Wrong About the Guy by Claire LaZebnik Page B

to keep it entertaining for my reader. I wouldn’t want to bore him.”
    â€œI want you to take this seriously.”
    â€œI did! I mean, for the most part. Come on! It’s a perfectly fine essay and you know it.”
    â€œIt’s not bad,” he said begrudgingly. “What’s thisbook you reference here? The Smith Saga ? I’ve never heard of it.”
    â€œThat’s because I made it up.” I grinned. “Smith is Heather’s last name. A little homage to my best friend.”
    He groaned. “I should have guessed. That quotation is too perfect. You can’t do that on the actual test. It’s dishonest.”
    â€œThe teacher who ran the SAT workshop at school said we could. She said that the readers don’t have time to check all the references so we should just make some up if we can’t think of anything.”
    â€œThat’s a really bad idea,” he said. “If she’s wrong and someone does look it up, you’re going to be docked a ton.”
    â€œSays you.”
    He shoved the laptop away. “If you’re not even going to listen to anything I say—”
    â€œRelax.” I touched his arm. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I promise I won’t do that on the real test.”
    â€œGood.” He moved his arm away. “I want to help you do well on this. But you have to actually work with me a little bit.”
    â€œI will. I’m going to be a good student for the rest of the evening, okay? We can even do the most miserable math problems and I won’t complain.”
    â€œThank you.” He held his hand out, palm up. “MayI put your cell phone away again?”
    â€œOnly if you’ll put yours away, too. I want your undivided attention.”
    â€œDeal.” He took the two phones and left them on the counter side by side.
    It was easier to dodge work and get us off track when Heather was around, which she was for our Sunday session. Heather was always willing to talk about something—anything—other than what we were supposed to be doing, and while George had no problem telling me to shut up and get back to work, he wasn’t so blunt with her. In fact, he was nicer to her than he was to me in general—gentle when she got frustrated, patient when she was slow, quick to reassure her and build up her confidence. When she got an answer wrong, he always found something encouraging to say about it—like that she was on the right path or had “some good ideas.” When I got something wrong, he just told me to be more careful and to try harder.
    After he snapped at me for not paying attention, I called him on it. “Why are you so much nicer to her than to me?”
    â€œI’m not.”
    I appealed to Heather. “Isn’t he?”
    â€œHe’s nice to both of us,” she said. “Just in differentways. He knows you’re smarter than me so he expects more from you.”
    â€œEllie’s not smarter than you,” George said. “She’s just more confident than you. We need to build up your confidence.”
    â€œAnd tear mine down?” I asked.
    â€œSomeone’s got to.”
    â€œSee?” I said. “That was mean.”
    He ignored that and pointed to the multiple-choice answers on the screen in front of us. “A, B, C, or D, Ellie? And tell me why.”
    â€œB.”
    â€œYes, but why?”
    â€œBecause it’s right .”
    He let out an aggrieved sigh. “Fine. How about the next one? Try to be systematic: eliminate the obviously wrong ones and narrow your choices down before jumping to a—”
    â€œIt’s C.”
    â€œYou need to slow down or you’re going to get tricked into picking the wrong answer.”
    â€œBut it is C,” I said.
    â€œYeah,” he said wearily. “It’s C.”
    â€œWait, why isn’t it B?” asked Heather.

fourteen
    T he Friday before the