Rolling Dice [sample]

9: Rolling Dice

“I really don’t think there’s much chance of me being moved,” I tell him miserably.

He sighs again, then scans the classroom. “Mr. Butler, please move to the spare desk at the back. Miss Clarke…” He waves a hand for me to go sit at the spare table at the back. But when Dr. Anderson says his name, I look over to see Dwight’s head snap up.

Dwight doesn’t so much as glance at me. “But can’t –”

“Mr. Butler. Move.” The teacher looks back to me again. “You’ll have to try and muddle through, I’m afraid. I’ll speak to the office at the end of the day and see if there’s anything they can do, but I’m sure Mr. Butler over there will help you out. Worst comes to worst, you’ll have to think about extra classes, or a tutor.”

Then Dr. Anderson claps his hands together. “Now, after that lengthy interruption, back to the matter at hand…” He chuckles at his own joke.

I’m not even listening to the rest of the ‘matter at hand’ though, too busy making my way to my designated seat next to Dwight. He doesn’t even acknowledge me as I drop onto the stool next to him.

“Hi,” I say quietly, after a pregnant pause. I have to say something, just to fill that empty void. It feels so incredibly tense, and I’m not even entirely sure why.

Okay, okay! I know why. I should’ve said something to him at lunch time other than stammering incoherently and running off. I don’t know exactly why he’s being so cold toward me, but I can kind of understand it.

But it stings; he’d been so warm, so nice and friendly to me the other day. Now he won’t even answer me and say ‘hi’ back. Nor will he even look at me, for that matter. So I try again – “Dwight.”

“You know, some of us are trying to learn here.”

He doesn’t sound like the friendly, easygoing Dwight I met in the coffee shop. He sounds irritated. Not mad or snappy; it’s more like I’m a pesky fly.

“Sorry,” I mutter. And I don’t try to talk to him again.

It’s not until we’re told to discuss the answers on page one hundred and eighty of the text book that I talk to him – and I don’t talk to him about question 2a. Dwight reaches across to pull the textbook at the edge of the desk closer, and flips it open to the right page. I watch him for a moment before I blurt out the sentence I’ve been trying to perfect for the past twelve minutes.

“So what, you suddenly hate me now?”

I see his eyebrow go up a little, but he doesn’t turn his head away from the text book to look at me.

He answers me this time, at least.

“Right, because you were just being so friendly earlier, weren’t you? Let’s just be best buds.”

“What did you expect me to do?”

It’s the only excuse I can come up with, and I know it’s a lousy one.

But I’m not about to tell him the truth, to explain myself. And how can I tell him I didn’t know what to do because I’m not much good around people, that I chased after the people who wanted to be my friends because I didn’t want to risk jeopardizing my shot at actually having friends? I can’t tell him that without giving him my life story and sounding like a complete loser.

And no way in heck is anybody here going to find out about Fatty Maddie.

Dwight shrugs in response to my rhetorical question. “I thought you were better than that, Madison.”