One Man Guy

One Man Guy by Michael Barakiva Page A

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Authors: Michael Barakiva
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not to stare at Ethan.
    The other students had finished solving their problems, but Ethan was still struggling with his. Alek copied Ethan’s equation into his notebook and began working it through. But each time he tried, something didn’t add up. After a few unsuccessful attempts, Alek raised his hand.
    “Mr. Khederian, is this a question regarding your Algebra I assignment?” Mr. Weedin asked him. “As you know, this is the Algebra II segment of the class, and I’d like to focus my attention on those students.”
    “Actually, Mr. Weedin, I couldn’t help noticing the problem that Eth—all the way on the left side of the board. As it’s written, it’s impossible to solve.”
    “Is that so, Alek?”
    “Yes, Mr. Weedin. But if you switch the second variable from a negative to a positive, which is what I think it’s supposed to be, then the problem makes sense.”
    The Algebra I students looked up from their homework, and the upperclassmen in Algebra II redirected their attention from the chalkboard to Alek. This was the first time that Alek had spoken in class. Also, Mr. Weedin had a reputation for being meticulous, denying every extension request, and never making mistakes. Challenging him was momentous.
    Mr. Weedin looked at Alek for a moment, then at the problem on the chalkboard, and then at his notes. The silence slowed time. As if in a trance, the class sat while Mr. Weedin checked his notes, making an arrhythmic clucking sound.
    A few interminable moments later, Mr. Weedin cleared his throat. “You seem to be correct, Mr. Khederian.”
    The class gave a collective exhale.
    “Don’t worry, teach, I’m sure you’ll get it right next time.” Ethan smiled.
    Mr. Weedin sheepishly walked to the board, made the necessary change, and Ethan solved the problem with a flourish.
    Alek intentionally averted his eyes while Ethan walked back to his seat. Alek thought he saw Ethan lean toward him after sitting down as if he were going to say something, but the bell rang and Alek grabbed his bag and ran out of the classroom.
    After his algebra triumph, Alek walked home with a swagger he hadn’t felt that entire year. He wanted to share his victory with someone. But he couldn’t tell his parents because they would’ve accused him of disrespecting his teacher. And he certainly wasn’t going to tell Nik, who’d just find a way to use the story to belittle him.
    Alek saw Orchard Street in the distance. He hadn’t spoken to Becky since that awkward night last Friday when he tried to ask her advice about Ethan. He reached the intersection and paused, deliberating what to do. Sometimes, he decided, the easiest way to get over something was just to move forward. He made the turn and walked down the two blocks to Becky’s house.
    After ringing the doorbell twice, Alek heard Becky’s footsteps scampering inside the house. A moment later, she opened the door.
    “Um, Alek? You, uh, didn’t call—I didn’t know that you were, well, that you were coming.” She avoided eye contact with Alek, nervously shifting her weight from one bare foot to the other. “Did we have plans?”
    “Since when do I call before I come over?” Alek asked. “I want to tell you something.”
    “What is it?” Becky stood in the doorway, examining the doorknob as if it were an ancient artifact.
    “Are you going to invite me in?”
    “What’re you, a vampire?” Becky shot back.
    Alek took her joke as a good sign. He walked in and dropped his book bag. Becky’s parents had met working at the same pharmaceutical laboratory outside of Princeton. Now their work took them all over the world, and they decorated their home with objects they collected from the international conventions they attended. A handwoven tablecloth from Ivory Coast depicting animals grazing at an oasis hung on the wall, over a modern Dutch sofa with no back. A Russian samovar, which Becky explained was an old-fashioned teapot, sat inside a Japanese tansu, next to a

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