I pull open my own envelope with my heart feeling like it’s going to burst out of my chest.
The words are a blur in front of my eyes at first before they finally come into focus.
Math – C
History – Β
French – Β
Irish – C
English – A
Home Economics – A
Business – A
Geography – A
CSPE – A
Science – Β
I can’t imagine how my parents will feel about it—it feels like the two Cs are glaring at me—but I feel the stress and anxiety leaving my body.
Before I can even react properly, before I can even look up from my results paper, somebody throws their arms around me and squeezes me in a tight hug. The hug is warm—like being cuddled in a blanket during a cold winter night—and the person hugging me smells faintly of vanilla and cinnamon mixed together.
“Sorry,” Flávia breathes when she finally lets me go. I’m trying to navigate my emotions—somewhere between adoration and annoyance.
“That’s okay,” I say, not at all sure if it is okay.
“Just … we did it.” She’s beaming. Her eyes are bright like stars and it’s too easy to get lost in them.
“I know.” My heart is about to burst out of my chest again but this time for a completely different reason.
“Do you think we can put our differences aside? Just for now?” she asks, sheepishly. I nod, despite myself.
She brightens—which I didn’t think was even possible.
“Are you coming to the party this Friday?”
“There’s a party this Friday?”
She smiles, like she can’t believe I haven’t gotten the memo—though obviously it shouldn’t be surprising at all.
“It’s Chyna’s party but it’s at our place. For everybody in the year. You should come.” She pauses, the light diminishing from her eyes slightly, her smile fading somewhat. “You can, um, bring your sister if you want?”
“I’ll think about it,” is all I say, though I already know that if I go, there’s no way I’m going to bring Priti.
“I guess you’re putting effort into this party.” Priti leans against the door frame of my bedroom as I’m applying a coat of mascara onto my eyelashes. I accidentally stab myself in the eye with the wand and smear some of the black liquid on my cheek.
“Knock, maybe?” I say.
“Your door wasn’t closed, gadha.”
“Okay, chagol.” I rub the mascara off my face.
“I’m surprised you’re really going through with this.”
