𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: sometimes the greatest cause of anxiety is something you've built up in your head. luckily, your older brother's best friend happens to care enough to remind you that grades aren't everything.
𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: fluff, comfort, garte is not so great at parenting
𝐂𝐖: anxiety and general self-doubt
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you have to be perfect.
you have to.
this is something you've told yourself since you received your first report card as a young child. in one of those rare occurrences where you were graced with your father's presence, and after your older brother had gotten enough praises and approving smiles–finally, finally, he turned to you. you remember the look on his face when your tiny hands lifted up your hard work for him to see, and that same proud glint he had in his eyes when he gazed at garroth was directed at you.
somehow, that clicked something in your brain when you were barely half the height you were now. you had to be the smart one. not just the smart one. because your brothers were smart. very rarely did one of them end a semester with a c.
no, you had to be the smartest.
gifted and talented. honor society. a solid 4.0 gpa.
sometimes, you didn't even have to try to make good grades. you were just smart. it became who you were. who you are. it's what you're worth. every time you missed a point on even something small it would chip away at the perfectly polished podium you'd set yourself on. every time you got a good grade the podium grew, leaving you teetering on the top with no escape.
so why?
how is this possible?
you blink, swallowing thickly as you close your eyes. no, it must've read ninety-seven... not seventy. it's too early in the morning and your vision must have blurred.
when you open your eyes, you can feel the blood drain from your face when the numbers seven and zero glare up at you in that damning red ink.
seventy. seventy?!
that was practically a failing grade!
this isn't right. this isn't how it's supposed to go.
garroth is the one who is good at sports. vylad is artistic. zane is smart. but you're supposed to be the smartest.
you flex your hand next to the paper, swallowing the lump in your throat. the all-nighters you pulled, the dates you skipped, the tears you shed, and this is all you got from it? all of that was for this? the podium under your feet shifts, and you suddenly feel like you're about to fall.
you think you hear some collective complaints around the room. maybe you even catch a few curious looks in your direction to see what the "smart kid" got. all of it merely was like fuzz beyond your desk as you froze in place. not even the gentle rustling of your hair from the familiar boy behind you could get you to move.
