Just Consider It

Before everyone starts judging me, let me just say that I don't care. Nor do I care about Niall freaking Horan.

And before I get all that crap of living a sheltered life and not having a real childhood because I was blinded by my grades, let me just say that being a near genius and having a social life is possible. I’m living proof of it.

My sister, Avery, is three years older than me and is my polar opposite. Ever since first grade, Avery pooh-poohed learning and grades, preferring to care about her friends and boys and clothes and all that type of shallow crap. No matter how hard my parents tried, no matter how many study sessions they made her go to, Avery just couldn’t get her grades up.

My mom and dad are both extremely smart. My mom teaches at Chicago University, and my dad is an AP Chemistry teacher at the high school in our town. They both met at Stanford in their senior year. To them, brains are everything. It’s practically the Bronwyn identity. And when Avery wasn’t blessed with what my mother calls “the love of learning,” they thought it was all over.

But then I came along. I don’t know if I got the love of learning by choice or by force because ever since I could walk I learned to read, and when I was in first grade I was already far ahead of all the other kids. I made the Honors track every single year in middle school and high school and was valedictorian. My mom and dad pushed me every second of the way, making sure all my homework was correct and studying with me for every test until I didn’t need the answers anymore.

I had a social life, too, however. My best friends weren’t as smart as me, but maybe that was why I hung around with them. On weeknights, I wasn’t allowed to go out at all. But Friday’s and Saturday’s were fair game; I was allowed out until midnight. So I went to parties and to the movies and to the mall and got to be a regular girl again. I drank beer and tried pot and made out with boys and giggled with my friends. Then, on Sunday night, it was back to the books again.

Avery was head cheerleader and became more famous for her reputation with the football team than her midair splits. She got accepted to the community college and met a cute Brit named Noah who was visiting for an internship for six months. Noah, of course, fell victim to her charm and supposed wit, and it was love. Or so we thought.

One day, Avery made me accompany her to Planned Parenthood. She said she’d been getting sick a lot lately and had missed her period. The doctor confirmed our worst fears: at only twenty years old, my sister was pregnant.

She told Noah, who seemed scared but agreed to be the father, and then when it was time for him to go back to London, she went with him. They stayed together for a while, but were fighting a lot. When my nephew Mason was born in October, they got along for a few more months, but it was short-lived. Finally, Noah packed up his things and left, leaving Avery to care for him all on her own.

I, however, had gotten stellar grades and could’ve gotten accepted into any college I wanted. But for some reason, I decided to go to a university in London to look after my sister, even though it should’ve been the other way around. It was there that I met the two banes of my existence: psychology and Niall Horan.

You’ve got to be kidding me, I thought bitterly, stuffing the manila envelope Professor Keen had given me into my bag. What kind of college professor grades essays like that anyways?

Avery opened the door to her tiny apartment when I knocked. She was wearing a formal shirt and skirt and smelled of sweet perfume. “Hey,” she greeted me breathlessly. “How was class?”

“Complete and utter bullshit,” I said, gritting my teeth.

“Shh,” she shushed me, widening her eyes. “I don’t want Mason to hear!” Mason was learning how to talk and Avery didn’t want his first word to be a cuss, even though I personally thought it’d be pretty funny.

I came inside and peered into the playpen, where my nephew was lying on his back, smiling up at me. Even though my day had been crappy, I had to smile back at him. There was just something so cute about babies.

“Hey, buddy,” I said, bending closer. “You ready to come with me?”

He shrieked, which I assumed meant “yes.” I gently picked him up and retrieved the diaper bag from Avery. “Okay, so, what time will you be back? Because I’ve got work to do,” I informed her.

She shrugged, touching up her makeup in the mirror. “Probably around six.”

“Okay,” I sighed. Maybe Maggie would look after him.

Avery kissed Mason a couple times, making him giggle, before she gave me a one-armed hug. “Thanks, Hero. I owe you.”

“It’s fine,” I said, beginning to feel uncomfortable. Avery was also known for being extremely pro-PDA. It wasn’t like I hated touching people . . . I just didn’t really like it.

“You ready to go with Aunt Hero?” she asked Mason in a baby voice.

“Heggo!” Mason squealed, which was close enough to my name. I managed to escape from my sister’s over-affectionate clutches as I started back to my dorm.

“You know what the problem is, Mace?” I asked him as we walked. “Niall Horan. Niall Horan is stupider than me in every single class but psychology. And now Professor Keen is trying to make him tutor me. As if. I don’t need a tutor. I’m smart, right Mason? I’m the smartest person you know, right?”

Ever since Niall began beating me, I asked Mason this question frequently, so he knew enough to answer correctly. “Heggo.”

“That’s right,” I nodded, satisfied, and kissed his soft little head. “Hero.”

I kicked open the door to my dorm room and shouted, “Maggie! I’m back!”

Maggie Halper was my roommate from Melbourne Beach, Florida and possibly one of the only people who could keep up with my brain. Even though she was a bit of a girly girl and was extremely loud, she was also one of the nicest girls I knew. We were a pretty good match, as far as roommates went.

“Hi,” she called, coming into the room. “Hi, Mason!” she cooed when she saw him. Mason gurgled, which Avery often said was his way of exchanging pleasantries. “How was class?”

“Fucking fantastic,” I muttered, momentarily forgetting the fact that I was carrying a baby.

“What’d you get on that psychology essay?”

“Doesn’t matter, because the leprechaun beat me again,” I said sourly, setting Mason down in his high chair and dropping the diaper bag next to it. “And then — get this — stupid Professor Keen suggested that I ask him to be my tutor!”

“Are you?”

I rolled my eyes at her. “No. Of course not.”

“I don’t see why you hate him so much,” Maggie remarked, sitting down on our couch. “He’s really funny.”

That was the problem with Maggie. She always saw the best in people. She was the good cop to my bad cop. Every time I tried to hate someone, she would contradict me with a “Oh, but he’s got such a nice smile” or “Oh, I saw her volunteering at the soup kitchen the other day!” It was annoying. I just wanted to hate Niall Horan in peace.

“Yeah, he’s also cocky and superior and sarcastic and —”

“Smarter than you?” Maggie finished.

“I wasn’t going to say that.”

“Yes, you were,” she said. “And if you want to beat him so badly, why not let him tutor you? You’ll almost be like a spy. You can see his study methods and the way he works, and the next time you get an assignment, bam! you’ve beaten him at his own game.

I had to admit, it was a pretty clever plan, which was why me and Maggie got along so well. But there was no way I would stoop to that level; at least, not yet. So I said, “I’ll think about it.”

“You just don’t want to admit I’m right,” she corrected me.

“Whatever, Margaret.”

“Shut up!” she growled, which made me grin. Maggie absolutely hated being called by her full name. She said it made her sound like a granny. I didn’t see what was so wrong with that; try going through life with a name like “Hero.” She liked my name however. Apparently it had “spunk.”

Mason chose that moment to scream with delight, which was his way of letting us know he was still in the room. “Sorry, sorry,” I said, going over to him. “You’re just like your mommy, aren’t you?” Avery loved being the center of attention, ever since she was little. How come Noah’s traits hadn’t been passed down to Mace? I had liked Noah. He was quiet and thoughtful, plus he had a cool accent.

“So, have you decided about the tutor thing yet?” Maggie asked.

I shrugged. “Maybe.” The last thing I wanted was to go to Niall Horan for help, but sometimes in life, you had to play dirty.