I’m not ready to deal with her again yet.
She’d only crush this high, like she’s dead-set on crushing everything else.
Instead, I make plans to go to a local bar with Fenrir.
At least he doesn’t want to drag me down.
17
PANDORA
I glare at my Intro to Biochem test score.
76.
Really? 76?
I glance at the student closest to me and notice the 93% on hers.
What the fuck? How did I do so badly? I’d studied! I definitely studied. I mean, I must have studied, right? I got at least 76% of the questions right. I leaf through the pages of the test—a written test, no multiple choice—and focus on all the mistakes I’d made.
Fine, maybe I didn’t know the exact name of the enzyme in question. But I should have gotten partial points for one of these questions. I got the wordhalfright.
Also, is memorization even that important? I’d have looked all this shit up online if it had been a take-home test. Or a test I could do on my computer. Who even does written tests these days?
I pick up my stuff and head to the front of the class. “Professor Richter!” I say, before she can leave.
Professor Richter is an older woman with graying hair pulled back into a ponytail and a pair of glasses that are too big for herface, like the style from fifteen years ago. I bet her glasses are fifteen years old, actually.
“Yes, Ms. Pavone?” Professor Richter says. “If you have questions about the upcoming project, please book a consult via the online scheduling system.”
“No, I want to talk about this test score,” I say, waving my test around. “I deserve more than a 76.”
Professor Richter’s eyebrows rise. “Excuse me?”
I place the exam on the presentation podium and point to one of the test questions. “Look, this is half right. I should get at least half the points for it. And there are some others where I got them half right. Or my handwriting was illegible.”
I see Richter roll her eyes.
“That answer is not half right, Ms. Pavone. Just because both words end in ‘ase’ does not mean they’re the same thing. Yes, they’re all enzymes, but I was looking for a very specific enzyme.” She shakes her head. “My TA graded all the tests, I reviewed them, and I’m satisfied with how she did. You will not be getting a higher score. If you’re worried about your final grade, I suggest you spend more time studying and less with—” She pauses suddenly, and her lips purse. Her voice is softer when she continues, “If you have a legitimate reason for needing more time, you can get a doctor’s scrip from the health services center.”
I stare at her, uncomprehending at first.
Until I realize.
She thinks I’m mentally distressed.
She thinks I might be injured.
Sheknows.
Anger spikes inside of me, and I imagine carvingherup, and maybe using her corpse to study all this biochemistry crap.
I grab my test and scrunch the paper up in my hands. “No,” I answer with a wide smile. “I understand. I’ll work harder.”
I hurry out of the classroom before the walls start bleeding or something equally cliché. I need to get back to my room so I can distract myself.
But what would I distract myself with?
