Numbers have always made sense to you. It comforts you to solve an equation, to see numbers balance each other out. In high school, you got As in all of your classes, but math was the class you really looked forward to. You sat in the front row of the classroom and always volunteered first when the teacher asked for someone to solve an equation on the chalkboard. You would write out the solution in your clear, precise handwriting, smiling to yourself as the teacher nodded and said, with a sense of wonder in her voice, “Very good, Angela.”

You were grateful to have numbers to comfort you when your best friend decided that she would rather hang out with more popular girls, girls who smoked and skipped class. You went to the library alone and flipped through college-level textbooks, finding that you were able to solve most of the problems in the books, which made you feel a little better. You started eating your lunch on a bench, alone, far away from the noisy, crowded cafeteria.

One day a boy with dark hair and green eyes asked if he could join you on the bench. He pointed to your Calculus book and raised his eyebrows, impressed. His name was Bobby and you started eating lunch together every day. He was funny and kind and became your first kiss. You let him call you Angie. One night he took you to see a movie and afterwards, in his car, he started unbuttoning your blouse. When you said no, he tried again. When you, finally, slapped him he smiled, cruelly. He shook his head and muttered something about Marissa winning. Marissa was the most popular girl in your high school and you wondered what he was talking about. Instead of asking him, you demanded that he drive you home. You stayed up all night, solving math problems in your books and wiping away tears.

The next day at school, you passed Bobby and Marissa, standing close together in the hallway. As you walked by, they snickered. You had to rush to the bathroom. You didn’t want anyone to see you cry. As you entered the bathroom, you passed your former best friend. She stood in front of the mirror, applying lipstick and laughing with another girl. For some reason, she looked guilty when she saw you and told the other girl that she would meet her in the hallway in a second. She filled you in. Told you that Bobby and Marissa were friends and that she had bet him that he couldn’t get you to let him feel you up. Bobby had gone one step farther. He had bet Marissa that he could get you to sleep with him. Your best friend left and you never saw her again. You went home that night and begged your parents to enroll in Catholic school.