Parallel

hall. “But I gather you didn’t make it to homeroom today?”
    “Oh—no—I just got here. We lost power because of the earthquake,” I explain. She’s a few steps ahead of me, so I hurry to catch up. “Uh, is everything okay?”
    We arrive in front of her door, and she ushers me inside. “Everything is fine,” she says, gesturing for me to sit. “We just have to make a change to your class schedule.”
    I freeze. “What kind of change?”
    “Mr. Simmons has canceled History of Music,” she says, sitting down at her desk. There are photos of a mean-looking Siamese cat tacked to her bulletin board. “Which leaves you without a fifth-period class.” Her voice is brisk, like she’s in a rush. “This morning there were openings in a couple of electives, but since we’ve rescheduled twenty-two students since then, I’m afraid you don’t have many options.”
    Shit. History of Music was a key component of my perfect schedule. The title sounds legitimate enough, but it’s a total no-brainer. The final exam consists of listening to Mr. Simmons’s hand-selected “essentials” playlist while writing an essay on the importance of music to American pop culture.
    “So, where does that leave me?” I ask, hoping she’ll tell me that Mr. Simmons has created a new class, something that’ll make HOM look like rocket science.
    “Principles of Astronomy.” To her credit, she doesn’t even try to make this sound like good news.
    I will not freak out, I will not freak out. “That’s my only option?”
    “At this point, yes,” she says apologetically. “If you’d been here when we first sent for you, you could’ve taken Ms. Ziffren’s drama class instead . . . but I guess that’s neither here nor there at this point, isn’t it?” She smiles reassuringly as she hands me my new schedule. “The good news is, astronomy will really stand out on your transcript.” I glance down at the page, still warm from the printer.
    Yeah. Fs usually do.
    “Abby, stop freaking out.” Caitlin stabs a cucumber with her fork and pops it into her mouth. “I took it freshman year. It’s not a hard class.”
    “This coming from the girl who’s spent the past two summers interning at NASA.” We’re sitting on the hill behind the cafeteria, our lunches next to us. The lawn is packed with seniors enjoying the sunshine and one of the few perks of senior year: outdoor dining.
    Caitlin rolls her eyes. “Abby, it’s not even a real astronomy class. I promise you, if there are sci-track kids in there, they’ll all be freshmen.”
    “Great,” I say sarcastically. “So a bunch of fourteen-year-olds can make me feel stupid. I feel better already.”
    “It’s senior year, baby!” We look up. Tyler is grinning down at us, flanked by four guys from the golf team.
    “What are you so happy about?” I grumble as Tyler plops down on the grass next to Caitlin, lunch bag in hand. The other guys sit down at a picnic table a few feet away, no doubt worried about wrinkling their pressed khakis.
    Caitlin, Tyler, and I have been eating lunch together every day since sixth grade. My parents met Tyler’s parents—both classical musicians—at a fund-raiser for the National Endowment for the Arts two weeks after they moved here, so Ty and I have been spending cookouts and game nights together since we were babies. There was a period in elementary school when we professed to despise each other, but by fifth grade we were inseparable. We didn’t meet Caitlin until sixth grade, when her family moved here from San Francisco. The three of us have been best friends ever since. These days, Caitlin and I are closer than either of us is to Tyler, mainly because he spends all his time playing golf and hooking up with volleyball players. And cheerleaders.
    Tyler shrugs out of his blazer and drapes it over the fence behind us. Yes, he’s sporting a seersucker suit at school. That’s Tyler. A walking contradiction. The choirboy who uses a fake ID to buy beer every weekend but refuses to jaywalk. The jock with an unyielding Carrie Underwood obsession. The city boy who wears seersucker and plays competitive croquet.
    “We’re seniors. What’s not to be happy about?” Tyler turns his lunch bag over and dumps its contents onto the lawn. Four sandwiches, two apples, an orange, two bags of potato chips, a carton of blueberry yogurt, and an entire sleeve of Chips Ahoy.
    “Abby’s freaking out because she has to take astronomy,” Caitlin