8th Grade Math

I look down at my textbook and sigh. I am so over this exam studying. I am applying to an after school math club that requires an entry exam. I am smart and I know the material, so why does my father insist that I study so much? I am nearing my fourth hour of studying today at the library.

“Valencia, always remember to study for your exams!” He tells me all the time, his British accent crisp with every word.

I am 19 years old, live in my own apartment here in Huntington Beach, California, and though my dad moved here with my Italian mother who is dead, 20 years ago, his accent is still there.

My eyes glaze over as the calculus numbers on the textbook page, going from another language that I can read to ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs. 

I shut the calculus book and take out my cell phone. I have no friends, preferring a solitary life. The girls at my college laugh at me and call me names because I have never had a boyfriend. 

I open up my social media page and type a quick post, yet again trying to promote my online shop. I need the money to pay off student loans. My feed resembles a spam robot’s text messages.

I turn off the phone and catch my own eye in the reflection of the screen. My olive skin and dark hair piled in a knot on top of my head. 

I feel a tap on my shoulder and jump. A boy is standing there, a smile on his face. He isn’t someone the girls in my college class would stand close to and giggle the way they do, their ultra short mini skirts vibrant colors. 

I always wonder how they got into such a good college, because while they may be bright, they spend all night partying and they are always late to class. 

I guess we’ll see what happens.

“Hello, Valencia! It’s me, Noah. Remember, from 8th grade math?” 

“Um . . . no?” I say, the tone of curiosity seeping into my voice. 

“Oh . . . well, we were in 8th grade math together. I haven’t seen you in a long time. Do you maybe want to . . . I dunno . . . get coffee?” 

“That sounds fine. Let me just pack up.” I say, nodding. 

Noah nervously puts his hands in the pockets of his green sweatshirt. 

I put my pencils and eraser into my checkered pencil case and continue to pack up my phone, textbooks, and calculator into my backpack. 

“Okay, we can go now.” I say.

He nods, and I stand up from the wooden library chair. We walk out of the library and I wave to Jane, the main librarian. 

Noah leads me to the coffee shop down the street. “My parents own this place, but they usually work at the other location.” 

I say “Cool.”, slightly impressed. Noah’s parents have two locations of a store? Interesting…

I shut off that switch in my brain. I can choose to be friends with Noah based on his character, and his character only, not the money that his parents may or may not have.

“Pick anything you want, it’s for free. Family owned business perks.” He laughs nervously. 

It seems like Noah is similar to me. I am socially awkward, worse than Noah. My dad is shy like me, and my mother died when I was 2, and according to Dad, she was very charismatic. 

“O-okay. I’ll have a medium Dr. Pepper.” 

The sky is beginning to darken, and the clock is approaching 5 o’clock. Since I’m waiting for my paycheck from my part time job as a Starbucks barista, this means another night of instant ramen noodles.

The drinks arrive, and the woman that brought them looks at Noah with knowing eyes. “Is this the girl?” she whispers to him. 

He blushes and swats the woman away. “Aww, c’mon Leli, go away.” 

I am feeling more and more uncomfortable. 

“Um . . . what did she mean?” I say nervously, playing with my nails under the table. 

“Well, if you want to know the truth, in 8th grade, I had a crush on you.” He talks very fast and looks at his worn out sneakers. 

This surprises me. “Oh.” My voice is barely more than a whisper.

I take a small sip of my Dr. Pepper. I feel sick. “I have to go home.” I say faintly.

“Wait! Don’t go, please! I missed you, all those years. Please. Can we meet at the bookstore near the Jewel Osco tomorrow at 9 a.m.?” Noah looks embarrassed.

“I’ll see.” Tomorrow is a Saturday and I am free, but I am afraid of this boy. 

I trudge home, taking the long way along the beach. My house is a small cabin near the beach. It has 2 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms so I might never have to move.

I will one day though. 

The next morning when I wake up, I still haven’t decided if I’m going to meet him at the bookstore. That bookstore is my favorite place in the world, and I practically grew up there, reading my way through the books. The person in charge of the shop never told me I had to buy them, and I was devastated when I learned he had died. His son is mean, throwing bottles at people who stay too long, and when I, a petite woman browsing the adult section looking like a 16 year old, he yelled obscene names at me and almost called the cops.

That day was the last time I set foot in there for a year, because I don’t want to be called a nosy teenager by a crazy redneck. I don’t know how the kind shop owner’s offspring was so terrible and different from his dad, but I don’t want to question it. 

With a sigh, I begin walking to the bookstore. I should give him a chance. When I arrive, I pull my grey sweater around my body tighter against the breeze. 

I see Noah in front of the bookstore. He is standing there nervously. His brown hair is blowing in the breeze and his cheeks are slightly tinged with pink. I walk up to him and say “Hello.” 

He looks at me with something in his eyes, something I cannot detect. “What-What do we do?” I say softly.

“Can we walk on the beach?” Noah replies.

I nod. 

In the morning sun, the gentle lap of waves on the beach calms my pounding heart. The water is a beautiful blue, a blue I will never get used to. It is the color of Noah’s eyes.

He slowly grabs my hand. I do not pull away. I turn to look into his deep blue eyes. He gets closer. I gingerly place my lips on his warm, full ones. I push harder, but I am still navigating these waters. I have no idea what I’m doing. 

Noah wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me closer. When we break away, I go back for more. When we’re done, a little laugh escapes me. “I do remember you. I remember.” I whisper into his ear. “We were almost friends.” 

He kisses me lightly on the forehead. “I like you a lot, Valencia. Will you be my girlfriend?” 

I kiss him for a long time before saying “Yes.” 

The End