The Genius Only Sees Me

During AP Literaturetaught by Mrs. Grant, a woman known for handing out detentions like candythe girl my childhood best friend was in love with forgot her textbook. She looked like she was on the verge of tears.

Without missing a beat, my childhood best friend snatched my book off my desk and slid it onto hers.

Mrs. Grant walked down our aisle, her expression darkening as she stopped at my desk.

"A student coming to AP Lit without their text is like a soldier walking into battle without a rifle," she snapped, her voice carrying across the dead-silent room. "Stand up."

Zane didnt say a word. The girl he was obsessed with, Megan, shot me a sweet, helpless little smile from across the aisle.

They all thought I would just take it. They thought the perpetually accommodating, quietly invisible version of me would swallow the humiliation in silence, just like I always did.

But for some reason, today, the silence felt like glass in my throat. I didnt want to swallow it anymore.

I pointed a trembling, rigid finger at Megan.

"That is my textbook. Shes the one who forgot hers."

The entire classroom froze. The collective intake of breath was audible.

Zane whipped his head around, his brows pulling together in a harsh line. He looked at Mrs. Grant. "Don't listen to June, Mrs. Grant. She's just talking crazy. That's Megan's book."

He had quite literally ripped it out of my hands thirty seconds ago.

Mrs. Grants patience, already razor-thin, snapped. "Whose book is it?"

No one spoke. Mrs. Grant was notoriously merciless; getting caught unprepared in her class meant academic crucifixion.

I kept my hand raised, pointing squarely at the heavy hardcover on Megan's desk. "My name is written in black ink on the inside cover."

All the color drained from Megans perfectly rouged face.

Mrs. Grant didnt hesitate. She snatched the book from Megans desk, flipped open the heavy cover, and scanned the page. A muscle feathered in her jaw before she slammed the book back down onto my desk.

"Keep better track of your property," she told me sharply.

Then, she turned her wrath entirely on Megan.

"Forgetting your material is one thing, but attempting to steal a classmate's property to cover your tracks? Is this how you think the world works? Do you realize youve just wasted two minutes of my time? Multiply that by thirty students, and youve stolen an hour of collective learning. Stand up. You will remain standing for the rest of the period."

Megan was an honor roll darling. Aside from Mrs. Grant, no teacher in this school would dare subject her to this kind of public humiliation.

Her eyes immediately welled with tears, the rims turning a delicate, tragic pink. She slowly pushed her chair back and stood up.

But right as she did, Colinwho sat in the row next to ussuddenly picked up his own textbook and placed it gently onto Megan's desk.

He stood up, his posture perfectly straight. "Mrs. Grant, this is Megan's book. Her name is in it. I must have grabbed it by mistake."

I stared at the book. From where I sat, I could clearly see the name "Megan" hastily scribbled on the inside cover. It was Colins handwriting.

Colin had just given up his own book for her.

Mrs. Grant narrowed her eyes at him, clearly not buying a second of it, but she didn't care enough to play detective. "Fine. Then you stand."

A sudden, sharp ache bloomed in the center of my chest.

Colin, Zane, Megan, and I. We had practically grown up together, a tangled knot of childhood history. But the reality was, both Colin and Zane were hopelessly, undeniably in love with Megan.

Within the suffocating ecosystem of our little friend group, I was always the collateral damage.

Megans needs were the absolute baseline of our existence. If she wanted something, Zane and Colin expected me to surrender it without a second thought. If she wanted to go somewhere, I was dragged along as the obligatory audience, whether I wanted to be there or not.

I should have been used to it. This exact scenario, in varying degrees of humiliation, had played out a hundred times before.

In the past, I had always just closed my eyes and taken the hit.

But today... today, in that split second, the foundation cracked. I was just so entirely done.

Megan was still emitting soft, tragic little sniffles. Zane was glaring daggers at me, his handsome face twisted in genuine disgust.

I simply looked away, staring straight ahead at the chalkboard.

The second the bell rang, Zane cornered me.

"What is actually wrong with you, June? Are you psycho? Why did you have to fight Megan over a stupid book?!"

I looked up at him. He was objectively strikingthat messy, dark hair, the sharp jawline, the rebellious, chaotic energy that made half the girls in school swoon.

"It was my book," I said, my voice quiet but steady.

Zane dragged a frustrated hand through his hair. "It's a fucking piece of paper, June! So what if you said it was hers? Did you have to make her cry like that? If I had my book, I wouldve given it to her. You think anyone cares about your pathetic little textbook?"

Zane came from old money. He didn't care about grades, skipping class whenever he felt like it, or sleeping in the back row when he was forced to attend. He was the classic untouchable rich kid. The only time he ever woke up was when Megan needed something.

Across the room, Megan was still dabbing at her eyes. Colin was hovering over her, gently handing her a tissue.

Once she was settled, Colin walked over to my desk. He looked down at me, his expression a mix of disappointment and patronizing authority.

"June. What exactly is going on with you today?"

Colin and Megan were the academic elite of our grade. Colin, specifically, had held the number-one rank in the school since freshman year. It was the only reason Mrs. Grant hadn't absolutely destroyed him for the book stunt.

When I didn't answer, he pressed on. "Its just a textbook. Did you really need to wage war against Megan over it?"

The dam broke. "It was my textbook, Colin. And if she can't survive a class without one, why is it automatically assumed that I should?"

"Because Megan is different from you," Colin blurted out.

The words hung in the air. He blinked, suddenly realizing how cruel that sounded, and quickly backpedaled. "That's not what I meant."

I stared at him, feeling strangely hollow.

I knew exactly what he meant.

Of course she was different. She was beautiful, brilliant, and wealthy. I was painfully average. My grades were middling. I blended into the wallpaper.

When she cried, the world stopped to wipe her tears.

When I cried, I did it alone.

I just felt an overwhelming sense of exhaustion. I had spent years deluding myself into thinking we were actual friends.

I didn't say another word. I just grabbed my backpack and walked out of the room.

I made my way up to the narrow rooftop behind the science building. It was a secret spot I had discovered sophomore year, an abandoned little concrete oasis where I went when the noise of my life got too loud.

Heavy, bruised clouds blotted out the afternoon sun. I leaned against the brick wall, pulling out my phone. A cloud storage notification popped up on the screen: On This Day.

It was a photo of me, Colin, and Zane from elementary school.

The irony tasted bitter. Before Megan ever existed in our orbit, it was just the three of us. My mom and Colins mom had been college roommates; Colin and I had shared a playpen. Then Zane moved into the neighborhooda wild, combative kid who immediately clashed with Colin, the picture-perfect golden boy. They got into a fistfight behind the swingset one day. I had jumped in to defend Colin and ended up punching Zane squarely in the nose.

It forged a bizarre, unbreakable bond between the three of us.

Before Megan, things had been so bright. Colin used to let me ride on the handlebars of his bike. I remembered a time in middle school when I saw a dress in a boutique window. It was astronomically expensive, completely out of the realm of possibility for my family.

For my birthday, Zane bought it for me.

When I had panicked, telling him it was too much and trying to give it back, he had just laughed, ruffling my hair until it stood on end. "Its just a dress, June-bug. You want something in this life, you tell me. Ill always take care of you."

It had been so good.

When exactly did the rot set in?

It was when Megan transferred to our school. She was a sparklerbright, gorgeous, effortlessly outgoing. She immediately latched onto me, claiming she wanted to be my friend. I had been so wildly flattered that I introduced her to Colin and Zane without a second thought.

At first, the boys were indifferent. But slowly, imperceptibly, the gravity shifted. They were pulled into her orbit.

I remembered the day Zane pulled me aside, looking deeply uncomfortable. "Do you have a problem with us hanging out with Megan? I mean, shes new, June. She doesn't have anyone... if you're going to be jealous and weird about it, maybe I just won't hang out with you guys anymore. Sorry."

He called me jealous. He told Megan not to pay attention to my "petty moods."

Colin's bike handlebars became Megan's designated spot. Zanes extravagant gifts were suddenly all wrapped in Megan's favorite color.

And I became the shadow, trailing ten steps behind them, watching them laugh.

I looked down at the concrete. A tear slipped off my lashes, splattering dark against the gray dust.

I had clung to this friendship like a life raft, willing to carve away pieces of my own dignity just to keep them. But standing here now, the delusion shattered.

They hadn't seen me as a friend in years.

I let out a ragged, ugly sob. I was crying so hard my chest physically ached, completely lost in my own grief, when a voice suddenly cut through the heavy air.

"Do you need a tissue?"

I gasped, my head snapping up.

Sitting on the ledge of the roof, one leg dangling over the edge, was a boy holding an incredibly thick, leather-bound book that looked like it was written in German.

The dim light caught the sharp, almost architectural angles of his profile. He was devastatingly handsome, in a way that didn't even look entirely real.

I recognized him instantly.

Holden Croft.

Unlike the try-hard honors students in our grade, Holden was a terrifying, once-in-a-generation genius. He had a Wikipedia page for his math Olympiad medals. Rumor had it he could have skipped straight to college at fourteen, but his parents wanted him to experience "normal socialization."

Even so, he had already been accepted to MIT on a full ride. He didn't have to take the SATs. He only showed up to school now to use the advanced science labs and read in the library.

We had been in the same homeroom in middle school, but I was certain he didn't remember I existed.

What the hell was he doing up here?

Humiliation washed over me like scalding water. I scrubbed frantically at my wet face. "I'm so sorry, I had no idea anyone was up here reading"

"Its fine," Holden said. He hopped down from the ledge with quiet grace and extended a small pack of tissues toward me. "If you need to keep crying, pretend I'm not here."

"Thanks."

But the sheer embarrassment of the situation had effectively killed my tears.

Holden didnt leave. He just stood there, looking at me.

I shifted uncomfortably. "What?"

He pointed a long, elegant finger toward the ground. "You're standing on my jacket."

I looked down. Horrified, I realized that in the dim light, I had marched right onto a dark navy jacket he had folded on the ground. There were three distinct, dusty sneaker prints right across the fabric.

My face caught fire. I scrambled to pick it up. "Oh my god. I'm so sorry. I'll take this home and wash it, I swear, I'll bring it back tomorrow!"

He gave a single, brief nod. He didn't say anything else.

He just picked up his heavy book and walked away.

That night, I sat on my bed and Googled the brand name on the tag of the jacket to see if it was machine washable.

When I saw the price tag attached to the image on the screen, my soul momentarily left my body.

It was Loro Piana. Cashmere. It cost more than my parents' car.

I knew the Croft family was unimaginably wealthy, but what kind of high schooler casually leaves a five-thousand-dollar jacket on a dirty rooftop?!

I squeezed my eyes shut, took all the cash out of my emergency savings jar, and practically sprinted to the most expensive dry cleaner in town.

The next day, I managed to get Holdens phone number from a girl in student council, intending to text him to coordinate returning it.

But when I typed his number into my phone, a contact photo already popped up. We were already friends on the messaging app.

When did that happen?

I stared at his profile picturea blurry photo of a black catentirely baffled. But I pushed the thought away.

That evening, I met him back on the rooftop to hand over the pristine, plastic-wrapped jacket. I turned to leave, but his voice stopped me.

My stomach plummeted. Oh god, he found a pulled thread. He's going to make me pay for it.

Instead, his tone was completely level as he asked, "Why were you crying the other day?"

I pressed my lips together.

"I don't know," I lied weakly. "I just... I felt like a failure. I'm not particularly pretty, I'm not that smart, my grades are just floating in the middle..."

I trailed off, not knowing how to explain the crushing weight of being inadequate.

A pair of pristine white sneakers stepped into my line of vision. I looked up. Holden was staring down at me, his gaze intense and unreadable.

Up close, the sheer symmetry of his face was staggering. His grandmother was supposedly French, and the mix of European bone structure with his dark, striking Eastern features made him look like a young movie star.

My face heated up. "What?"

His voice was a low, steady rumble.

"I think you're pretty."

"What?"

"I said, I think you're beautiful."

I knew he was just saying it to be polite, but it still caught me entirely off guard. For a guy who looked like he breathed ice, he was surprisingly kind.

I managed a weak, self-deprecating smile. "Thanks."

But he wasn't finished.

"As for your grades," he continued smoothly, "I have absolutely nothing to do right now. My schedule is empty. We're old classmates. Do you want me to tutor you?"

My head snapped up.

The next day, right after the final bell rang, I was packing my bag when someone grabbed my arm from behind.

It was Megan. She flashed me her most brilliant, practiced smile.

"June-bug! Do you have plans tonight?"

My feelings toward Megan were a tangled, suffocating mess. I had so few friends growing up. When she first arrived, I had genuinely adored her. But over time, things began to curdle.

Maybe I was just too sensitive, but she always made me feel like I was shrinking.

She would constantly hang out with Colin and Zane without me, and then spend the rare times we were all together recounting inside jokes I didn't understand, rendering me completely invisible.

Or she would show up to my low-key birthday sleepover wearing a full face of makeup and a designer dress, take a hundred selfies, and post the ones where my eyes were half-closed and she looked like a supermodel.

When people in the comments asked, "Why is a ten like you hanging out with a troll?" she would reply, "Stop it! She has a great personality, apologize to her right now!"

And the commenter would say, "You're too nice for your own good, Megan."

It was a thousand tiny papercuts over three years.

"What is it?" I asked, keeping my voice flat.

"A new Cajun seafood boil place opened downtown. I'm treating! Let's go."

Here we go again. She knew perfectly well that I had a severe intolerance to spicy food, yet every single time it was her turn to pick, it was either tear-inducing hotpot, spicy wings, or Cajun food covered in cayenne pepper.

"I'm busy," I said, zipping up my bag. "I can't go."

Megan immediately linked her arm through mine, pouting. "Why? Are you still mad about the textbook thing? Come on, I already forgave you for yelling at me!"

Zane sauntered over, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. "Who's treating? Can Colin and I come?"

Megan laughed, playfully shoving his shoulder. "No way! Girls' night only. No smelly boys allowed."

"But I want free food!" Zane whined, playing along.

They joked back and forth for a minute before Megan sighed dramatically. "Fine, fine. You guys can come. But only because June is bringing you as her plus-ones!" She squeezed my arm. "Let's go, June!"

I pulled my arm out of her grip.

"I said I have plans. I'm not going."

Megan froze. Her lower lip began to tremble as she looked at me with wide, wounded eyes. "June... are you seriously still holding a grudge about yesterday?"

Colin, who had been reading at his desk, closed his book with a sharp snap and walked over.

"June, what kind of tantrum is this?" His voice was cold, clipped. "You humiliated Megan in front of the entire class yesterday. Shes being the bigger person and trying to make peace. What exactly are you trying to prove?"

"Don't yell at her, Colin, it's my fault," Megan whispered, a single tear spilling over her lashes.

Zanes protective instincts flared. He stepped into my space, looming over me. "Jesus Christ, June. You just take advantage of the fact that shes too nice to fight back. You're being a miserable bitch, you know that?"

I bit down on the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted copper.

It was always like this. I was the villain in a play I hadn't even auditioned for.

"I told you," I said, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to keep it steady. "I have plans. I'm meeting a friend."

"It's fine, June," Megan said with a brave, watery smile. "If you don't want to hang out with me, you don't have to make up fake friends to get out of it."

"What friend?" Colin demanded, his brow furrowed in disbelief. "Drop the act, June."

"Yeah," Zane scoffed, his eyes full of pure disdain. "Don't flatter yourself. Nobody in this school can stand you. Who else besides Megan would ever want to be seen with you?"

I looked up at Zane.

I looked at the boy who had once patted my head and promised to buy me anything I ever wanted. I looked at the dark, hateful sneer on his face now.

How did we get here? When did we become strangers who despised each other?

I opened my mouth to speak, but a voice from the doorway beat me to it.

"Her friend is me."