Slipping under

-1-

"No, no, no. This can't be right. You made a mistake!" I stood up, shouting frantically in front of the whole auditorium.

"Miss Lucertia, sit down. I've already told you—you used an incorrect calculation and got the answer to the sixth question wrong. Therefore, you got ninety-eight percent." The professor looked down on me, as she was a bit taller. She graded me ninety-eight percent for the test. I can't get anything less than a hundred. She's batshit crazy if she thinks I'm going to leave it. I've been studying marketing for three years now; everyone knows I'm a top student here.

"With all due respect, ma'am, I am asking you to reevaluate it. My calculations were correct, even if I used my own method rather than your outdated one." I still stood my ground, although I felt my hands trembling. If my father found out about these results, it would end badly for me. I don't want to go through that again. I lowered my head, looking at my hands. After a few seconds of silence, I heard the professor sigh.

"Alright. If it stops you from making a scene, I'll reevaluate it with another professor. Now, lecture is dismissed. Go home." She grabbed the test papers from the table and walked off to her desk.

A sigh of relief escaped my lips, but my hands were still shaking. I quickly gathered my stuff and headed toward the exit of the auditorium. On my way out, I heard whispers about my outburst—along with a chuckle. I whipped my head in that direction and saw a guy with messy curly hair. I'd never seen him before in the three years I'd been here. Without a second thought, I left. As soon as I was outside, my eyes searched for a bathroom. The moment I found one, I almost sprinted toward it.

This can't be happening. Not right now.

I barged into a free stall and quickly rummaged through my bag to find my medicine. Struggling to open the bottle, I scattered some of the pills on the ground but managed to grab one and quickly swallowed it down. Throwing the bottle back in my bag, I sat down on the toilet seat, bringing my feet up and curling into myself.

Flashbacks of those dreadful nights came crashing down—those times when I failed to be perfect. When my efforts weren't good enough. When I was a failure.

I can't let that happen.
I have to be perfect.

A door shutting somewhere in the bathroom snapped me out of my trance, and I realized my hands had stopped shaking. My cheeks, though, were wet. Shit. I was crying. I can't show weakness. Perfect girls don't show emotions—especially weakness. Quickly grabbing some toilet paper, I wiped my tears away. When I was sure no one was around, I left the stall. Looking at myself in the mirror, I saw someone fragile staring back. That's not good.

Gathering myself, I washed my face and touched up my makeup. Feeling refreshed and more presentable, I stood up straight, head held high, and left the bathroom. Turning left, I crashed into somebody.

"Well, aren't you a perfect princess, Cherry?" I looked up and saw the same guy from before. He had this annoying grin on his face. Not wanting to engage any further, I rushed past him.

"Careful. Your ponytail might not swing correctly if you rush like that," he called after me, laughing. I don't even know him, but he's already getting on my nerves.

Heading down the hallway, I spotted my friends—and my boyfriend. They were all chatting among themselves as I approached. Swiftly standing next to my boyfriend, he brought me closer by his side.

"Hey, you," he smiled, planting a kiss on my head.

"Oh, Angel. I heard Ms. Davies gave you a hard time today," one of my friends chimed in, raising an eyebrow.

"She did. She and her old-fashioned teaching methods are messed up." I nodded, keeping a straight face. Looking around, they all seemed cheerful. Hopefully, no one suspected what went on in the bathroom.