Surviving High School

Emily thought to check the time on her phone, she realized it was 3 AM .
    “I’m never going to catch up on sleep,” she said.
    “Oh,” said Ben. “I’m sorry. I really am. I forget about your schedule sometimes. Well, maybe I forget on purpose.”
    “Don’t apologize,” said Emily. “This was amazing. You’re amazing. I wouldn’t have traded this for a week’s worth of sleep.”
    As it turned out, the amethyst cave wasn’t Ben’s final surprise of the night. When they reached Emily’s block and Ben put the car in park, he told Emily he had a present for her.
    “Open the glove compartment,” he said.
    When she did, Emily found a long box wrapped in silver paper, the kind that might house a necklace or a watch. As she carefully unstuck the tape at one end and slipped a wooden box out of the wrapping paper, she wondered what it could be. It felt too light to be jewelry.
    “I just want you to know,” said Ben, “that I wouldn’t have gotten this for anyone but you.”
    She opened the box to find…
    “A piece of paper!” she said. “Just what I’ve always wanted.”
    “Unfold it.”
    The paper was a progress report from that day at 3 PM . It listed each of Ben’s classes, along with his current grades.
     
 AP Calculus 
 A 
 AP English Literature 
 A- 
 Health 
 A 
 AP Physics 
 A 
 Gym 
 B+ 
 AP Government 
 A 
    “Wait a second,” she said. “Did you hack the school computer system or something?”
    He smiled.
    “Not this time. I actually studied. These grades are for real.”
    Now it was Emily’s turn to smile.
    “You’re only getting a B-plus in gym?” she asked.
    “I know, I know. I promised I’d get my grades up. But I don’t do laps, Em. I just don’t.”
    “So this means—” she started.
    “That I’m allowed to participate in school activities again,” he said. “You’ve got yourself a homecoming date.”
    As Ben pulled away and Emily walked home, she danced a few steps, pirouetted, and bowed to the street. She was officially going to homecoming with Ben Kale. No matter howtired she was, no matter what happened now, nothing could take that away.
    The huge smile on her face quickly fell, though, as she approached her house to find the lights on, including the one in her bedroom. A sick feeling entered her stomach. No , she thought. No. No. No.
    She opened her window from the outside, like usual, then climbed up onto the sill and hefted her body over the ledge. Inside, though, she didn’t find her bedroom’s usual welcoming darkness. Instead, she found her parents. She fell in a heap inside at the foot of the window and looked up at her father. He shook with anger.
    “Welcome back,” he said. “We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN
    “What are you doing in here?” asked Emily as she got to her feet. She rubbed her tailbone, hoping she hadn’t bruised it.
    “What were you doing not in here is the better question,” her dad shouted. “Not that you have to answer. I received an anonymous e-mail earlier today informing me that you’ve been sneaking out at night to see a boy. I didn’t want to believe it. Now I have no choice.”
    Emily didn’t have to think too hard to guess the e-mail’s writer. Dominique.
    “I was just, uh, training.”
    “Training?” her father asked. “Training?! Do you have any idea how much you’ve probably damaged your swimming career? Who even knows how many hours of sleep debt you’ve accumulated. It could take months to undo thephysical strain you’ve put on your body—and Quals are coming up on Thursday!”
    Meanwhile, Emily’s mother said nothing and looked worriedly back and forth between Emily and her husband. In a way, Emily wished she would say something—the guilty knowledge that she’d made her mom stay up worrying was already starting to gnaw at her. She must have been waiting for hours.
    “Well?!” Emily’s dad shouted. “What have you got to say for yourself?”
    “Dad, don’t—”
    “Call me Coach!”
    “But we’re at home.” Emily was shocked. She’d rarely seen her father get this angry.
    “I don’t care where we are!”
    “Paul,” said Emily’s mom, “you need to calm down.”
    “This is between me and my athlete,” said Emily’s dad, turning to her.
    “This is between us and our daughter.”
    “No,” said Emily, sniffling. “He’s right. This is between us, Mom. Give us a minute.” Her dad’s anger she could deal with, but Emily just