The Enemy Hypothesis: A Brazos High Novella

left him a glowing review on his newest video. Now today I am reaping the rewards.
Third place. And it’s only week one. I can do this. I can keep being nice and finding ways to include everyone at school. I’ll sit at different lunch tables and talk to all the different cliques. I’m not going to keep to myself and perpetuate the rumor that I’m a jerk.
This car is going to be mine.
Julian is still giving me the cold shoulder after I wouldn’t skip school to cover for his date, and because of this, he purposely runs out all the hot water in the upstairs shower. Then he eats the last bagel. For being my older brother, he’s a total child. Too bad for him and all his antics to try and annoy me, because no matter what he does he won’t ruin my good mood. I went from dead last to third place in just a week. I’ve got this in the bag.
The feeling I get when walking through school today must be how celebrities feel every day. People want to stop me to congratulate me on being in the top ten, and others just want to chat with me in class or in the hallways as if we’re friends. I’ve seen a few of the other top ten students around school and they’re all being treated like celebrities too.
The only downside is that little miss perfect, Abby, is in second place. She has over five thousand points and I’m hovering just around four thousand. The rest of the school is far below the top ten and some people don’t even have one thousand points yet. We still have no idea how the points work, and which demerits or kudos give out a certain number of points. The scoreboard has been changing all day and it has my nerves on high alert.
During third period, I drop down to sixth place for some unknown reason. But by lunch time I’m back in third place. It’s obvious that this will be hard to maintain all month, but the best thing I can do is get as many points as I can.
I’m raising my hand for every question in class and giving friendly smiles to everyone. When I take out a pack of gum in fourth period, the girl next to me asks for a piece. And then the guy next to her asks for one. Before long, I’m completely out of gum but my score jumps to 4712. Not bad.
I’m eager to see Abby when I go to accounting class. We didn’t really talk much on the car ride home that night, probably because her little sisters were talking the whole time about their dance class. And although it was a little awkward, I had fun. I don’t know why I’m eager to see her now because we aren’t friends. We’re competitors. And if I have my way, I’ll win this contest and then I’m sure she’ll never speak to me again. With that in mind, I force away all thoughts of Abby as I step into fifth period.
“Look at him acting all casual,” someone calls out as I drop my backpack to the floor and slide into my desk.
I look around and find a guy named Brian (or is it Brent?) staring at me. “You wanna tell us how you jumped in rank so fast?”
I shrug. “Guess I’m just a nice person.”
“You’re still losing to Abby,” he says.
At that exact moment, Abby walks into class. My chest feels sharp and I sit up straighter. She says hi to her friend as she takes her seat. Her eyes never venture in my direction.
“Abby!” Brian (or Brent?) says, walking over to her desk. “What do you think about this jackass catching up to you?”
“Oh?” she says, glancing back at me as if I am simply a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of her shoe. “I hadn’t noticed anyone below me since I moved up to second place.”
A chorus of oooh’s fill the room.
“Yeah girl, he’s only a few hundred points behind you now.”
She gives me an appraising look, then flattens her lips in a dismissing way. “Whatever scheme he used to jump rank won’t last long. We have all month and I’m not worried.”
Brian looks at me. “You gonna let her talk smack like that?”
Our teacher is standing in the hallway chatting with the teacher next door and I’ve never wanted class to start so badly, if only to put me out of this misery. I can think of a dozen comebacks to throw at her, some of which would make her blush. But the satisfaction of knowing I got under her skin would be ruined by the demerits I’d get from all these witnesses. Talking trash is not the Un-bully way.
I shrug. “I wish my fellow students good luck in the contest.”
Someone scoffs. “Lame!” someone else calls out.
I know it’s lame, and I know I sound like a politician, but I refuse to say anything that could cost me points. I will be nice no matter what.
Abby doesn’t say anything, and soon the teacher comes back and starts class. It might be my imagination, but I think I see Abby sneak a glance at me two times. But… like I said… probably my imagination.
When the bell rings, everyone hustles to get out the door and to their next class. I take my time, figuring that I might get a kudos for letting other people go first. As I make my way into the hallway something is shoved into my hand, but the crowds are so thick I have no idea where it came from. I duck into a nearby bathroom and unfold the piece of paper.
Meet me in Supply Closet 8 after school.
* * *
The last two hours of school drag by impossibly slow. I can’t stop thinking about the note that is folded up in my pocket. Who wrote it? The handwriting is big, neat, and