by Emma Doherty
“Sorry, what?” My voice is louder than I expected it to be, but right now I don’t care. “I might not graduate?”
Ms. Sallinson winces, but Coach looks entirely unsympathetic. “I’ve been telling you for months to stop moping around and pull yourself together.”
I feel my face burn at this; the fact that my coach has noticed I’ve been miserable is pretty humiliating. She probably knows why, too, but I definitely don’t need her to confirm that to me now.
“This can’t be right. I know I’m not the best student, but I’ve never come close to failing before.”
“Well this is what happens when you focus all your attention on a boy and then let your world fall apart when he breaks up with you.”
I want the ground to swallow me up when Coach confirms that she definitely knows about the Chase situation, my repeated dumpings, and how I pretty much fell apart watching him and Livy fall in love right in front of me…but surely it’s not appropriate for her to say this to me?
“Why don’t we just focus on solutions?” Ms. Sallinson says diplomatically, looking between me and Coach. “We’ve come up with a plan of action that we’re hoping will mean you can graduate as planned.”
I feel sick.
“We’ve spoken to both your math and chemistry teachers, and they’ve agreed to give you a separate test a couple of weeks before the end of school.”
I can’t take all of this in.
“You’ll have to make sure you receive a certain grade, which they’ll explain to you, in order to pull your grades up enough to pass.”
“Sorry.” My eyes flash between them, actual panic starting to build inside me. “What happens if I don’t pass?”
“Well…” Ms. Sallinson shuffles some papers in front of her, clearly slightly nervous. “First of all, there’d be summer school.”
My heart drops to the floor. Summer school?!
“And if that didn’t work out—”
“You’d have to repeat the year,” Coach tells me.
Repeat the year?!
I feel like I might vomit all over the floor.
“I can’t do that.”
“Well if you don’t, you won’t have a high school diploma,” Coach explains matter-of-factly.
I’m finding it really hard to keep up with everything they’re telling me.
I might not get my diploma? What the actual fuck?
“But at least if you came back, I wouldn’t need to get a new head cheerleader.”
I blink at her. That is never, ever going to happen.
My face burns as I think about the humiliation of having to repeat senior year with all my friends gone. I’d honestly rather hibernate for the rest of my life.
“Well?” Coach snaps. She’s clearly very, very pissed. “Don’t you have anything to say? Do you know how bad this is, Abigail? The head cheerleader of one of my most successful squads in years might not graduate?”
“Oh, well, I’m sorry if this is inconvenient for you,” I snap before I can check myself.
My response elicits an unexpected reply from her. “Well at least there’s still some of the old you left.”
I have no idea what she’s talking about.
She stands, apparently done with me. “You can explain the rest,” she tells Ms. Sallinson. “I have to get ready for my first class.” She turns back to me, pointing a finger accusingly. “I had to beg to get this deal for you, Baker. I had to get it signed off by three different people, including the principal, and you had better not let me down.”
She walks away, leaving me watching the door swing closed behind her. She’s never been the most maternal of figures, but that was just plain mean. Let her down? How about letting myself down?
Does she think I actually want to be in this position?
Ms. Sallinson clears her throat. “I know that might have seemed harsh, but Coach really did fight hard for you in the hope that you might meet the requirements to graduate.”
“Right. So, what do I have to do?”
“A few things. First of all, you have an oral exam in French. Your teacher seemed to think that would be okay?”
I nod. It should be. It’s basically just a box to check to say we’ve done it, and we’ve been practicing the same thing for weeks. She’s been telling us we should be able to do it in our sleep, and most of the kids in class seem to agree with her. It’s a bit embarrassing that I definitely couldn’t pass it in my sleep, but if I sit down and actually study, I should be able to do that.
“And you need to write up your biology experiment.”
“Okay.” That’s doable too. Sasha is my partner, and she takes notes meticulously. She documented every stage of our recent experiment, and I just need to write up our findings.
“Then you’ll have to meet with both Mr. Henry and Mr. Cannon for more details on the math and chemistry assessments, and they should be able to give you some guidance on what it will be on. Then you’ll take tests in both subjects, and hopefully you’ll have pulled up your grades enough to have the required credits to graduate.
I nod, in a daze, not really taking in anything she’s saying.
I can’t believe this is happening.
Seriously? I might not graduate?
“I strongly suggest you get a tutor to help you study,” Mrs. Sallinson continues. “Do you want me to get you set up with one?”
I shake my head rapidly. Definitely not. I don’t want the humiliation of her going to the tutoring center and announcing that I need saving from an extra year of high school. Most of the kids would probably just laugh and refuse to help me. “No, no. I can figure that out.”
She looks skeptical but doesn’t argue with me.
“And the final requirement is that you’re going to have to do a couple of extracurricular events to earn extra credit.”
I look at her in dismay. It’s bad enough that I’m going to have to spend the next three months studying my ass off when I should be winding down my high school career, but now she wants me to do extracurricular activities too?
“Ms. Sallinson, extracurricular events are not really my thing.”
“Abigail,” she snaps, “I’m saying you won’t graduate unless you do this.”
Well, okay then.
“You’re going to raise money for charity.” She hands over the pile of papers she’s been holding. “Here are some fliers for worthwhile local charities, and you can decide who to fundraise for or if you’d prefer to spread your efforts out amongst several organizations.”
I stare at the papers in my hand, not seeing them.
“Couldn’t I just make a donation?” I ask, looking up at her. “I could make a donation right now on my phone. How much would you want? I could speak to my mom, and I’m sure she’d agree to a pretty sizeable one if it will help me graduate.”
“Abigail.” She’s gone from acting as the good cop to Coach Daniels’ bad cop to very firmly being in charge in the last couple of minutes. “This is non-negotiable.”
“But—”
“Coach wasn’t lying when she said we had to fight for this deal for you. Do you have any idea how bad your grades and your attitude look on paper? Technically you should have no chance of graduating at all, but if you pull your grades up and positively impact our community by raising money, Principal Roberts has agreed that you can graduate.”
I feel like I’m about to burst into tears.
“You will raise the money on school property, or if it’s not on school property, you’re going to tell me about it and I will swing by to see it for myself.”
I can’t even process what she means.
“Is that understood?”
I’m nodding at her, my mind reeling.
This cannot be happening. Please tell me this isn’t happening.
“You’re late for class,” she tells me, holding out a late pass. I glance at her clock and see that the bell for first period rang a couple of minutes ago; I didn’t even notice. “Off you go, an
d make sure you check in with your teachers today. They’re expecting you.”
I stand without saying anything else, unsure if I even remember to say goodbye to her as I leave her office and head down the hallway to my first class of the day. Before I get there, I have to stop and take a minute, leaning against the lockers, the cool metal cold on my forehead. If I don’t take a minute to pull myself together, I honestly think I might lose it.
Shit.
Shitttttt.
This is bad.
This is really, really bad.
I spend the rest of the day in a daze, not quite believing that I’ve managed to monumentally fuck up my life to the point that I might not graduate.
I don’t listen to Sarah as she rambles on in my ear about a sophomore girl who is into Brendon and asked for his number in front of everyone, I don’t listen as she walks beside me to the cafeteria at lunch telling me how desperate the girl was for doing that and how Brendon only gave her his number out of pity, and I don’t listen when she then pulls every item of her lunch out of her bag and proceeds to tell me how many calories are in each one.
There’s a wave of noise around me at our table in the cafeteria, as per usual. It’s packed, as always, and it’s where I’ve eaten lunch every day for the last three years, but I don’t take it in. I don’t even notice when Chase joins us after chatting with Livy for a couple of minutes by her table (they seem to have some unwritten rule that they never eat lunch together).
I must be feeling distracted if I don’t even notice Chase.
“My parents said we can have their house on the beach for senior week,” Jennifer announces to the group. “I think we can fit ten there, and then you guys can just get another place close by.”
There’s general agreement from everyone around us, and they all start launching into plans for senior week, the tradition where everyone spends a week on the beach after they’ve graduated. They start talking about what parties to attend and which bars might let us in and who else is likely to be around from the neighboring high schools.
I feel like I might vomit all over the floor.
I might not graduate.
I might not graduate. I might not graduate. I might not graduate.
Sasha leans over Sarah, who is typing something on her phone, and looks at me curiously. “Are you okay?” she asks quietly, so as not to draw attention. “You’ve gone really pale.”
Tears flood my eyes unwillingly, and her eyes widen in panic as she spots them.
“What are you guys gossiping about?” Aaron’s voice breaks in from across the table, and we both turn to see him watching us.
“No gossip,” Sasha says immediately. “Just talking about chemistry homework.”
I flash her a grateful smile for covering for me and quickly stand. “I forgot I have to go meet…”
I don’t even bother to finish my sentence as I gather my things, leaving my plate of food untouched, and quickly duck away, weaving my way through the tables and out the cafeteria door that leads to the outdoor picnic tables.
I need some fresh air.
When I get outside, I feel slightly better, but I don’t stop at one of the tables, instead walking for a few minutes until I spot a large tree that has no students around it and sinking to the ground with my back against it.
This time when the tears fill my eyes, I let them fall.
I let them fall because this is so, so humiliating.
How has this happened?
How have I managed to fuck it up this bad?
When did I let my grades slip this much, and how did I not even notice? I mean, I know Chase and I broke up and that’s consumed my thoughts for the last few months, but it’s definitely not worth failing high school over.
And when I fail—which, in all honesty, appears to be what’s going to happen—I know with everything I’ve got that I’m not going to go to summer school or even repeat if I have to. That means I won’t get a high school diploma and will have spent four years of my life trying so hard to fit in and be popular and be a success, and it will all have amounted to nothing.
I might as well just get it over with and drop out now.
“Abigail?” A soft voice comes from above me.
I don’t have to look to know it’s Sasha. I hastily wipe away my tears before turning to her and forcing a smile. Jennifer is beside her, looking at me with concern.
That’s the thing about Sasha. She’s just so nice, and Jennifer, as one of her closest friends , is nice because of her. When she’s with me and Sarah, we can bring out a side to her that even I know isn’t particularly kind, and I’ve become more and more ashamed about it. Not Sasha, though. She’s nice to everyone, and when Jennifer is with her, she makes her a better person.
It must be nice to have people in your close circle that make you a better person.
Hell, Sasha even makes me a nicer person.
“What’s wrong?” Jennifer asks.
Sasha sits down next to me. “Is it Chase?”
A burst of laughter leaves my lips. I wish this were about Chase. I wish it were that simple.
“You can tell us, you know,” Jennifer says. “We’re your friends.”
What even is a friend? I don’t really know.
I have lots of them, supposedly, lots of people who know me and want to spend time with me, but how many of them can I actually trust? How many of them would actually show up for me when I needed them?
The answer is I don’t know, because I’m not sure how many of them I’d actually be there for myself.
That’s another reason I miss Chase so much—he was there for me when I needed him, and despite us not working as a couple, he was a friend to me. I could confide in him in a way I can’t with most people.
What does it say about my relationship with Sarah, the girl I spend the most time with and my apparent best friend, if I haven’t even considered telling her about my meeting with Coach? She didn’t even notice that I was upset.
She didn’t care; all she thought about was some girl encroaching on one of the guys in our group.
She didn’t even notice that I was a complete mess.
“Is it something to do with Coach?” Jennifer asks.
My eyes snap to her, and she puts her hands up defensively.
“I’m only asking because she gave me that message to give you yesterday and I saw her pull you out of homeroom.”
That’s right—Jennifer’s in my homeroom.
“You don’t have to tell us,” Sasha says, “but are you okay?”
Tears fill my eyes again, and you can tell it panics Sasha because she immediately leans over and hugs me. For once, I let myself be weak and lean into her shoulder for a minute, welcoming the comfort, before I pull myself together.
“I’m fine.” I hesitate, thinking back to how I hastily left the cafeteria. “No one saw you follow me, did they? No one thinks there’s something wrong with me?”
Sasha shakes her head. “We just said we had to go to the library. No one noticed.”
It makes me simultaneously relieved that no one will think there’s something up and therefore start to pry about it, but also sad that no one other than these two gives a damn that I’m so upset.
I just sit there for a couple of minutes trying to breathe evenly, knowing I have to get myself together before I go back into school.
“Abigail?”
“I can’t tell you,” I whisper back, tears threatening to spill over again.
“Abigail, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”
I shake my head. I can’t tell them. I’m too ashamed.
“Maybe we can help?” Sasha says gently. “My grandma always says a problem shared is a problem halved.”
I smile at her despite myself. Maybe I should tell them? Maybe I should trust them enough to let them try to make sense of this with me?
Maybe it will just be nice to have someone agree with me that this is a completely shitty situation and I’m completely sc
rewed.
“You can’t tell anyone,” I warn.
They both agree immediately, and maybe it’s because I’m feeling exhausted, maybe because I’m so upset that I’m not going to graduate, maybe because telling someone might actually help—for whatever reason, I decide to trust them.
“I’m failing…pretty much every class.” I let out a long sigh and stare at the ground. “I might not graduate. In fact, it’s pretty unlikely I’m going to graduate with you guys.”
There’s a long silence, and I can’t look at them. I don’t want to see the pity in their eyes.
“I don’t understand,” Sasha eventually says.
I shrug and finally turn toward them. Jennifer has sat down next to Sasha and is looking confused. “I guess all my grades have fallen. Some teachers have agreed to give me extra credit and look at other projects I’ve done, but I’m going to have an extra chemistry and math test I’ll need to pass, and I also need to raise some money for charity. If I don’t, I won’t graduate.”
Jennifer blinks at me like she doesn’t quite understand. “But graduation is less than three months away.”
“I know.”
“Well…that sucks,” Jennifer mutters.
Another couple of tears slide down my face. “I might as well just drop out now.”
“No!” Sasha says passionately. “Don’t do that! You are not going to drop out.”
“Yeah!” Jennifer jumps in enthusiastically. “This is just a blip, and we can fix it. Don’t worry!”
It’s sweet of them to try to cheer me up, but I honestly don’t understand how I’m going to even begin to fix this.
“Right, right.” Sasha sits up straight, crossing her legs in front of her and placing her hands on her knees. “This is fine, we just have to make a plan.”
“It’s too late.”
“It is not too late,” she says firmly. “What are your tests on? Have your teachers given you the topics you’ll need to know?”