Page 1 of Gingers Can Do Maths

Sin

15 years old

Tears stain Ennox Prepatory’s rejection letter as I clasp it between my shaking fingers. The words‘we’re sorry to’are smudged, the black ink blooming into an unrecognisable blob. I have no idea what the next word says. I haven’t bothered to read that far.

I should’ve known. I should’ve known something was wrong from the moment the skinny envelope touched my fingers. It should be fat, bulging with glossy brochures stuffed with information about Ennox’s world-renowned science and technology programs. It should have beautiful photos of the sleek, minimalistic architecture that dotted the small green campus.

I should be flipping through the extracurricular activities packet and seeing which club has the best practical applications since construction is my strong suit versus tons of theory.

But that right there is the problem, isn’t it? It’s the reason why I was rejected.

Maths.

A school like Ennox Prep requires an insanely high mathematics level to be admitted. It doesn’t matter that I can ace everything else. It just matters that I can’t compete with the maths geniuses.

I can already see my parents’ faces when I tell them the news. They won’t be surprised, but they’ll pretend to be. They won’t be disappointed, but they’ll pretend to be because they know. TheyknewI wouldn’t get into Ennox. They didn’t believe in me. No one but Rohan did, but that’s not the worst part.

The worst part is that they wereright.They were all right.

My parents, my teachers, my tutor, all the snobby nerds who think I’m just a dumb bimbo hanging around Rohan all the time and distracting him.

Maybe that’s exactly who I am. An airhead whose gigantic tits are just weighing Rohan down.

My tears turn angry as I tear the letter in half and I catch sight of my reflection in the nearest window. For once, I see what everyone else sees. A silly girl. A wannabe.

I’m not smart. I'd just been pretending, deluding myself into thinking that I was. Just like everyone said, whether it was overt or gentle, tentative and weirdly encouraging to not feel discouraged when I ultimately failed.

I crumble the torn pieces into my fists and hide them in my pocket where they’ll never see the light of day because one thing's for sure, I’m not going to be patronised anymore.

I’m not going to listen to fake coos of sympathy only for them to snigger behind my back the moment it's turned.

I'm not going to give them more reasons to convince Rohan that I'm a waste of space in the advanced classes because I refuse to let anyone know the truth.

I refuse to let Han think he's wasted his time helping me all year.

Sniffling, I fish the fat acceptance letter from Hortace for Girls out of my backpack. I don’t need to open it to know that I’ve been accepted, but I do anyway, and stop at the first word of‘congratulations’.

Hortace is a good school. Over a hundred years old with an emphasis oninnovation.AKA the maths requirements are high, but not brutal.

Seeing as I have no performing arts talent despite my wish to the contrary, I hadn’t bothered to apply to Beaulieu Academy. Hortace was just a backup I didn’t think I’d ever use, not just because Ennox is my dream school, but because Rohan couldn’t attend Hortace at all.

Rohan.

Han.

My Han.

We’d been in the same year and nearly all the same classes since year five. We’re supposed to continue together into grade ten, then eleven, then twelve when we graduate. We’re supposed to go to university together and share a flat.

We’re supposed to have all our firsts together.

And I’d just ruined it.

I’d just ruined everything.

In the distance, Rohan’s approaching me.

I know because despite my tears I’m quickly drying on my blazer as I try to flatten Ennox’s rejection letter in my pocket, I can still make out the bright orange of his hair.

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