Like To Be You ✓

fifty

Shawn Mendes ft. Julia Michaels—Like To Be You

o-o-o

The entire class is whispering amongst itself when I enter. For a moment, I halt, praying that they're not talking about me. Then I remember that there's a lot of stuff that comes in the specifics under my name, namely⁠—6'0", hella gay, and the other dude who was nearly killed by a sex-trafficking-psychopath.

The other dude who was nearly killed by a sex-trafficking-psychopath, apart from Crowne Heights High's all-rounder boy, Tyler Beckett, who's currently waiting for me at his seat, his pens neatly arranged in a row on his desk.

"Last school exam, Neil." He says excitedly when I come to a stop beside him, his smile eerily resembling that of Darla's from Finding Nemo. He's been extra bubbly since receiving his acceptance from Stanford, so I can't really blame him.

"Yeah," I say blandly, "So exciting."

"You didn't sleep, did you?" He peers at me inquisitively, his lips pressed in concern.

"Well, someone had to complete the syllabus." I say dryly, offering an eye-roll.

He reaches out for my hand and squeezes it. "You'll do amazing, don't worry."

"Yeah, yeah." I sigh, pulling my hand out of his when I spot my designated seat. "Good luck." I say and continue my way.

Tyler's encouraging words are completely of no use, because I'm full-blown panicking when Blackwell distributes the question papers, because I know my paper's going to suck and MIT—God, I still can't believe I got in—will probably rescind its offer and then I'll be left college-less and as a result, unsuccessful in life and—

Mr Blackwell's hand comes down on my shoulder as he places the paper on my desk. He gives me a small smile, squeezes my shoulder, and moves on to the next table.

It's easier than I expected. Far, far easier. I finish the paper within two hours, and when I look up, I find the remaining class still hunched over their desks, hurriedly writing. Blackwell notices my frown and winks, then continues invigilating. I go over my paper again and search for any missing pages or questions, but every thing is as expected. When I glance up again, Tyler's frowning this time. He meets my eyes, a question mark on both of our faces. We blink away when Blackwell tuts.

"Eyes on your own papers, please." My cheeks flush as I lock my gaze on my answer sheet.

An hour later, the bell rings. Tyler meets my eyes from across the room again and smiles brightly. Blackwell begins collecting the papers, sighing at kids asking for another minute. When he reaches me, he snatches my question paper up along with the answer booklet.

"What⁠—?" My mouth hangs open stupidly.

"Neil, Tyler. No, not you, the other one. Beckett. Tyler Beckett." Mr Blackwell says over the chaos. "Stay back for a few minutes. I want to talk to the both of you."

Eyes turn to us, before quickly steering away.

"Dude, what was the answer to the thirtieth question? The building one?" A dude asks me.

"I⁠—I don't remember." What fucking building, I question myself, panic seizing me. Did I miss a question? The dude sighs dejectedly and joins the rest of the class as it empties, leaving nothing but silence behind. Tyler and I huddle together beside Blackwell's desk, wrestling our thumbs behind our backs.

"How are the both of you doing?" Blackwell looks up from the papers, peering at us with his sharp brown eyes. I squeeze Tyler's thumb.

"Good." We say in unison.