Parallel

that. Your test will have to be graded out of a total of ninety possible points, instead of a hundred.”
    A ten-point deduction. That’s it? With the curve, there’s a decent chance I could still get a B. A respectable, Northwestern-worthy B.
    “I just ask that you refrain from further study,” the old man is saying. “What you knew today is what you should know tomorrow.”
    “Yes, of course,” I tell him. At this point, I’d eat a cockroach if he asked me to. “You have my word.”
    “Excellent,” he replies. “I’ll see you tomorrow at seven, then.”
    “Dr. Mann?”
    “Yes, dear?”
    “Why are you giving me a second chance?”
    Inexplicably, the old man chuckles. “I’ve learned, Ms. Barnes, that a person rarely gets just one chance at anything. There are second chances everywhere, if you know where to look for them. Look deeper, remember?” He pauses for a beat. I imagine him smiling on the other end of the line. “I’ll see you in the morning, dear.”
    Before I can thank him, he’s gone.
    Buoyed by this unexpected bit of good fortune, I head down to the kitchen, where Dad is snacking his way through our pantry while Mom braises onions. I tell them about the retest but opt not to share my SAT score. Caught up in her coq au vin, Mom doesn’t ask about it.
    As we’re finishing dinner, the doorbell rings. “Are you expecting someone?” Mom asks, taking in my coffee-stained sweatpants and ratty T-shirt. I shake my head, making eye contact with my dad. It has to be Caitlin.
    “I’ll see who it is,” I say.
    I make it to the door and stop. Should I apologize first? What if she doesn’t apologize at all? I’m still trying to decide on a strategy when the doorbell rings again. Not wanting her to leave, I fling open the door.
    “Hey.”
    I blink in surprise. “Josh! Hi.” I step back, suddenly intensely aware of the fact that I am wearing sweatpants that haven’t been washed in a week. “What are you doing here?” I ask. His face falls a notch. “I just meant . . . I thought you had a date with Megan?”
    “It wasn’t a date. We were just hanging out.”
    “Oh,” I say, stepping onto the front porch and closing the door for some privacy.
    “So . . . how are you? You seemed pretty shaken up this afternoon.” His forehead crinkles with concern. “Did you and Caitlin work things out?”
    “Not yet. I’m sure we will, though.” My plan was to convince him with a winning smile, but now it feels like too much effort. So, I burst into tears instead. “No . . . we . . . won’t,” I manage between sobs. “She . . . hates . . . me.”
    Josh steps forward and envelops me in a hug. At first it feels awkward, like the hug doesn’t quite fit, but then he slides his left arm up a few inches and I tilt my head to the right, and suddenly it works.
    “Fights suck,” he says simply, his voice right next to my ear.
    “She’s my best friend,” is all I can think to say.
    “I know.”
    “I don’t know what to do,” I tell him, my face pressed against his shirt. “I’m so sad, but I’m angry, too, you know? Like I’m not sure I want to make up with her.”
    “You don’t have to figure everything out tonight,” he says softly.
    I pull back, sniffling, and eye him with mock suspicion. “Why do you look like a teenage boy when you’re clearly not one?”
    “Glad I have you fooled,” he says, and smiles. “Hey, do you want to go somewhere?”
    “Right now?”
    “Right now.”
    “I need to change first. . . .”
    “No, you don’t. Gray sweats are perfect for where we’re going. Go tell your parents you’ll be back in an hour and grab a jacket.” He looks down at my bare feet and smiles. “And don’t forget shoes.”
    “But—”
    He doesn’t let me finish. “Do you want to come or not?”
    “Yes! I’ll be right back.” Through the door and halfway up the front stairs, I realize I’ve left him standing on the front porch. “Come in if you want!” I call over my shoulder. “My parents are in the kitchen!” It dawns on me that he’s never met my parents, making it a little weird for both of them if he were to just stroll in. As I’m entering my bedroom, I hear the front door close. Did he come in or go out?
    I grab my sneakers and hoodie, splash some cold water on my tearstained cheeks, and head for the back stairs, at which point I hear my dad bellow, “So you’re Astronomy Boy!” I bound down the stairs before he can inflict any more