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CHAPTER TEN Way Down We Go
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BEFORE WRITING ANY sort of evaluation—whether that be an exam, a test, or even a simple quiz—Cecelia always took a Xanax, drank an entire bottle of water, and went to the bathroom just in case she threw up. She didn't know why, but the thought of sitting down at a desk for ninety minutes and having to regurgitate her knowledge by memory always made her gut churn like a raging sea, her anxiety flaring up at its highest. In fact, in recent years it had gotten so bad that she'd been granted an IEP—an Individualized Education Plan. This allowed her more time to write her evaluations (at least half an hour, but often more), and, if she needed to, work in Midtown Tech's Sensory Room.
Back in middle school, this had led to a lot of vicious nicknames—most were a crueller variation of 'Special Ed', as if there was anything wrong with being neurodivergent—but now, the majority of her classmates had finally realized that her brain just worked differently than theirs.
Now, Cecelia was better at managing her test-related anxiety—although she still often needed a little more time than anyone else, her visits to the Sensory Room were few and far between—but that didn't mean things were perfect. People often asked her why she'd chosen to join Academic Decathlon when evaluations were its main point, and she'd never been able to come up with a straight answer to that. The only thing she could say was that she didn't mind the practices. Knowing that everyone got things wrong there, and that she wouldn't be penalized for messing up, was a major comfort for her.
The competitions themselves, though, were a different story.
For the State Finals, Cecelia had spent the entire pre-event period throwing up into the bucket Mr. Harrington had wisely brought along. Fortunately, by the time she went on stage, she'd managed to get her head on mostly straight, pretending this was another practice. Sure, she messed up a few times—and nearly flubbed the easiest question she'd ever heard—but by convincing herself that those mistakes didn't matter, she managed to get through it.
This morning, Cecelia spent the twenty allotted minutes Mr. Harrington gave the team for breakfast with her head in her hands. Both Alex and Christine had tried to coax her out, offering her croissants and waffles, but she'd argued that she'd probably throw them up. She only emerged when Mr. Harrington announced that they were headed to the front of the hotel to wait for those who'd chosen to remain in their rooms. Even then, she spent the entire time with her eyes glued to her shoes.
I'm thankful I'm here, I'm thankful I'm here, she kept repeating, leaning gratefully on Alex's proffered arm. If the battle with Spider-Man had gone south last night, she could have missed the competition entirely.
Though, okay, that was sounding a little appealing right now.
"Okay, where's Peter?" Liz asked. Cecelia looked up so fast she practically gave herself whiplash. Her eyes darted around, doing a quick tally of the team. There was Cindy, Sally, Charles, Abe, Michelle... everyone was here, even Flash.
