carly, his basketball pendant bouncing on his chest with every long stride.
    I looked toward Carly. As she stood there, witnessing his lack of enthusiasm, she had to know she was unwanted. I willed her to look toward me so I could smile. But her head slumped down, fixated on her shoes.
    I shook my head and turned back to Anthony, who was already at work. Whoa. “I’ve got to be honest,” I said, watching him jot down notes. “Science has never been my strongest subject.”
    â€œNot a wiz kid, huh?” Anthony asked. “So what’s your specialty, then?”
    â€œWell, I don’t know, maybe English. I like to read. You actually like chemistry? Or are you just showing off?” I asked.
    â€œYeah.” He raised his eyebrow at me. “Actually, I do. I like that there’s only one answer, and if you do the calculations and follow the instructions, you will eventually find what you’re looking for.” He thought for a second. “Really, it’s a lot like baking.”
    â€œAnd you bake?” I asked, surprised.
    â€œYeah. I guess I’ve just always been around it. My mom owns a bakery,” he said.
    â€œReally?”
    â€œYup, CornerShop Bakery. Just around the corner! And by corner I mean it’s nine stops from here on the F line.”
    â€œAnd you help her out?”
    â€œAll the time,” he said as he lined the test