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She sputters but has no answer.
I sign off our call. I have friends to meet and studying to do.
CHAPTER FOUR
Maybe my mother is right.
I sit cross-legged on my squeaky dorm bed, happy to have the room to myself for once, trying to stop crying because my tears are smudging up my latest calculus quiz.
The one I got back from Professor Dickwad an hour ago. The one the God School guys helped me study for.
The one I worked my ass off for and ended up with a lousy C.
Is a C bad? Not by some standards, and it sure is a lot better than the D I got on the last test. At least my grade went up and not down. That’s something. But it’s still not good enough for my internship. And I worked so freaking hard, neglecting every other class including English, which is my usual happy place where I get lost in words and structure and stories.
The guys tried. They really did.
Thomas reviewed three chapters with me page-by-page.
Matthew did practice equations with me.
John went over them, explaining what was right and what was wrong.
They were kind and patient. And they smelled so good.
Seriously.
It’s all I did for days. After the guys got me up and running, I kept doing practice exercises as if I might forget all they’d taught me. Like the knowledge would just leak out of my head like air in a balloon.
It wasn’t easy focusing with the guys around. Sitting right next to me. Sharing a book and a piece of paper. Patting me on the back when I got something right.
And staring at me so closely, that on more than one occasion I thought one of them might lean in and kiss me.
And in spite of all our hard work, which had me convinced I couldn’t possibly make even one little mistake, I did all sorts of little things wrong on the test, enough to drop me into the ranks of an average student with that heartless C, staring back at me from the page like a sideways smile, laughing, mocking, and reinforcing the cruel words of my mother.
Average doesn’t cut it for the internship I want, and besides, this is only one C in an ocean of the D’s I’ve been getting. To pull my average up, I need to get some good grades. A’s would be wonderful, but I’ll settle for B’s. Beggars, choosers, and all that.
I have no idea what to tell the guys. They’re going to think I am a total dunce. Not that it really matters. They’re out of here in a few weeks and will forget about me and how they watch my ass when I walk down the hall.
But I don’t have much time to worry about that because seconds later, there is a knock on my door.
“Hey, Rose,” John calls “we’re heading to the dining hall.”
I jump up and look in the mirror to make sure I’m not too much of a snotty, gross mess.
“You are? Guess it’s that time,” I respond breezily.
“You want to join us?” Thomas asks.
Yes. Sort of. Actually, not really.
They’ll want to know about my test. But I can’t avoid them forever. They live one floor above me.
I pull open my door with a big smile like nothing could ever bother me, that’s how happy a person I am.
Calculus?
Whatever.
