Stars in Your Eyes (Queen/Roger Taylor)

20. Skylar

"This is bloody ridiculous."

Timothy rolls his eyes dramatically as he looks around the crowded hallway. It's surprisingly rowdy considering we're all medical geeks. Everyone is jostling for space in front a small wooden corkboard that's affixed to the wall in the medical school's main building. The air is thick with anticipation and stress.

An office door opens, and the dean's secretary walks out with a piece of paper in her hand. Ignoring the hullabaloo, she walks primly to the bulletin board and affixes the coveted list there. Then, as the crowd starts to close in on her, she ducks under a student's arm and hightails it back to the safety of her desk.

"This reminds me of when I auditioned for my high school production of Guys and Dolls. We all waited outside the drama room to see who got the part." As the words leave my mouth, a fellow student runs into me, pushing me roughly into Timothy's back.

"You're so unbelievably American sometimes," he says over his shoulder as he peers above the crowd. "Did you get it?"

"Get what?" I'm jostled once again and, this time, almost lose my footing.

"The part. In Guys and Dolls."

"No," I reply as Timothy takes advantage of his large frame to elbow his way closer. "Suzie Jennings did, that bitch. She then went on to win homecoming queen, so I suppose I never stood a chance."

He bursts out laughing as he grabs my elbow to navigate us through the scrum. Around us are gasps of joy and chokes of despair as the people in front of the bulletin board study the exam results. Timothy is right, this is ridiculous. These results are the culmination of years of work and will make or break our careers. And yet we're forced to discover our results in public, just like the high school casting call so many years ago.

"Can you see anything?"

"You're taller, can you see anything?" I stand on my tiptoes, hoping against all hopes that I'll see SKYLAR ANNE EVANS written in a bold, extra-large font that's visible even from back here.

"It's not like you have anything to worry about," Timothy continues. "You were what, first in our class? Second?"

I shrug as if I have no earthly idea where I ranked amongst my fellow students. Timothy rolls his eyes again, pulling his arm around my shoulders as we continue to make our way to the front of the fray.

"Ever so humble, Skylar. That's why I love you."

Finally, we're close enough to make out the names on the list. I squint, running my gaze down the surnames. Spotting mine, my body sags with relief and, beside me, Timothy grins widely as he sees his name on the list. We turn to wrap our arms around each other, jumping up and down like fools. It's utter pandemonium in the hallway, the relieved laughter bouncing off the ancient walls of the medical school.

"This calls for a drink, Dr. Evans," Timothy says, offering me his arm so that we can escape the scrum.

"It's 9 in the morning, Dr. Peterson," I point out. "It has to be at least 11 before I start drinking."

"Sure, sure," he replies. "You just want to run home to ring your mystery boyfriend... if he even exists."

"He exists," I respond, playfully shoving him.

"And yet we know nothing about him. The only evidence that he exists is that Katherine saw you snogging someone outside the hospital. But that could have been anyone, you tart."

"Fair point," I concede, admitting nothing more. I like to keep my personal life just that: personal. No doubt there are a thousand women out there who would be shouting from the rooftops that they're shagging Roger Taylor, drummer of Queen. And there are quite a few women who can brag that they indeed have. But I'm not quite ready for that. I have enough trouble with people taking me seriously; I don't need them thinking that I'm a glorified groupie.