My backpack weighed more heavily than my grades when I lugged it onto the bus. It was as if I'd spent all night cramming textbooks, but really I'd spent all night trying not to trip on my mom's antique vase. Now the bus groaned as I squeezed past the ninth-grader who'd apparently been trying to start a collection of last night's leftover pizza slices by the seat. I spotted our AP calculus teacher scribbling on the back of his class list as he rode down the aisle – some attempt to salvage our chances at a perfect school average – and all I could think was that my notes from last night's homework would be useless once he finished crossing them off.
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