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She could have picked something normal or plain.
Angela is a perfectly decent name.
Megan, perhaps.
Hell, even Bethany would be better than Emilia.
But that’s the name she gave me, so it’s the one I’m stuck with, at least for now. Once I graduate, if I manage to make it that far, I can run far away and never look back. I can find something else to call myself. I can choose a different name that isn’t quite so terrible. I can choose something that’s not going to haunt me.
Now, as I sit writing my name on the top of my quiz paper, I hear someone hiss it out loud.
“Emilia!”
This time, it isn’t someone terrible or mean or cruel.
In fact, it’s one of the only friends I have right now: K
aren.
Yeah, her mom hates her, too. We bond over that sometimes: us and Adalee, who doesn’t really even have a mother. The three of us make up this weird sort of outcast trio at Crescent Academy. It’s lonely, but at least we have each other.
“What?” I ask quietly, eyeing the front of the classroom. I don’t turn my head toward Karen. In fact, I barely move my lips at all as I speak.
Mr. Wilson isn’t exactly known for being gentle or kind, especially when it comes to people speaking in his classroom. He’s a bit of a bastard, actually, at least in my opinion. When you get your grade in his class, that’s the grade you get. If you had a bad day or you messed up, that’s not his concern. He doesn’t give second chances.
“What?” I whisper again.
Nothing.
There’s no sound, and I slowly, cautiously, turn my head toward my friend. Karen looks white as a ghost and stiff as a board and unhappy as...well, she looks unhappy. What the hell?
“Check your phone,” she whispers.
Fuck.
Mr. Wilson is still writing questions on the board, so I carefully slide my cell phone out of my pocket and onto my lap. No one else is paying any attention to me as I maneuver it open and pull open social media. What else would she want me to check? Crazed is the only social media app worth using these days, so of course, that’s the one I go for.
Immediately, I wish I hadn’t.
My heart sinks as I see the first post, and then the second, and then the third. I turn back to Karen and her lips are pressed tightly together, but she doesn’t say a word. I’m hit with a split-second decision. I can either stand up and ask to be excused for emergency reasons or I can suck it up and not let the assholes of Crescent High get to me.
What’s it going to be?
Quiet laughter draws my attention and I turn to the opposite side of the room where a group of boys have obviously seen the same posts that I just brought up. Wilson seems to ignore them as they browse through the assortment of posts that all have the same bit of information: Emilia sucks.
Then there’s a list of reasons why.
My heart feels like it’s going to absolutely explode, and every bit of my soul feels like it’s going to die. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to feel this way. I can’t. I close my eyes for just a second. No one seems to notice the fact that I’m totally, absolutely in distress.
Mr. Wilson turns around.
“Phones down,” he motions absentmindedly to the group of boys before passing out the test. It’s something I’ve prepared for, studied for, worked for. I’ve spent the last few weeks tirelessly prepping for this exam, but suddenly, it feels like it’s completely impossible. I do not want to do this. I don’t want to be here.
Unfortunately, this test is worth almost a third of my grade for the semester. It’s insane that Wilson is allowed to weigh a single test so heavily, but all we’ve done is prep for this. In this class, there are only two exams per semester: the midterm and the final. Coupled with our homework throughout the semester, those two grades make up everything.
If I flunk this, I’m completely fucked.
I look over at Karen, but she just gives me a sympathetic look, grabs a pencil, and starts writing her name.
