Young Writers Society

Theorem (the:o:rem)
n. An idea that has been demonstrated as true or is assumed to be so demonstrable.

I can find no ways that theorems apply to life. The fact is, practically nothing can always be true, 100% of the time. Yes, a triangle’s sides are always 180 degrees - that’s a theorem - but are there theorems for our actual lives?
Only a few hours ago I’d considered the Adam-Summer Theorem. By definition, the Adam-Summer theorem is the belief that I, Summer Jane-Alexandra-Katharina Maybe, could somehow keep the relationship status between me and Adam Knight lasting forever…or a least more than a week. Now I’d comprised a new Summer-Adam Theorem, the more likely conclusion that we will never work out, and that even our friendship had collapsed within a matter of some 48 hours.
This is why I hate math.
Of course, this whole thought train was powered by my newfound hatred towards Adam and my eternally negative relationship between math and I. And maybe it was also powered by the things I heard downstairs, my parents’ words echoing off of the vaulted ceiling.
“She doesn’t even know her basic algebra!” I heard Dad say. “How’s she supposed to pass geometry if she can’t even understand last year’s algebra?”
My mom’s voice was no more sympathetic, and probably twice as critical. “Summer’s never been good at math. If she fails this semester she’ll have to face summer school or get held back in the class, and she’s too stubborn to admit it. But her tutor’s pretty much pulling her hair out trying to get her to understand.”
Dad gave a grumble of agreement, and I heard the shuffling of newspaper sheets as he decided to drop the topic and search for the Sports section. Mom’s coffeemaker made gurgling sounds and I could smell the bitter black liquid from my room. These conversations were the lamenting of the disappointment I bestowed on them. You know, I’ll never understand the pity given to those with parents of low-paying jobs; honestly, I sometimes dream of a life where my dad drives a dump truck and my mom works 9 to 5 in one of those crammed office cubicles. Really, a governor for a dad and a heart surgeon for a mom just isn’t fair for a straight-C student like me. Maybe in another house my C’s would be celebrated. Around here, an A was expected, a B accepted, a C disappointing, and a D or lower the reason for cruel and unusual punishment.
I heard the off-beat footsteps of my brother pound up the steps and across the hall, followed by the jimmying of my doorknob from the other side. “Summy!” he whined. “Summy, let me in!”
The four-year-old Einstein is the expected result of my parents; he can do long division, provide electricity with the use of his potato-powered fan, and enjoys chemistry the way I enjoy daydreaming. I have nothing against Donny, I love the kid, but having him in the room solving problems in his head while I struggle with them on paper is morally deteriorating. “Donovan Michael Maybe, stay out of my room!” I groaned.
“Summer, be nice to your brother!” my mom called from the dining room. “And Donny, sweetie, leave your sister alone, she’s trying to study.”
I think I heard the bounce of his mouse-brown hair flopping onto his forehead with each step as he walked away, clamoring to the basement where he conducted experiments that could leave even high-awarded physicists scratching their heads. I got back to my own work. Theorem 3-5...
Suddenly there was a knock. I spun my chair towards the direction of the door again, but with another knock I realized that the sound came from the window this time. Outside the rain was streaming down from the dark sky, icy from the November weather but not cold enough to be hail or snow yet, and not loud enough to knock the window. My hands worked to lift the old window, spindly fingers good for piano and not much else. Finally the window gave a couple inches, and only a second later something was thrown from the darkness below.
I yelped and swallowed a dirty word that almost jumped out of my throat, but reached out the window to let the object that had hit my window land on my palm. Pulling in my arm, already dripping wet with rain, I clutched a dark and muddy rock. I banged the edge of the windowsill until it opened wider, then peered out into the abyss of night. Whatever vision wasn’t lost in the darkness was lost in the rain, but whoever was down there could obviously see me. I heard the crunch of the gravel below, pants that could almost be mistaken for a dog’s, and could almost sense the movement of someone pacing, back and forth, looking up, seeing me. The footsteps stopped.
“Hello?” I called out, hoping my voice was quiet enough to not travel downstairs. “Who’s there?” A thought sprung to my head. “Is that you, Adam? Because if it is I swear I’ll kill you.”
“Summer!” It was Adam’s voice, alright, but he didn’t sound irritated or amused. He sounded…terrified? He called my name again, but it was cut off in a brisk second. Then there was quiet.
Suddenly, I got the sensation of being alone.
Not just alone in my room, or alone from the person or people outside. Alone from the world, miles away from any security or hope, worlds away from the comforts of my bed, a universe between me and my family. An eternity from life itself.
I involuntarily rubbed the goosebumps from my arms, and I strained to shut the window again. Blinking, I turned to see that nothing had changed. There was my room, its warm white carpet cuddling my toes, the forest-scented wooden walls around me covered with posters and pictures, sketches of mine still bordering my dresser mirror, where I saw the reflection of my pale and frightened self. I smelled my mom’s horrible coffee wafting from downstairs. Wow, I feel stupid… At least I tried to tell myself I did. Yeah, the whole idea was very stupid. That could’ve been anybody out there; heck, it could’ve even just been the neighbor’s mutt! It was weird that rocks had been hitting my window and that I’d managed to catch one in the palm of my hand, but maybe they’d been ones I’d tossed up onto the roof that had landed in the gutter and been pushed out by the endless rain. But Adam’s voice…well, maybe he’d been trying to scare me. This all made perfect sense, I assured myself.
The rock was still in my hand, my fingers sticky with the fresh and oozing mud and little pieces of moss. I put it on my desk absentmindedly and walked into the bathroom connected to my bedroom. The sink swirled with the silt and dirt that came off, as did a little red. Another look at my hand revealed that yes, there was blood, in some small quantity. I scanned the planes of my skin for any open bruises or peeled scabs to no avail. Another look at my red-stained hand: maybe it would be a good idea to call Adam.
With a groan I remembered that my phone had been confiscated for yesterday’s D on the quiz. The best I could do was try to e-mail him, and pray that I’d at least catch a glimpse of him at school. I hated his guts, but a small impulse in my head made my insides turn. I e-mailed the single question Where are you? through the computer, and blushed when I wondered how he’d respond to that. We’d been friends all our lives, but with things so tense, it seemed like a weird move to make. He wasn’t too far away…I could walk to his house in twenty minutes, if I jogged a bit…
“Summer, come down here!” my mom called. As usual, her voice was tainted with a hint of concern. My dad and I always teased that she could worry about anything - the impact her horoscope would have on her day, the way Donny always seemed to have the hiccups, or the fact that it had taken the school bus two extra minutes to drop me off last Monday. Yet now that I was already on edge, I honestly think I zoomed down the stairs. “What is it, Mum?”
She was holding the phone in her hand, talking in a low voice to the person on the other end of the line. “One second,” I heard her say to the person on the other end. “Yeah, she’s here.”
Now I was really worried. “Mom?”
She turned to me, her face clouded with sympathy that was normally spared for her patients. “Summer, have you seen Adam lately?”
“I--” It was hard to say. Had I? It depended on whether or not he’d been the one outside my window or not, calling me from the dark. “I guess so,” I finally managed to say.
“Well,” Mom said softly. “Something’s happened. Adam’s mom had been asleep when she’d heard noises coming from the kitchen, said it sounded like a fight. When she went downstairs…Adam was gone, the door was wide open, and there was a bloody handprint near the doorway. We can‘t be sure, but…”
A second seemed to be an hour. I think I saw the wall’s paint fade in the time that passed. She sighed. Finally, “--we think it was because of you.”

I like your cliffhanger. I can really sympathize with your character. Although I am confused as to where she got the bloody rock from and what the whole scene with the window was about. I suppose you'll explain in later chapters? I like the way your story flows and your character's names, but they seem kind of long. "I yelped and swallowed a dirty word that almost jumped out of my throat, and reached my other hand to catch what had knocked against the glass as it began to fall." I think this sentence has too many ands in it. You can just put a comma between the words yelped and swallowed and still make the sentence work. The ands sound awkward.

Okay, it is CardDragon here for suggestions.
Take no offense to what I am about to say.
Sometimes it is best to leave cliffhangers towards the end of the book. Still this is your book.
You might want to go into a outline of what Adam really did. ( I still do not know why she hates math because of Adam). In stories you may want to make everything clear for the reader to understand. With that said, you still do not have to give away the entire plot of the story. To add emphasis on the story you may want to add a prologue, in the perspective of Adam.
Well that is all my suggestions (meaning you do not have to listen to me) in a bag of chips.
CardDragon.