It takes a moment for her words to sink in. Suddenly wide-awake, I stare at her, anxiety brewing in my stomach. "Wait, grades are posted?"

"Yes!" she says excitedly. "Can you believe it?"

"Uh, that's wonderful," I say, rubbing my eyes. I'm trying to play it cool, but it's senseless. The anxiety makes me want to puke. Standing up, I push past her to boot up my laptop, logging into my school account to check my grades. My heart pounds rapidly in anticipation, but as soon as the page loads, everything in me comes to a stop. My stomach lurches, my heart nearly stalling.

Philosophy: C

"No, no, no," I chant, scrolling through the page, going back to look up my grade on the final. 88.

Eighty-eight.

Eighty-fucking-eight.

"This can't be happening," I say, shaking my head. Bile burns my throat that I try to swallow back. "I missed it by one point."

I'm dumbfounded. I don't know what to think, or feel, half asleep and out of it as I scroll back to my final grades. Melody babbles behind me, but her words go over my head. I don't hear it, nor do I hear my phone ringing. The sound evades me until Melody thrusts the shrieking object right in my face.

My eyes shift to the screen as I swallow thickly, pushing my feelings down. Don't panic, I tell myself. You'll figure something out.

I close the browser on the laptop before answering the phone. "Hey."

My voice sounds meek. I clear my throat and repeat myself, but Naz chimes in before I can finish the word. "What are you up to?"

"Nothing. I, uh... nothing."

A moment of silence. "What's wrong?" I start to say 'nothing' when he continues. "And don't say nothing."

I let out a deep sigh. "I got a C in Philosophy."

"You passed!" He sounds genuinely enthused. "That's great."

"No, it's not. I needed a B to keep my scholarship. I don't understand why I didn't get it! I studied my ass off for that final. I missed the mark by one point... just one point. That's it."

The words pour out of me, tears stinging my eyes. One fucking point. It's unbelievable.

I'm kicking myself for not answering the question on the back of the final seriously. I would've written my entire life story had I known I'd need just one more damn point.

"Ah," he says. "I see."

The nonchalance of his voice twists me up in knots, anger simmering inside of me. It's not Naz's fault—it's nobody's fault but my own—but I'm too upset to be calm about it. I let out a deep groan, shoving my chair back to stand up. "You know what? Fuck this. I'm going to go talk to Santino to see if there's anything I can do to change it."

I hear Melody inhale sharply, not a fan of my plan.

"You want me to handle it?" Naz asks.

"No, I'll do it," I say. "It's my problem."

He bids me good luck, telling me to let him know how I make out. Hanging up, I throw on some clothes and slide my feet in a pair of shoes before heading for the door. I walk to the philosophy classroom, my nerves a frazzled mess, as I silently plead to whatever God is listening for a break.

Just give me this, please.

The classroom is open, the lights on. I expect to find him in his small office in the back of the building but instead he's sitting there, papers and books splayed out in front of him. His glasses are low on his nose as he studies a textbook, taking notes from it.

Carefully, I step in the classroom, knocking on the doorframe to garner his attention. "Professor Santino?"

He glances at me over top his glasses before turning back to his book. "Miss Reed, what can I do for you?"

"I, uh... I wanted to talk to you about my grade."

"What about it?"

"Why did I get a C?"

"You should be asking yourself that, not me."

"But I did everything I could."

"Did you?"

"Yes. I needed a B. I was only one point away."

He finishes writing whatever he's writing and puts his pen down, leaning back in his chair. He eyes me peculiarly for a moment, grabbing his pointer stick to tinker with it. He uses it to motion toward the front row of desks, wordlessly telling me to take a seat. I nervously oblige, sitting right in front of him.

His expression is hard, no compassion, or understanding, before his eyes flit around the room. "This classroom has two exits. Why do you think that is?"

Ugh. I thought I was done with him calling me out to answer absurd questions. Is it extra credit for my extra point?

"Because the classroom is so big, and it holds so many students, that it's logical to have more than one exit in case of an emergency," I say. "There's probably something in the fire code about it, about having a certain number of exits per however many people occupy the room, so whoever designed it had to include them. It holds 100 students so I'm guessing 50 people per exit?"

He raises his eyebrows. "Is that your final answer?"

I hesitate. "Yes."

"It's because it's safer, Miss Reed."

My brow furrows. "That's what I said."

"No, it's not. You referenced hypothetical fire codes and mathematical equations. You said it was logical, not that it was safer. And that, Miss Reed, is the difference between a B and a C. You always complicate things and miss the entire point."

"But that's what I meant," I say.