Page 16

They’re also great about respecting my independence. If they help me with something dyslexia-related, I usually do something for them in return. It’s not like we keep a running tab of favors in our friendships; it’s just that when it comes to dyslexia, I hate feeling like my friends are throwing me a constant pity party.

“That would actually be great.” I give up on rubbing my headache away and stretch my arms above my head. “Are omelettes okay?”

“Fuck yeah. I think we have some ham for them.”

“I’ll see if Jane and Paulina want one.” I flip over so I’m leaning over the back of the couch and take a deep breath in. “HEY HOES! YOU WANT AN OMELETTE?”

I hear the floor creak, and Paulina’s door opens upstairs. Her shout booms through the house.

“YEAH, BITCH!”

We’re not exactly a quiet household.

Jane’s door on the ground floor stays shut, but I’m pretty sure I heard her cooking something while I was deep in the textbook vortex, so I don’t bother interrupting her.

I get up off the couch and bring my laptop over to Iz. “I think if you just record these little info sections on the different chapters in the introduction, I should be good. Here, I’ll open the recorder.”

I get the microphone set up and also make sure to close the tab I’ve been ignoring all day: the one with my half-finished internship application. I’m getting closer and closer to the application deadline for a summer economics internship I’ve been dreaming about since first year, but something keeps holding me back. I’ve been blaming it on my pre-term workload even though I highly doubt that’s the real reason I freak out every time I open the document.

It’s easier than admitting my hesitation might have something to do with the things Ethan shouted at me months ago.

“Damn, I don’t even know half these words,” Iz says after scanning my textbook. “Such math. Much economics. Very money.”

I laugh as I head for the kitchen. “As long as you can read them, we’re good.”

I hear them start recording something about microeconomic agents as I grab the egg carton, the ham, a couple green peppers, and some shredded cheese out of the fridge.

I first discovered economics after my high school decided to offer an ‘Intro to Econ’ course when I was in the tenth grade. I’d always done well in the math and science side of school, but economics seemed like it might be too word-centric for me. My guidance counsellor urged me to take it anyway. I walked in on the first day expecting to switch out of the class by the end of the week, but we didn’t even write anything for a while. We just talked. The teacher would move all around the classroom using everything from our pencil cases to the ceiling fans to illustrate economic principles. He made the whole thing feel like a conversation, like a game.

That’s what it’s always felt like to me. Economics is just like a sport. It’s a quest for power. It’s an exercise in anticipation. It’s the ability to break a chaotic tumble of motion and sound down into a simple chain of cause and effect. When I learn about it, I feel like I’m playing lacrosse. My instincts take over. I get in it. I’m not stuck behind a piece of foggy glass, trying to wipe it clean just as fast as it gets fogged up again. That’s how it felt to take classes like English and history, but when it comes to economics, I’m in there. I’m part of it.

I have the first omelette complete and the second one in the pan by the time Iz finishes recording. The smell of food lures Paulina down from her bedroom, and she helps me bring the plates out to the living room once I’ve loaded up all three.

“Mmm,” she moans once we’re all settled and she’s taken her first bite. “Cheeeeese.”

Iz points their fork at her. “Hey, weren’t you gonna go vegan this year?”

She shakes her head. “I decided I’m too tall.”

Iz and I glance at each other before we both double over laughing.

“You’re too tall to be a vegan?” I demand.

She tilts her head and lifts her eyebrows like we’re stupid. “It takes a lot to power six foot one of human. I don’t have time to cook everything I would need to replace meat.”

I’m pretty sure there are a lot of vegans who would have an answer to that, but I choose to use the opportunity to make fun of her gardening instead.

“I don’t know. Maybe you could sprinkle everything with dead basil leaves like you did to our pizza the other day.”

She glowers at me. “Do not speak ill of my basil. May she rest in peace.”

With her long blonde hair, round face, and little dimples, Paulina is a bit too adorable to effectively glower.

“My apologies,” I say anyway. “I would not wish to disrespect the fallen.”

We turn back to our omelettes for a few moments before Iz asks what everyone’s doing with the hour we have left before afternoon practice.

Paulina shoots me another Disney channel-worthy glare. “I am working in my garden.”