Unfortunately, I don’t get a chance to confront Gwendolynne before exams, because straightaway we’re launched mercilessly into our final revision period. Four days of study pass by like a whirlwind: a montage of cramming and late nights and far too many coffees.
I see Gwendolynne often, but at a distance, and usually insensible to the world because she’s studying.
Her being so ubiquitous is a little unusual, I must admit. During every other examination period over the past seven years, she’s spent most of her time shut up in her room. This time, though, she seems to be everywhere: the library, the courtyard, bolting down food in the canteen with her eyes glued to a book. Other times, I’ve caught her holding some sort of small black rectangular object, frowning at it. It’s not something I’ve seen before—I can only assume it’s some newfangled method of revision.
She’s omnipresent, both in physicality and within my mind. The woman I simultaneously want, and want to beat. It’s as though she’s been put on this earth purely to torment me.
I manage—just—to keep my distance. With the specter of examshanging over us, I tell myself that Gwendolynne is extremely stressed and needs to be left alone. Plus, I can’t trust that I’ll hold myself back from yanking her into my arms and kissing her, and never letting her go again.
On Monday morning, final examinations start in earnest, and all (well, most) of my thoughts about Gwendolynne are chased out of my mind. I’ve no time to brood, what with the examiners putting us through our paces.
A third of the exams are practical, involving wrangling dragons, or demonstrating suture patterns, or giving tablets to aggressive, fire-breathing chimeras (which are almost as difficult to give pills to as the common household cat). A third are oral, which means being stuck in a stuffy room with various associate professors who have affected perfect poker faces while flinging random, unrelated questions at us. And the last third are written, with the entire year sitting at rows of desks in the converted dining hall. It has had wards added to it so we can’t cheat by asking our familiars to look up the answers. Officials from the Magical Education Regulatory Authority prowl up and down the aisles, scanning for evidence of other enchantments.
Since my surname comes before hers in the alphabet, Gwendolynne is always seated behind me, one row back and three to the right.
It’s exceptionally distracting; I can’t even count how many times the back of my neck heats, as I wonder if she might be looking in my direction. Usually, my mind flits there momentarily before I’m able to focus once again on my work, but during one of the last exams—an internal medicine exam—I find myself unable to concentrate.
The words swim in front of my eyes, the small black text blurring together. With one finger, I push my glasses up—the hall is stifling, the bridge of my nose sweaty—and utter a curse beneath my breath.
Outline the etiology and pathophysiology of hypertrophic cardiomyopathy in the common garden gremlin (CGG) and its effect on cardiac function.
I wonder if Gwendolynne is looking at me.
Explain how disease prevalence impacts the positive predictive value (PPV)andthe negative predictive value (NPV) of a diagnostic test.
I wonder if she’s thought about me much these past few days.
Describe, in detail, the physiological basis for fire breathing in the dragon. The use of a diagram is permitted in your answer.
I wonder if she’s thought much about the night we spent in Manchester, in her bed.
I wonder if she has, because I certainly have. Constantly.
After making a halfhearted attempt to scribble out an answer, I chance a glance over my shoulder at Gwendolynne. And I can’t quite believe it, because…
She’s looking right at me.
For a second she looks bewildered. Two red spots bloom on her cheeks, and she quickly ducks her head, staring hard at her page. A fraction too late, I turn away too, only to sneak another look a second later. She’s still staring—or glowering, rather—at her exam paper, now furiously chewing the end of her pen.
Gods above, she is adorable.
When we’re finally let out of the hall, I get swept along with the tide of students, feeling like an absurdly tall piece of driftwoodbeing buffeted about by the sea. There is laughing and chatting and cheering all around me—we have just finished our last-ever exam, after all—but my eyes are trained on the crowd, looking for Gwendolynne’s head of black hair. It must be my lucky day, because a moment later I spot her, weaving through the crowd toward me.
She’s frowning, her brow creased, murmuring something beneath her breath, so lost in her thoughts that she doesn’t see me until she’s almost collided with my chest.
“Oh,” she says, blinking up. Then her eyelids slide shut, as though she’s trying to wish me away. “Briggs.”
“Chan,” I say, trying to keep command over my voice. I’m in too much danger of sounding overenthusiastic. I have a plan, something I’ve been carefully constructing over the past few days, but I have to tread carefully or I’ll risk scaring her off.
She opens her eyes again, scowling when she sees I’m still standing there. Her eyes are lighter, almost hazel, in the brightness of the afternoon light. A shard of sun streams through a stained glass window, throwing a geometric pattern of colors across her hair.
“Would you mind moving, Briggs? I left a book behind.” We’re still crushed in a press of students, being jostled by the crowd. It occurs to me that with my height and broad stature, there’s not much room to squeeze past.
I don’t respond for a second; I just stand there, smiling stupidly. Then, before I can lose my nerve, I blurt out, “Do you want to grab a bite to eat?”Goddammit.So much for being cool.
Startled, she says, “What? Together?”
“Yes, together.”
