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“Your Honours Scholarship application. It was due last Friday, and I haven’t received it yet.”

The world goes still, silent. The tips of my fingers go numb, coldness seeping up my arms and into my chest. My future, crumbling around me.

“What?” I try to take a breath, but the oxygen doesn’t seem to be making its way to my brain. This can’t be happening. How could I have possibly forgotten this?

“I just wanted to see if everything was okay. I knew you wouldn’t have missed something as important as that.”

“I—What?” I repeat, my brain unable to form new words.

“Eden, are you alright?” Maddison takes a step towards me, hand coming to rest on my arm. I can’t feel it, though. I can’t feel anything. My nose starts to sting, and hot tears prick in the corners of my eyes.

“The Honours Scholarship application,” I start slowly, trying to find what I want to say. My thoughts are a tangled mess. “I thought it was next Friday. I had the date wrong in my calendar.”

“That’s okay. I can talk to the board, let them know you’ve been otherwise occupied but are still interested in this opportunity. I know that the research project has been a huge workload for you. I’ll see what I can do from my end. It’ll be okay, Eden. We can sort this out.” Maddison gives my arm a comforting squeeze before saying goodbye. I can’t say anything though.

If I don’t get this scholarship, there’s no way I could afford to stay in the city. I’d have to go back home to the farm. With nothing but a worthless degree and endless amounts of potential. I know what would be whispered about me. That I thought I was so much better than everyone back home and look where it got me. I’d be a failure. All this work would be for nothing. The hours in the lab, the sacrifices I’ve made.

How did I fuck up this badly?

I offer to go first. It’s always easier that way. Go first. Get it over and done with. You don’t spend the whole class worrying about your presentation. You don’t spend the whole time comparing your presentation to everyone else’s. You get up. You do it. You sit down. What’s done is done.

Then why do I feel the need to simultaneously shit myself and throw up at the same time?

It was nerve-wracking enough just having this presentation. But hearing that I might have possibly thrown away my future with one simple mistake?

My hands are still dripping sweat no matter how much I wipe them on my pants. My heart is thumping away in my neck, and I can’t stop rubbing my finger over my knuckles. Try as I might not to, all I can think about is the time I’ve wasted with Oliver. We should have been focusing on the presentation. I should have been focusing on my application. I should have double-checked the date. Instead, I let us get distracted. Why did I do that?

I try to re-read my cue cards one more time, but I can barely make out the words even with my glasses on. It doesn’t help that the sweat from my hands has smeared some of my writing.

It’s fine. Everything is fine. Everything will be fine. Even if I fail this presentation, there’s still the exam. And I’ve done well on the other assignments. This is not the be all and end all. I will pass this class regardless of how this presentation goes.

But what if this was changed into a hurdle? What if I fail this and the whole unit becomes a failure? And I have to redo this unit for a third time. And spend an extra semester at university. All that money for accommodation and for what? I’d have to change my honours project, if I can even get into it anymore. And my PhD. And—

My legs feel like jelly when I make my way up to the front of the classroom. Laptop plugged in and cue cards ready. I take a deep breath. This will be just like I practiced. I won’t fail. I can’t fail.

“Hi everyone, my name is Eden. My presentation focus is the horror genre. Beginning this assignment, I was particularly interested in the ways in which digital advancements are transforming how these stories are communicated. Historically— “

I look up as the door swings open, momentarily losing my spot on my cue cards. There’s always that one person who shows up late every class. I just thought they’d had more respect when it came to the presentations.

But when Oliver looks back at me and grins, my stomach turns, not from butterflies. I don’t get the warm feeling I usually get when I see him. I go cold. From the tips of my fingers to the bottom of my feet, ice settles throughout my body. He waves an apology to the tutor before sitting, and smiles at me to continue.

“I…Um. Historically. Yeah. Historically this genre has…” I don’t look at him. I can’t look at him. My nerves are on edge, his simple presence in the room enough to set me off.

Stumbling my way through the rest of the presentation, I’m more than grateful when I finish and get a round of polite applause. And then I’m off. Grabbing my bag, I storm out of the classroom without so much as a backwards glance, face burning from humiliation.

“Eden! Wait up!”

I don’t. I don’t want to talk to him. I don’t want to see him. It’s all his fault. I’m down two flights of stairs and out into the fresh air before he reaches me.

“Eden, I— “ A hand touches my upper arm, and I spin around furiously, waving him away.

“I can’t believe you did that!” I hiss, aware of other people milling around in the bright sunshine who might be interested in our spat.

“What do you mean?”

“You came in and ruined my presentation!”

“Eden, you did great.” Oliver tries to take my hand, but I rip it out of his reach.