Perfect (Book Two)

Twenty: Laissez-Faire Means "Hands Off," BTW.

Friday in AP econ, Andrew Campbell leaned across the aisle and tapped the top of Spencer's notebook. "So, I can't remember. Limo or car to Foxy?"

Spencer rolled her pencil between her fingers. "Um, car, I guess."

It was a tough one. Normally, Promzilla that she was, Spencer always insisted on a limo. And she wanted her family to think she was taking tomorrow's date with Andrew seriously. Only, she felt so tired. Having a brand-new boyfriend was wonderful, but it was tough to try to see him and remain Rosewood Day's most ambitious student. Last night, she'd done homework until 2:30 A.M. She'd fallen asleep this morning at toga—after Aria had so bizarrely run out. Maybe Spencer should have mentioned her note from A, but Aria bolted before she could. She'd dozed off again in study hall. Maybe she could go to the nurse's office and sleep on the little cot for a bit?

Andrew didn't have time to ask any more questions. Mr. McAdam had given up on his battle with the overhead projector—it happened every class—and was now standing at the board. "I'm looking forward to reading everyone's essay questions on Monday," he boomed. "And I have a surprise. If you can e-mail your essays to me by tomorrow, you'll get five points extra credit to reward you for beginning them early.

Spencer blinked puzzled. She pulled out her Sidekick and checked the date. When had it become Friday? She scrolled to Monday. There it was. Econ essays due.

She hadn't started on them. She hadn't even thought about them. After the credit card fiasco Tuesday, Spencer had meant to get McAdam's supplemental books at the library. Except then Wren happened, but the B minus didn't matter as much. Nothing did.

She'd spent Wednesday night at Wren's house. Yesterday, after sneaking into school after third period, she ditched hockey and sneak into Philly again, taking SEPTA this time instead of driving, because she figured it would be quicker. Except...her train stalled. By the time she got into Thirtieth Street station, she only had forty-five minutes before she had ti turn around to get home for dinner. So Wren had met her there and they'd made out on a secluded bench behind the concourse's flower stand, emerging flushed with kisses and smelling like lilacs.

She noticed that the first ten cantos of The Inferno translated for Italian VI were also due Monday. And a three-page English paper on Plato. A calculus exam. Auditions for The Tempest, Rosewood Day's first play of the year, were Monday. She put her head on her desk.

"Ms. Hastings?"

Started, Spencer looked up. The bell had rung, everyone else had filed out, and she was alone Squidward stood over her. "Sorry to wake you," he said icily.

"No...I really wasn't..." Spencer mustered, gathering up her things. But it was too late. Squidward was already erasing notes off the board. She noticed he was slowly shaking his head, as if she were hopeless.

"All right," Spencer whispered. She was sitting at her computer, books and papers around her. Slowly, she mouthed the first question again.

Explain Adam Smith's concept of an "invisible hand" in a laissez-faire economy, and give a modern-day example.

Okaaay.

Normally, Spencer would have read the AP econ assignment and Adam Smith's book cover to cover, marked the appropriate pages, and made an outline for the answer. But she hadn't. She had no idea what laissez-faire even meant. Was it something to do with supply and demand? What was invisible about it? She typed a few keys words in Wikipedia, but the theories were complex and unfamiliar. So were her pages of class notes; she didn't remember writing ant of them down.

She'd slaved over school for eleven long, arduous years—twelve, if you counted Montessori school before kindergarten. Just this once, couldn't she write some lame, B-minus paper and make up the grade later in the semester?