Why Me?

Chapter 1: Results Day

"Please, please, please!" I pleaded mentally to no one in particular. Clutched close to my chest was a brown envelope, flat and smooth and practically smelling of cold judgement. It also happened to contain three letters that controlled the direction of my future. Judging by the sense of nausea that was building in my stomach as I scanned the room, those letters ranged from A to U for most of my classmates.

I stared at the name at the front of the envelope that assured me that this was no mistake: Esme Maron, Year 12.

I just hoped that that would one day become Esme Maron, BA and not Esme Maron, DOA.

I tore the envelope open. The conversations of those around me began to fade into a dull buzz as I searched for what I was looking for.

AS-Level Results - Esme Maron

Art - A

English Literature - A

Mathematics - B

I must have been holding my breath without realising as I took in all the oxygen I physically could in that moment.

I did it.

"Come on, say it! How did you do?" In the few seconds between my inhale and exhale of epic proportions, Aviva had floated towards me. She was beaming as she scanned my results, evidently pleased with her own.

"That's amazing. Like, my dream results amazing. Well done, Esme." said Aviva, her hands placed over her turban dramatically. She shook her head as she looked at me in wonderment. "Mashallah..."

She had moved away, called over by someone else. I began to make my way to the toilets before I was to head home when I was stopped in my tracks-

"Esme! ESME!" I turned on my heel. It was T (short for Thien, but no one could pronounce it the Vietnamese way). He was brandishing a piece of paper at me from across the corridor. "Party at mine, tonight! 7pm! You better be there fam, I'll finesse your maths notes if we don't link up!" I chuckled, waving as he ran back to his group of friends, half of which looked elated while the other half were in tears.

"I'll try!"

And this time, I genuinely would.

***

Ugh. Why was getting dressed so difficult? Clothing oneself shouldn't require the decision-making skills of a rocket scientist, I thought, as I slipped on a black suede dress for the third consecutive time and examined myself in the mirror. The dress itself was flattering: a long-sleeved, low-cut, figure-hugging number that accentuated all the right places. My hair (which I had dyed a questionable shade of navy over the summer) looked dark and silky as it reached my shoulders, and my unquestionably European cheekbones framed the look. The power of makeup. Lacking any effort to change into a cheerier hue, I secured the buckle on my heels (four inches for extra height) and trudged down the stairs, shouting a quick "au revoir!" to no one in particular.

Cam, Aviva and Mae were picking me up in Cam's new car from the street corner. I trudged to the end of my road, responding to the "we're here!" text with an apology. Pulling open the door to the ridiculously red Fiat, I slid in next to Mae, whose afro was styled with small flowers that matched her skirt.

"Hey guys, sorry you had to wait." I announced over Ariana Grande's newest song. "Four-inch heels."

"You should be sorry, what time do you call this?" said Mae, laughing as Cam accelerated.

"We'll forgive you for today, Esme. You're leaving your house! You're coming to a party! You're wearing coloured eyeshadow!" Cam teased.

"Silver doesn't count as a colour." I replied, struggling to get Cam to hear me over Ariana and Aviva's unscheduled duet.