Page 17 of The Promposal

Did a promposal really matter all that much?

Yes, yes, it does, some awful part of me whispered. I told it to shut up.

Kenyetta pulled out a textbook from her backpack. “How about we work on some math?”

Oh Buddha.

“We’re working on multiplying and dividing fractions. My teacher’s not very good at explaining it. Like I’m one hundred and fifty percent sure he doesn’t know what he’s doing,” she told me, turning to the correct page in her book. It didn’t help, showing me the pages. I tried to read ahead quickly, to see if something sparked some recognition.

This was why the universe had given us calculators. So we didn’t have to do math by hand. I didn’t remember how to do any of this. Which meant I’d have to go online and watch some tutorial about it. That always made me feel guilty. I was supposed to be the one tutoring Kenyetta. Not YouTube.

“Okay. I think to multiply you just go across. But to divide you have to switch the bottom number and the top number, which is the ...” I skimmed the text. What was that top number called? The ruminator? The kilometer? “Is this all you’re working on right now?”

She smirked, as if she heard the desperation in my voice. “We’ve been doing word problems, but I don’t think words should count as math.”

“You and me both.” Words should stick to English class, numbers to math. “But with word problems you just have to listen and find the math parts. The numbers and the action. Like, say you have ten chocolate cupcakes.” I wrote down the number ten on our scratch sheet. “See? I said a number so that’s the part you pay attention to.”

“Okay.”

“Then somebody asks you for two of your cupcakes. I told you an action and a number. What number should I write down?”

Giving me a withering look for creating such a simplistic problem, she wrote down the number two.

“Right. So, considering you gave away two, how many cupcakes do you have left?”

“Ten.”

“What? No.”

“Uh-huh,” she protested. “I’m not giving anybody two of my cupcakes. I still have ten.”

I was the worst tutor ever. “Let’s say somebody forcibly took your two cupcakes. How many chocolate cupcakes would you have then?”

“Still ten. And a cupcake thief with two busted up hands.”

My phone rang then, and I was so grateful for the chance to regroup that I didn’t even check the caller ID. “Hello?”

“Hey, Ti ... um, hi.”

It was Jake. And why hadn’t he said my name? According to pop music, that was like an indication that he was with some other girl. I was about to go all Beyoncé and demand he say my name when Kenyetta interrupted me.

“Is that Jaaake?” She drew out theain his name into one long sound, fluttering her ridiculously long eyelashes. Then she let out a dreamy sigh and was back on her feet, dancing out her crush. I remembered what Jake Kingston did to me when I was almost twelve years old, so I totally got it.

Although the librarian might not appreciate her artistic expression.

Kenyetta was the reason why I didn’t ask about the name thing. I didn’t want to crush her innocent dreams by telling her that men could be total douchebags sometimes.

“What’s up?” I asked, watching as Kenyetta did her jumps and turns. I should probably make her stop.

“I just ...” I could hear him take in a big breath before letting it out slowly. “I really need to get out of the house tonight. I was thinking we could go grab something to eat?”

That could be a good idea. It might finally give us a chance to talk. Really talk. About all this weirdness.

“Sounds good. I’m just finishing up with Kenyetta, and then I’ll be home.”

“I’ll swing by to pick you up at seven.”

He hadn’t said what kind of dining establishment he wanted to go to. “What should I wear?”

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