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I scowl at him, then turn my attention back to the front before I get called out by the teacher again. Bhodi chuckles under his breath though and it annoys me. Why does he get to me so much?
“Today we’re going to be doing something a little different. In front of you on the desk is a copy of one pupil’s most recent assignment. You and your partner are going to grade it,” the professor announces to the class, avoiding looking my way. An uneasy feeling settles upon me. I don’t like this at all.
Bhodi watches me intently but I don’t make any move to turn over the paper. I somehow just know what I’ll find. My most recent assignment. Which he failed me on, again.
Realising that I’m not going to move, Bhodi flips over the paper and all my worst nightmares come true. My assignment is sitting there for everyone to see, large chunks of it blacked out, and what’s visible is completely decimated by red pen.
If he gave no constructive feedback last time, he’s gone overboard this time. Tears prick at my eyes as everyone in the class witnesses my failure. Sure, he took the time to blank out my name, but every person in the room knows that one of their peers failed. And now we’re all going to dissect exactly why.
I die a little inside as Bhodi begins to silently read through my essay. I see what the professor has done. He’s blocked out the sections of my essay which corroborate my argument and give context to my line of reasoning. Without them, out of context, what’s left is almost nonsensical.
The pages swim before my eyes as voices flood my mind.
Jesus, who wrote this shit?
Are they trying to get kicked out?
Seriously, was this person on something when they wrote this?
I left mine til the last minute and still pulled off something better than this.
This has to be a joke, right? How are we supposed to grade something this bad?
I feel sorry the sexy professor had to waste his time reading this.
On and on the voices taunt, and with every barbed thought I shrink back into my skin, sinking further and further down into my seat. I can’t hold back the tears any longer and they roll slowly down my face while I stare down at my lap and hide behind the curtain of my hair. Hopefully no-one in the room has thought to look around to try and identify whose work it is yet. It’ll be a dead giveaway when they see me.
The teacher begins to give a blow by blow, line by line dissection of all the failings within this essay and I crumple more with every caustic word. It sounds even worse when read in his scathing, no-nonsense tone.
It breaks my heart.
Bhodi clears his throat and I look up to see him holding a pair of tiny earbuds out to me. With a grateful, watery smile I take them from him and slip them in. ‘No One Knows’ by Queens of the Stone Age is playing, and a genuine smile tugs at my lips this time. It’s a good song. I always think someone’s playlist gives excellent insight into their soul.
Maybe Bhodi isn’t all bad.
He knocks his thigh against mine, and when he doesn’t remove it I realise it wasn’t accidental. He probably thinks he’s simply lending me strength and comfort, but it’s so much more than that.
The song switches from ‘Better Days’ by Dermot Kennedy to ‘Burden’ by Foy Vance, and as I listen to the lyrics I don’t try to stop or hide the tears streaming down my face.
Fuck. These songs are everything.
Yeah, maybe he isn’t so bad after all.
