I handed the pass to Mrs. Webster hoping she wouldn’t notice the bandage on my hand, and walked to my seat slowly, trying in vain to make eye contact with Whitney. But the numbers on the board were more important to her than my sad smile. I wanted to stop at her desk and whisper, Whitney, please save me from myself. Instead, I went straight to my seat next to Aaron. Aaron shot me a half smile, readjusted his glasses, then tugged on his blond hair as he focused his bloodshot eyes on the blackboard. Up on the board, Mrs. Webster was drawing various triangles. I didn’t need math to see three-sided shapes: me, Brody, and Aaron; me, Mom, and ex-Dad. Only the girls I thought about had more than three sides—from Whitney, who I lusted after, to Nicole, who I yearned for; from Roxanne, who I was angry at, to Cell Phone Girl, who I was curious about. Girls in my world weren’t a triangle, a circle, or a square; they were an infinite plane. But everywhere else, I saw triangles. Go to church and talk about the Trinity.
