The corridors between classes are ridiculously long, and oddly dark, and fucking crowded.
It doesn't actually hit me until I'm rushing away from math class and it feels like the walls are closing in on me. Feels like the crowd is pressing closer to me than it ever has before.
I feel sticky, uncomfortable. I can't breathe.
The red 42% stares up at me from the test paper gripped in my hands, right next to a bold red F.
It's so bright even though it's dark.
My ears are ringing amidst stinging eyes.
I kind of feel like I'm going to throw up, so I find myself pushing through the hot, sweaty crowd and bursting through a door into the stark fluorescent lighting of a bathroom.
The past few days have been a strong reminder to me that the world is constantly turning.
A deep reminder that life is like a constant surprise party, seeing how much you can take. I don't like surprise parties.
Especially not when the surprise is that you failed a fucking math test.
The door swings shut behind me, noise fading.
Somehow the tears still don't come through.
And then, out in the corridors and muffled through the wood door, I hear the bell ring.
Luckily this is my free period. Otherwise I'd be so screwed. My dad gave me one piece of advice before sending me here: don't skip a class. I hadn't, yet. There's still time.
That time does not come today.
I lean against bleach white tiles, breathing in as I count to five and then releasing an exhale.
Until my phone buzzes, spiking my heart rate once more.
doppelgänger: where are you?
I type, re-type, and then just delete everything.
I know he's probably staring at the screen, panicking that I had suddenly decided not to respond.
me: busy. failed a math test.
doppelgänger: do you need anything?
I breathe again, letting my eyes flicker closed.
If I'm being completely honest, I want to say a hug. I just want a hug. Warm, comforting, supportive. But I don't tell Ollie that.
me: nah i'm okay. see you in english.
He replies almost immediately, as he does.
doppelgänger: alright.
My breathing has slowed, mostly, and my lung function has returned to normal. But I can still feel my heart twisting like it's going to break.
Would it really be so bad to skip a class?
But I don't entertain that thought very long, instead letting my eyes fall to my test.
There are so many marks, so many errors. And to make it worse, all of them are in an overly-bright overly-bold red marker.
I scan the questions but I don't understand.
I've never been good at math but it's never gotten this bad.
"Fuck." I whisper yell. "Fuck."
I wonder how I'm going to fix this one. If I even can fix this one. Perhaps I'm finally encountered a hole that I can't dig my way out of.
I find myself on the floor as I balance my head on my knees. And I sit there like that for forty minutes, almost the whole period.
••••
I walk into the English classroom, my eyes red and my nose slightly runny.
I walk up to the desk where Ollie sits in the front, plopping myself down in the chair next to him and removing my textbook from my book bag.
"Dude, are you okay?" He questions.
"Yep." I sniffle. "Yep. Yep yep yep." At this point it's more like I'm trying to convince myself and less like I'm trying to convince him.
But as he opens his mouth, the bell rings.
"Okay class, please open your books to page 118." Ms. Piper instructs us.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ollie looking at me. It's almost like he's searching for some kind of sign that I'm not feeling it, that I need a hug. I do. I really do. Please hug me.
"I'm fine." I whisper to him.
I hope that answer pleases him but I don't think it does because throughout class he continues to casually looks at me.
That answer doesn't please me either. I'm not fine.
But I just bury myself in my work, bury myself in the next essay and the next pretentious words to use.
All the while, I hold back tears.
