Never Ending Equation

I was nine when I first laid eyes on her.

I heard a knock on the door and immediately looked up. My pencil slipped out of my hand as my jaw fell open. I tapped my friend Andrew's shoulder, keeping my eyes on the girl standing at the front of the room.

"Andy, who is that?" I whispered.

"I don't know. I think she's the new girl. Maybe she'll be my girlfriend," he whispered back.

"No way. She's going to be my girlfriend before she's your girl-"

"Jordan, do you have something you would like to share with the rest of us?" my teacher asked.

"No, Mr. West," I immediately answered.

"Good. As I was saying, we have a new student today. Her name is Nicolette Bernard and she's from Montreal. Try to make her feel welcome."

This new girl, Nicolette, was the prettiest nine year old I had ever seen. Her dark hair was held back with a red headband that had a little bow on the side, and her dress had polka dots on it. She gave a little wave to everyone as she looked around the room.

"You can have a seat over there, by Jordan."

My heart literally sank to my feet.

"The boy who talks a lot?" she asked.

"Yes, that would be Jordan," Mr. West answered, displeased with my constant behavior.

She picked up her backpack from the ground and made her way over to the open seat to my right.

"Hi, I'm Jordan Staal."

"I know that, stupid," she said with a smug smile.

I didn't say anything for a moment. I was too shocked she'd said that. "Are you good at spelling?"

Nicolette shook her head. "No, I'm better at math."

"Oh, well maybe we could give each other the answers sometimes because I'm better at spelling."

"I bet you are," she replied.

"Boy, aren't you a pistol." I heard my brother Eric say that line about a girl in his class a few times, and I figured it fit the situation, so I used it.

"I'm not a boy, I'm a girl, and you're annoying."

"So are you," I countered.

She didn't look at me, she just turned her attention to Mr. West as he talked about something science-y. A few minutes went by before I thought of anything more to say to her.

"If you're from Montreal, does that mean you know how to speak French?"

"Oui, vous petit con. Maintenant, être tranquille."

"What's that mean?" I questioned.

"I thought I told you to shut up."

"How was I supposed to know what you said? I can't speak French," I told her.

"Jordan!" Mr. West hollered, signaling I should shut my mouth. I quietly told him that I was sorry.

Nicolette didn't reply. She merely sat there with that look on her lips as she watched our teacher move about the classroom and explain to us how plants grow. He said something about picture-synthesis before I put my head on my arms and slowly fell asleep. I snapped back into reality when I heard a bunch of laughter.

I soon found out that everyone's eyes were on me. That's when I turned to Andy. "What's going on? Why is everyone laughing?"

"You have a big flower on your forehead, dude," he laughed.

"What? No, I don't."

"Yes, you do," Mr. West said. "Would you like to go to the bathroom and have a look for yourself, Mr. Staal?"

I gave my head a few quick shakes. "No, I'm pretty sure you're not making this up."

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Nicolette putting the cap back on a black marker. It wasn't even a washable one; she used a Sharpie. A Sharpie! That brat drew this gigantic flower on my face with black Sharpie! I put my head on my desk and kept it like that until class had ended. At least she had enough brains to draw something related to what we were learning in school.