It was terrible. I never wanted to be in this situation again. Luckily, I wouldn't have to be again.
I want to track down whoever decided that the pinnacle of academic knowledge was memorization was test-taking and say some very unkind words to them.
Math wasn't my subject. Nothing was my subject, except music, which was already iffy to begin with.
I never understood people like Emmett who got every single class without subjecting themselves to nightly mental torture to understand the subject. Which made the difference between him and I all the difference.
To most, trigonometric functions caused tears to spill from innocent eyes, and agony to be induced. And I was no exception. I scanned my exam paper, the final one, which determined my already low grade and tried to fight back a dam of tears.
I know what you're thinking. I should've studied and all that. And you're right, again! Luckily, Emmett took all the smart genes, so no one expected me to do well. They were just there to be disappointed in the end.
My eyes flit to the clock above me, taunting everyone will its incessant time-telling. Right below it was Mr. Han's shockingly wide stance and even more incessant hawk eyes on the class. He had been in that same stance for exactly three hours now.
He was one of those people who had one personality trait of being in the military. But since this was Canada, he didn't get to do all the cool stuff. But don't tell him I said that. Or thought that.
You would've thought Mr. Han single-handedly took down an entire armada of enemy battalions with a grenade and stick of butter with the way he described serving. I didn't care if he fibbed the details. It was the perfect way to get out of math.
But now I was starting to think that I should've just let him teach.
The clock said there was half an hour and I was one of five people left in the exam.
Then I finished.
I slid up from my seat and handed in the paper to Mr. Han. I didn't bother checking it over. I already knew my fate.
"Looks like we're done," he said with a coffee-stained smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Are you sure you finished?"
"Yeah," I assured. "I'm done."
He smiled again, and it failed to reach his eyes again. We both knew that my grade in this class wasn't going to be fixed with an exam. He put it in his pile and grabbed my hand to shake it with his rough one. I think I'd miss everyone in this school the same way. Not at all. Out of everyone in this potential pool of people to miss, Mr. Han took the bottom spot. I wouldn't miss that coffee breath I tried not to wince at.
When I left Math for the last time, I roamed the halls of Cedar High School for the last time thankfully. The floors were sticky and it smelled like wet chicken in here.
Despite its shady exterior of bricks that stayed once this school was converted from a prison, it was pretty nice on the inside. Huge window panels were letting in a beautiful glow of sunlight onto the shiny linoleum but sticky floors. The lockers were arranged in a neat row against the white walls, displaying trophy cases and TV monitors advertising graduation.
Usually, the halls would be empty during exams, but everyone wanted to soak in the last week before graduation and so they were everywhere. Despite what the men who watched their football clips once a week said, high school wasn't the best moment of my life. I'm not sure what was.
I never went to any parties. Never drank or did any questionable substances in someone's bathroom. Never did anyone. My high school experience was as entertaining as watching paint dry.
I didn't know if that made me a loser or a well-adjusted kid. It wasn't like I was risking any future. After I left this building, it was one less location to go to in my mundane daily life.
I wouldn't miss this place. And I would miss the sight I saw when I turned the corner even less.
Emmettt and his band of popular goons were existing loudly on one of the cafeteria tables, probably for the last time too. His friends always were laughing about something.
He looked at me for a fraction of a second, and I looked back awkwardly before he emerged back into the group. I didn't know if he liked his friends or not. He would always be complaining about some drama that would happen every other week within the group.
Despite being his twin, we had somehow missed out on the mythical connection that was to be bestowed on us where we could read each other's thoughts. When I tried to read him, it was like slamming into a very hard brick wall.
I walked right past them. This would be the last time we would ever have to exist in the same space. He would go to Havard, and I would go home and back to the record shop.
I continued my journey, observing but not observing a couple arguing in the hallway. I picked up "long-distance" in that conversation. They were probably breaking up before university.
Finally, I made it to my destination, and I cracked the clear door ajar to reveal the music room. All the instruments were packed up against the wall, and the lockers were cleared out. The distinct scent of pine wrapped around me, and I sighed in bliss for the last time. Truly, this was one of my favourite classrooms.
Ms. Ross wasn't there, so I sat down by the grand piano, and pulled my journal from my backpack, flipping past illegible scribbles and eraser marks, and onto the recent page. My fingers danced across the keys as I tried to find the melody again. Soon the lyrics escaped from my lips.
I just feel uncomfortable, not comfortable
With the energy you created
Uncomfortable, questionable
Why I even found you right for me
You turned my world upside down
Now I can't even get it back up
Now I just feel uncomfortable, so miserable
I trailed off into some incoherent mumble. All the lyrics that were supposed to come after were lost in the unreadable dumpster of scribbles. I found it easy to write until now, but "Uncomfortable" had lived up to its ironic title. The inspiration wasn't flowing through me right now.
I thought about the couple breaking up in the hallway. It was probably a moment of trauma for them if I was honest. I didn't understand the big deal.
"I-I," I start singing. "I like you, but I find us terrible."
My eyebrow rose in sudden surprise. The lyrics didn't activate my urge to manically scribble everything.
"Ezra!" a loud voice shrieked at me.
Ms. Ross was at the door, and I couldn't tell if she was confused or glad, neither could I tell if she was twenty or fifty. She insisted everyone call her Esmerelda (something the inner Nigerian in me would never be able to do). She took a sip from her drink tumbler and eyed me.
"What did I tell you about playing in here?" Ms. Ross said.
I sighed again. "No using the music room if you don't have supervision."
She gave a forced smile. "I can't believe it will be my last time saying that. But, unless you want to help me sort through sheet music, you have to go home. Your exams are done aren't they?"
We had this exchange at least three times a week for the last four years. Somehow, it never went anywhere. I packed up my stuff and prepared to roam to the hallways again.
"You know Ezra," she said, pushing up her glasses. "I will miss you. I don't know if there are any good pianists in the lower grades, to be honest."
I chuckled and she chuckled back. Ms. Ross was one person I would miss. If I ever stepped foot into this hellscape again, then I would come to see her again.
The sting of my parent's absence at our end-of-year concert hit again. I forced it down. It was old news. I didn't have time to talk about it with them. I was tired and so were they from work.
"Yeah," was all I could say. I'm not too good at carrying on conversations. Somehow they made me anxious.
I left the room, a melody still hanging in the air. The bridge wasn't done, and the second verse was still pretty weak. There were so many thoughts running through my head, but as soon as I left the room, they all fell short.
When I navigated the bathroom, I walked in proudly, with a bounce in my steps, knowing it was the last time I'd have to witness whatever monstrosity in here.
Then I was in a warzone. Has stung my eyes and my ears and my throat closed up. I collapsed against the wall, gasping for a breath of fresh air. I cannot breathe.
I'm kidding.
Not to my surprise, loud trap music blasted at my ears as smoke surrounded me in a sticky haze. Hermela and her friends, whom I never took the time to talk to, turned this already disgraceful bathroom into their party. She took a long drag from a vape and blew it into the mirror. They all giggled.
"Ezra!"
She didn't wave to me. She just said my name loudly and went back to infecting her lungs with some key-lime pie-flavoured cancer juice. I leaned against the wall, away from all the chaos.
"How were your exams?" she asked, staring at her phone.
"Okay," I mumbled, locking eyes with the sticky tile floors. "It was just okay. I'm glad I don't have to do it ever again."
"Huh?" she said with a giggle, staring at her phone before recording the area.
The words stop like air in my throat. "Nothing."
I didn't know why I hung out with them. Hermela was Ertitrean and Swedish which made her the prettiest girl in school. She tolerated me because one of Emmett's more popular friends said I had a fat ass back in tenth grade, which made me just popular enough for her to ask me to hang out with her.
The logical thing to do was bitch slap him into another dimension, but everyone found it funny, even Emmett, who also didn't bitch slap him either.
That elevated me from being a faceless, nameless blob floating through the high school cesspool of lesser things, to cross-contaminating it with their circle. The novelty wore off.
I was known as Emmett's Sister™ or Ezra the Loner™ to them, and I knew if I didn't hang out with them, I wouldn't have anyone to pad myself with some comfort. It was as flimsy as a tissue in a hurricane. Once everyone had cried on the last day of class, I mustered up a tear or two to blend in. I don't know I would miss them. Hell, I barely thought of them outside of school.
I slipped out, not even with one 'bye' or anything. I found myself on the TTC where I clutched my backpack as a man screamed into the void for half an hour straight, so much that it pierced through my music turned up all the way.
The city landscape turned from the soaring skyline to the smushed brick houses of Scarborough. It didn't look like Heremela's or the shiny big houses they all had with Dad that worked in "business". It was a shoddy bungalow with power lines hanging over it, and a chimney that worked by faith. No one was home yet.
I swung open the door, and there it was, assaulting my eardrums. I had tried to avoid it all day, running away from the rabid fans at the record shop who asked, swiftly swiping past TikTok snippets, but with Maria as my sister, it was only a matter of time.
Dilemma's latest music video was blaring at maximum volume courtesy of Maria, who hadn't discovered the concept of headphones yet. She was utterly transfixed at the laptop resting on her wheelchair, eyes glued, squealing like a rabid piglet at the sigh of the world's beloved golden boy, Andre Robinson.
"Oh, how kind of you to ask," I muttered. "My last day of high school ever was good."
Maria, realizing she was in reality, took a break from her Dilemma worship to glance at me through her oversized glasses. She gave a quick smile before she was engrossed again. I sighed.
"Hey!" she yipped excitedly. "You have to come watch 'Overdrive'! It's so good!"
She dramatically flopped onto the couch, her crutches flopping right alongside her. "Andre, ugh!"
Once again, I rolled my eyes, for the second time and reluctantly plopped down next to her. She hit replay on the music video.
The video began with all four members of the band striking brooding poses while sitting in race cars against a futuristic backdrop and racetrack. The music kicked in and they sped off, racing like maniacs interspersed with clips of them playing the actual music. Maria choked on her spit when a solo shot of Andre sitting on top of a car appeared.
Doesn't she ever get tired of this nonsense? I wondered.
The lyrics were as typical as ever.
Feel like I'm outta my mind
Feel like I'm outta control
When you're around me now
I can't seem to think straight
You've got a grip on me
And now I finally see
The way you make me feel
Makes me feel insane
Wondering what I should do?
When I see you step into?
My life, so clearly now
Girl you got me under a spell
Live moves so quickly now
Because you make every
Moment living
You put me on overdrive!
Put me on my overdrive
Makes me feel alive
Put me on overdrive
Makes me feel alive
I swore on the remaining -$6 in my savings account that I would never forgive Dilemma for butchering what was punk rock without mercy. Their music was sanitized, squeaky clean, without the soul to go with it. And it was insanely corny how they posed as these rebellious bad boys but felt more manufactured than a goddamn factory.
Honestly, I'm pretty sure I could write a better song than Andre and whoever their unoriginal producers could.
Maria was convinced that she would bump into Andre on the street have his grown twenty-year-old self fall in love with her fourteen-year-old self and have his litter of rocker babies with him. It was a bit much.
I couldn't deny that he had some level of attractiveness. But for the love of all things holy, don't let Maria catch wind of me saying that, or I'll be hearing about it until the Second Coming. He was attractive, but not too attractive to make a scene or get people looking hard at him to figure out the appeal. He had smooth dark brown skin, a blindly white-dimpled smile, and a symmetrical face that would half mathematicians weeping. Let's not forget those shoulder-length locs on her perpetually bruised back all the time. Once he did that, all his fans, the D-1's would foam at the mouth rabidly.
Maria lived and breathed everything that was Dilemma. She single-handedly ran the most popular Dilemma stan account on Twitter with a total of 30,000 followers, all from my dad's ancient, rickety old laptop. It was simultaneously fascinating and exhausting. I swear, that girl had the most dedication in the world.
Andre Robinson was the lead singer, frontman, and occasional guitarist of Dilemma. He was twenty, from Atlanta, and won the fan vote for the singing reality show Finding Solstice two years ago, because people liked his stage presence. I did too. But then once he started making music I quickly jumped ship. He was by far the most popular member. The money maker.
Dorian, lead guitarist and band leader, also won the judge's vote on Finding Solstice two years ago. He had a big puffy, perfectly spherical afro and was attractive, but not too much so that he would overshadow Andre. He was a musical prodigy and played a staggering ten instruments perfectly. He was also known as the band father at the ripe age of twenty-three.
Then there was the drummer, Morrison Scott, or Morri. He was the son of legendary music producer, CEO of Solstice Records, and the creator of the show Finding Solstice, Fairouz Alkaf, and the music producer Brian Scott, who was also a judge on the show. He was the only member of Dilemma that brought some soul. I always liked drummers. I guess nepotism was good for some things. He was also the baby of the group at the infantile age of eighteen.
Then they had a bassist. I always forgot about him. His name was Matthew and there was nothing too remarkable about him. He was okay-looking, but kind of boring. I think he was like nineteen or something.
The show Finding Solstice was responsible for this boyband-induced madness that swept the world. It was a singing reality show where people could compete.
I completely underestimated what this show would do. Fairouz Alkaf had this golden touch, that whatever artist she took under her wing, would become worldwide. Every single music group she produced became so big, like that girl group from the 90s, Poppy Rika.
They would probably do another season this year. They had to.
Wow. I knew so much about this group and it was all because of Maria.
Dorian soon embarked on an electric guitar solo, before Andre sprinkled in a harmony in the background, making it an electrical smush of notes.
Finally, after the guitar solo, the abomination of a song came to an end, and Maria was reluctantly pulled back into reality. Thank the heavens for small mercies.
"How were your exams?" Maria excitedly asked, turning to me.
"Good," I replied. "I'm glad I won't have to do math for another while. I don't need to work for Priya and know math."
"You won't need to know it if you're also a famous singer," Maria added, with a hopeful smile. "Did you hear they're doing auditions for Finding Solstice in Toronto? You should go!"
I sighed. "Do you think I could do all of that? I don't. I'm not like Andre. I don't want to be like Andre. He's so pretentious."
Maria gasped. "Do you know him?"
"Do you know him?" I redirected. "His fans scare me. Mom and Dad will never allow it. I'm so sure. I don't know what I want to be."
Maria sighed. "You could just try? It's not like you're doing anything this summer."
"Yeah right," I scoffed. "I have a job. Plus we have movies to watch."
"Like what?"
"I Envy U," I pointed out saying our favourite movie.
"We can watch that movie whenever," Maria said. "But you need to put yourself out there."
It was one of those cheesy romance movies that became a huge classic ten years ago. It was about a footballer and a cheerleader's relationship which gets put to the test when they both fall for the same girl. Maria and I had watched it more times than we could count. It was our comfort movie. They were supposedly making a sequel like eight years ago but it never came out.
I let out a big sigh. For the movie and myself.
Maria leaned back into and replayed the video. 'Overdrive' started back up again.
"Why are you playing it again?" I sighed.
"We need to break their streaming record," she explained. "The goal is to get fifty million views within the first twenty-four hours."
Who could want to break records for me?