16 April
The air in Mr. Sage's classroom felt thick with dread. The dreaded math test. My stomach churned, a familiar knot of anxiety tightening with each passing minute. Math and I had a long and unpleasant history, a battlefield of confusing symbols and frustrating equations where I consistently ended up on the losing side. I stared at the test paper, the neatly printed problems mocking my incompetence. The numbers swam before my eyes, refusing to form any coherent sense. I scribbled down a few answers, hoping against hope that some of them would be right, but deep down, I knew it was a lost cause.
The rest of the class seemed to fare much better. Chloe, usually my partner in academic struggles, managed a decent 18 out of 25. Shawna, ever the steady one, got a 16. Even Ashley, whose energy was usually reserved for extracurriculars, surprised us with a 20. The real stars, the teacher's pets, Susan and Sebastian, were in a league of their own, boasting a 22 and a perfect 25 respectively.
My own score, a pathetic 12, felt like a brand, a scarlet letter proclaiming my mathematical inadequacy. The entire day was a haze of self-recrimination and quiet despair. Even Chloe's attempts to console me, her usual cheerful demeanor tinged with sympathy, only served to amplify my shame. What bothered me most, a nagging voice whispered in my head, was the inevitable confrontation with my mother.
At home, I tried to be as inconspicuous as possible, hoping to slip under the radar. But my little sister, ever the observant busybody, noticed the crumpled test papers tucked inside my bag. With a triumphant shriek, she snatched them away, her eyes gleaming with mischievous delight.
"Mom! Mom! Look at Sissy's test!" she yelled, her shrill voice echoing through the house.
I lunged for her, a desperate attempt to retrieve the incriminating evidence, but Lily danced out of my reach, her laughter a mocking soundtrack to my impending doom.
My mother appeared, her expression a mixture of curiosity and mild annoyance. But as her eyes scanned the test paper, the disappointment on her face was palpable. She didn't yell, but her silence was more damning than any angry outburst.
"Math," she said finally, her voice flat. "It is the most important subject, Vienne. You should strive to get the best marks in it out of all the subjects."
The lecture began, a familiar litany of the importance of mathematics, its central role in life, and the shame of not excelling in it. She even added the dreaded tidbit about my father, who lived in a separate city for work, and how he had been a math whiz in his school days. The thought of disappointing him, even indirectly, was like a cold hand squeezing my heart.
The long, drawn-out lecture grated on my nerves, but I bit my tongue, knowing any protest would only prolong the agony. Later, I lay sprawled on my bed, staring at the ceiling, a litany of self-pity echoing in my head. I hated math. I truly, deeply hated it. Why couldn't I understand it, even when I tried? And why did it have to be so important? It was all Lily's fault, that bratty little snitch. If she hadn't shown Mom the test, nothing would have happened. At least, I thought with a small sliver of relief, no one would tell my dad. He would never know how badly I had failed, and that, at least, was a small comfort.