𝐅𝐀𝐖𝐍 • ᵉ ʲᵃᵉᵍᵉʳ

never fail

𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚢, 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝟷𝟻𝚝𝚑

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋,
casting long shadows across the rows of seats. The room is cool, the hum of the air conditioning mingling with the quiet rustling of notebooks and the tapping of pens. My stomach churns as I take my seat in the middle row, a few seats away from anyone else. I've been sitting here for most of the semester, alone, as always. I haven't really made any friends in this class. Psychology is supposed to be my thing, my field, the one area I should be thriving in—but right now, it just feels like a waiting game. The kind of game where you hold your breath and hope you're not about to drown.

Mr. Ackerman is already standing at the front, his usual casual demeanor settling in as he begins his lecture. He speaks with that dry tone that always makes me feel like he's half-lecturing, half-bored. I can't blame him. He's been teaching for years. But today, his voice seems distant, floating in and out of my consciousness. The only thing on my mind is the envelope that's waiting for me.

The two exams I took on May 1st—my 9 a.m. intro to psych exam and my afternoon exam, a cumulative test on all we'd learned so far—are both waiting for me to pick them up after class. Those grades will determine whether I get to breathe easy or if I'm going to be stuck in limbo, re-taking freshman year, caught in a cycle I can't afford.

I glance around, hoping no one notices how I keep my eyes on the clock, willing it to tick by faster. My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I quickly silence it, not wanting to get distracted, but the temptation to check is overwhelming. I'm already spiraling, and I can feel that familiar knot tightening in my chest.

The room is mostly filled with upperclassmen who are here for the same reason, and it's hard not to notice how out of place I feel. I'm barely getting by in this class, and I can't help but wonder if anyone else is struggling the way I am. I'm surrounded by people who don't know what it's like to be at the edge, to be one grade away from everything unraveling. No one else seems to be bothered by the weight of their own exams. For them, this is just another day in college.

I absentmindedly scribble a few notes, anything to keep my hands busy. The words on the page blur in front of me, like the lecture is happening in a distant reality that I can't seem to reach. I keep thinking back to the exams. The morning exam was manageable, but the 4 p.m. one... that one was a nightmare. The questions were so specific, so detailed, I could feel my confidence drain as I stared at the paper. It was as if the whole year's worth of material was crammed into that one test, and I could only recall fragments.

My breath catches when I hear Mr. Ackerman mention we'll be receiving our grades soon. I can't focus anymore. The world outside the lecture hall feels like a blur.

"Alright, everyone," Mr. Ackerman says, his voice cutting through my thoughts. "The exams you took on May 1st will be handed back today. I know some of you are eager to know how you did, and I promise, we'll get to that in just a few minutes. Before that, I'd like to quickly review the next topic for this week's class."

I'm barely listening anymore. My heart is pounding in my ears. It's not like I expect anything extraordinary from these grades. But I can't help but hope—just this once—that I'll pull through. That somehow, all the sleepless nights, all the hours spent trying to cram information into my head, will add up to something good. I can't shake the thought that if I fail, it will be another reminder of how I never quite fit in, never quite found the balance.