Breaking Point

High Expectations

Ana

~~~~~

My eyes tear up as Mrs. Milo hands me my test, decorated with my death sentence: a red F circled and underlined in the top corner of my paper. No, I think in horror. I mean, I knew that I had done terribly on this test: I mean, who understands vectors and ambiguous cases in triangles? But this level of failure was unexpected. This was the epitome of failures. The final nail in my steadily forming casket.

"Mrs. Milo..." I begin to protest, pink splotches of humiliation staining my cheeks.

"I'm sorry Ana, but everyone else did exceptionally well on this test. I can't show you favoritism. Your grade is final." I look down at my feet in shame. As soon as Mrs. Milo turns to resume returning papers, I crumple up my test and shove it deep inside my backpack. It's futile, of course- my mom can and probably already has checked my grades online. No doubt she already knows what a terrible failure I am and is waiting at home to chew me out.

As Mrs. Milo finishes handing out the papers, I look around the classroom. Most of the students are high fiving each other and flaunting their test scores. I, on the other hand, am clenching my hands into fists underneath my thighs and trying very hard to be invisible.

What seems like an eternity later, the bell rings, signifying the end of the school day. I gather my books and dump them into my bag, wincing at the crunching sound that's made when they land on my balled up test.

Walking to my locker, I sigh as I see-at the most inopportune time-my brother Jay, leaning against his locker and chatting casually with his girlfriend, Darby. I grimace as she shakes her blonde curls out of her eyes and bats her eyelashes at him.

I don't have a good reason for hating Darby. She's kind and pretty, and she's a good girl for my brother. I just hate her because she's just like my brother in the worst way-she's better than me. They both have perfect 4.5 grade point averages and the right interests and senses of style, in Darby's case, to make them popular. And then here I am, little Ana Elwes, struggling to keep a 2.5 gpa and proving that wearing an overcoat over a hoodie is definitely not a fashion statement.

"Hey Ana," Jay says, turning away from Darby and towards me as I approach my locker, which unfortunately, due to the lockers being organized in alphabetical order, is right next to his. "How'd that test go?"

I glare at him, effectively shutting him up. "Don't ask," I grumble, grabbing everything I need from my locker as fast as I possibly can and shutting it with a slam.

"Ana..." He tries to scold, but I'm already walking away. As I near the school's exit, I hear Darby ask him, "What's wrong with her?"

I don't stick around to hear his answer.

As I pull open the door, a gust of chilly wind attacks me, sending the papers I'm clutching spiraling into the air. A boy leaning against the school wall smoking a cigarette notices my predicament and rushes over to help me pick them up. He keeps his cigarette clenched in the corner of his mouth as he gathers up the papers that have flown away, inhaling and sending a stream of smoke out of his nose as he hands them to me.

"Thanks," I mumble, abruptly walking past him. I wasn't in the mood to stick around and chitchat.

I open the trunk of my brother's car and dump all of my stuff in it, shifting through the unorganized, miscellaneous pile to find my oversized wool coat and plaid scarf. I loop the scarf around my neck before shoving my arms into the sleeves of my beloved raggedy coat, taking the time to button all ten of the buttons before climbing into the driver's seat of the car. Since my brother has football practice right after school, I can use his car to drive home.

I speed out of my parking space, only to slam on my brakes as the cigarette-smoking boy scurries behind the car, narrowly avoiding being hit. I beep my horn furiously, glaring at him in my rearview mirror. Ignoring me, he stoops down to pick up a black duffel bag, which he dropped when I nearly ran him over. Funny, I hadn't noticed the duffel bag when he had helped me earlier. He must have gotten it after I'd walked away.

After the boy is a safe distance away from the car, I pull out of the parking lot and head for home. I consider turning on the radio, but rule against it. I'm not in the mood for music. As I'm driving, I notice a Burger King on the side of the road. I haven't been eating much lately-stress and bad body image will do that to you- but I'm in a crappy, binging mood. I pull up to the drive thru window and order two cheeseburgers, two large French fries, and an extra large Coke. I stuff my face as I drive, licking the salt and grease off my fingers and feeling very guilty and ashamed of my lack of self control. The usual self destructive thought spins on repeat in my head:

"What would mother say?"

I pull into the driveway of our luxurious house, crumpling up my fast food bag and shoving it under the seat. My mother, Evelyn Elwes, is a highly esteemed lawyer whose expectations of her children are very particular. If she caught me eating junk food, my punishment would equal that of what I'm about to face now for failing my Trig test.

As I walk in the door, slurping my large soda (which I can get away with if I tell her it's tea) I catch a glimpse of my mother arguing heatedly on the phone with her client.

Great. She's in a bad mood. I can only hope she doesn't know about the test grade yet.

I sit on a stool at the kitchen counter, drinking my soda. I'm so nervous I can barely taste it, though it's usually sweet and bubbly and comforting.

I hear my mother hang up and slam the phone down on her desk. Her heels click against the marble floor as she stomps into the kitchen, her face quickly shifting from angry to unspeakably angry as she sees me.

"We need to talk young lady," she snarls, pointing an intimidating finger at me. I don't think I've seen her this angry since she divorced my dad five years ago. My fast food binge turns into a heavy rock in my stomach, and my soda burns in the back of my throat like acid.

"Mom..." I attempt to explain, but she quickly cuts me off.

"Now is not a good time to break my rules, Ana," she warns me, putting a hand on her hip. I quickly realize my mistake.

"I mean, Evelyn," I try again. My mother expects me and Jay to call her by her real name because she wants us to feel like we are her equal. You're entitled to the world, if you reach out and grab it, is one of her favorite sayings on the matter. "I know my grades aren't up to par right now..."

"Aren't up to par!?!" Evelyn interrupts shrilly, her face turning red with fury, "Ana Lynn Elwes, YOU'RE FAILING TWO SUBJECTS!"

I gulp, shrinking back against the counter, "I just don't understand the material..."

"THE HELL YOU DON'T!" She screams, a vein bulging in her forehead. "If your brother could do it, then you are fully capable of doing it. You are not to leave your room until you have an A! Are we clear?" I nod, a single tear dripping down my face.

"Yes," I whisper.

She nods, her face red and determined. "Good," she says. I stare down at the floor as she turns away from me. I hear the clicking of her heels growing farther away as she returns to her office to continue yelling at her client. I trudge up the stairs, book bag in tow, and walk into my room, shutting and locking my door behind me.