Who wants to be my friends ?

It was the second week of February break. As promised, I was there every day with my notes and my homework so that Nat and her daughter could help me study. Nat was my mother's boss. My relationship with Stella was strictly academic, teacher and student. I never ate with her, I never asked her to grab a coffee. I expected nothing from her except that she share what she knew about matrices and rates of change. Ickel was there too. He'd flunked his finals twice, and Nat, who was like a mother to him, was giving him a second chance. I acted like I couldn't stand him, but I loved having him around. He made me laugh so much. He was always offering to share the food his Senegalese stepmother cooked with love, and he'd put on his father's accent to tell me the craziest stories. There was attraction, but I didn't want to start anything new. I was still crying over Damon—two weeks with no news, and according to the rumors, he was at the club every weekend with another girl. Mostly, I wanted to stay focused. I'd fallen so far behind. I still had a chance, but the timing was tight. My mother was back home with my little brother, so in theory I could go out as much as I wanted. But after we celebrated flunking the practice exams at the club, I decided I wouldn't set foot in a club again until I graduated. A little less than four months to go, and then I could go out as much as I wanted—the results came out a few days before my eighteenth birthday. Freedom. The sacrifice was small compared to everything I'd do with my first real diploma. I didn't really know what came after. What mattered was that my mother kept her job with Nat, and that she would scream with joy when she heard I'd graduated. I had changed completely with Nat: polite, attentive. Even at home. I was even exchanging words with Jude—he was retaking his finals too. We almost had a normal brother-and-sister relationship, which made my father happy. For the first time in years, there was a good atmosphere at home. My father even bought a computer so we could work on our marketing projects. For once, I felt my life made sense. And Stella? Stella had skipped a grade. Stella volunteered at an orphanage in Senegal every summer. Stella had a heart of gold. Stella needed a street named after her—no, a statue, the size of the Statue of Liberty, so everyone could see how perfect she was. It was physical. I couldn't stand her.