What I Should Have Done ✓

Chapter 16

Finally, the midterm for The Early Republic rolled around. After this midterm, I would only have a Spanish test left at the latest possible date, the Monday before Thanksgiving. I had already taken biology (which I had passed with a 92, but had busted my butt for it, too—at least it would get me that obnoxious science credit) and social psychology (to which I hadn't received the grade yet, but had an okay feeling).

I had been studying for The Early Republic for weeks now, gone through all of my notes from class, reread the passages from the readings Professor Wolf had alluded were important, and exchanged study questions with another girl whom I knew from Spanish last year. The exam was bound to be excruciating and I was not planning on getting a B. I needed the grade. I had suggested another study group to John, of course, but he must have had an off day for some reason, because he had somewhat coarsely apologized and said he studied better alone. Suit yourself, but boy, you need me.

The day of the exam, we didn't speak much before class, both seizing the last few minutes before the test and mentally rehearsing the Founding Fathers' bios, significant quotes from the Federalist Papers, and the different meanings of the concept of 'the people' during the War of Independence. The exam was hard, some might say nearly impossible, but I had expected as much. Professor Wolf hadn't obtained his tough reputation for giving out candy during tests. But my intense studying paid off. I needed to know facts and figures off the top of my head without having to rummage in the dusty corners of my memory for them.

When the professor commanded us to set down our pens, I had barely finished putting my last thought to paper. Whereas I first took a minute to breathe, then leaned over to my study partner and asked her how it had gone, John all but vanished into thin air without a word right when the exam ended. I got it, my brain was fried, too.

Afterwards, I headed to Jessica's room. She was still in class, but we had made plans to go to dinner together later. Chewing on a granola bar to stabilize my blood sugar after this intense 80 minutes, I answered a text from Liam asking how the exam had gone. Then I silenced my phone and pulled up my grade overview on my laptop. Would social psych be there now?

Biology, 92.

Social psychology... 79?

—79? My stomach tightened into a solid, immovable boulder in the pit of my stomach. This can't be right. Hellish heat and icy cold flushed through my body at the same time. A C+? I was taking rapid, deep breaths that I attempted to slow so I wouldn't hyperventilate. I didn't get Cs. As in, ever. There had to have been a mistake when entering the grade. Yes, that was it. A mistake. A simple error. I would go by the professor's office and right this wrong immediately. He would notice the mishap and we would both laugh about it. And then he would correct the number in the system and the bile in my throat would subside alongside my nausea.

***

Twenty minutes later, I sat upright in the semi-comfortable chair with the rough gray olefin upholstering characteristic to visitor or waiting hall chairs. Professor Fernández was flipping through a thick binder to find my exam. He was a middle-aged man of Mexican descent, a first-generation American who had worked his way up from the streets of South Chicago all the way to the Ivy League and from his father's 50-hour welding job to a tenured professorship at an esteemed liberal arts college. I admired him in more ways than one, which was why what he said next hit me so hard.

"I'm sorry, Grace." He carefully removed the stapled pages with my handwriting from the rings. "I know this isn't the grade you were looking for, but I'm afraid there has not been a mix-up. Here, take all the time you need to go through it and feel free to ask me if anything's unclear."

I accepted the paper and scanned my answers. Some were entirely correct, but a lot of them were only half-right. The comments in red ink on the side screeched 'elaborate' or 'draw connections' or one time even 'wrong author'. My stomach dropped. I couldn't believe it. I had known all of this stuff when I had taken the exam. I still knew it now. Why hadn't I written it down? Had I been lazy with writing? Had I not studied enough to know everything off the top of my head? Had I been out of focus?