Page 49 of Want It All
Fifty-two.
The thing was, it was a pass mark. It was fine. Thousands of students would respond to a mark of fifty-two with nothing more than a relieved sigh. They’d skim through their comments and put the entire thing from their minds, because who cared? It was a pass.
But before this, my lowest mark –ever– had been eighty-three.
I was a high achiever. It was the cornerstone of my personality. If I wasn’t that, then I didn’t know who I was.
Moreover, the conditions of my scholarship depended on me getting higher marks than that. Alothigher.
I cleared my throat and tried again. ‘It hasn’t been the best week.’
‘Are you safe?’ Mum said immediately. I could hear the concern in her voice, and a rustle of movement, as if she’d just sat up straight.
‘I’m safe.’ I cleared my throat again. ‘I, um, just got a bad mark on an essay.’
‘Oh, little love.’ Mum didn’t tell me it was silly; she knew how much it meant to me. ‘Do you know what happened?’
I’d combed through the comments so thoroughly it felt as if they’d been tattooed on my brain.You should seriously consider whether you deserve your place here. ‘Ah. I … um. Needed more sources. My argument wasn’t strong enough. And my writing was poor.’
I could almosthearmy mum frown. ‘You’ve never written poorly in your entire life, Rosie.’
My parents were both primary school teachers. They’d encouraged my interests from an early age and read every essay I wrote during my school years. They only stopped during my undergraduate degree because my dad declaredyou’ve bypassed me, darling. I can’t keep up.
‘I, um. I must have messed this one up.’
‘Okay.’ Mum was quiet for a moment. ‘Would you like us to look it over?’
It was kind of her to offer, but I didn’t think it would help anything. I was so angry at Heathcote – and angry atmyself– that I wanted to scream. ‘No, that’s okay. I’ll just … I’ll just do better next time.’
Mum and I chatted for a few minutes; my dad holleredhullofrom the background. I imagined him sitting at their kitchen table, doing a sudoku. The thought made my chest tight.
I missed them, I realised. I’d been so caught up with Banksia House that I hadn’t thought much about home, and I hadn’t known how much I’d needed to hear their voices.
Mum told me she loved me, and I told her the same; I hung up and slumped on my bed, staring up at the ceiling.
I’ll just do better next time, I’d told mum, but I was finding it difficult to concentrate, my confidence shot to pieces by Heathcote’s comments.
You should seriously consider whether you deserve your place here.
My phone buzzed. I ignored it at first, but the buzzing continued. I answered it listlessly. ‘Why can’t you text like everyone else?’
‘Rude,’ Sebastian said. ‘And I’ve sent you like, ten texts now, Rosebud, and some super cute cat videos and a collection of pretty good history memes, and you haven’t evenseenthem. Calling is a last resort.’
‘Seb, I saw you three hours ago.’
‘Three hours is too long. Come study with me.’
‘I …’ I closed my eyes. ‘I don’t think I can.’
‘Which is exactly why youneedto,’ Sebastian said ruthlessly. I hadn’t told him my mark, just that it was much lower than I’d been expecting. ‘If you don’t study, sweetness, then that assholewins. And we don’t let alphas win, do we?’
I made a non-committal sound. It certainly seemed like alphas won at most things.
‘Okay, different approach. Rosebud, if you don’t come out of your room in the next two minutes, I’m going to set off the fire alarm and you’llhaveto come out.’
I opened my eyes. ‘You wouldn’t.’
‘My hand is on it. Literally.’
