"
Errors are not in the art but in the artificers.
"
- Isaac Newton
F is for Fuck Up
Harper had been told she was annoyingly dramatic. Whether it was her teachers while fighting to get an extra point or students who were at the end of her glare as they questioned her. It certainly caught the attention of Ms. Gourdon who had begged her to try out for the school play only to be met with a pitying look and a shake of the head, but a promise of directing in some way was made. Yet as she sat there with an essay gripped in her hands she could hear nothing but blood rushing in her ears.
She could see it mocking her, barely able to feel the teacher give her a sad pat on the shoulder before passing the next essay out. She could hardly register Ms. Rena asking her to stay after class. She would've been glued to her seat anyway as she tried to fathom how it had happened. Harper had spent months on that stupid research paper. Digging through journal after journal, article after article. She even typed until her hands cramped.
The large blaring F was enough to put her in her place. The frowny face was enough for her to feel guilty for whatever reason. Disappointment pooled in her gut before spreading out to the rest of her. Everything felt wrong. Like the earth was off-kilter.
The blaring noise of the bell took her out of her pity party induced trance and her head shot up to meet the gaze of Ms. Rena. Harper had barely noticed that her peers had rushed out as the teacher had moved closer to her desk.
"Are you okay?" Ms. Rena asked in concern. Her eyebrows pinching together as she looked down at the young girl.
Harper's mouth had opened slightly and she could already feel the tears pool in her eyes. She wasn't going to cry, she had promised herself. Although, these tears would be more than welcome in the safety of the bathroom of her rundown high school. She refused to cry in front of Ms. Rena.
"Not really," Harper finally got out. She had been slipping as of late. Everything had been piling on top of each other. Each night she got less and less sleep. Her prominent eyebags were signal enough to the worried teacher and then the paper. "Why?" She asked, her voice cracking.
Oh, her 22-page mess of a paper was nothing if not a cry for help.
The title read Anxiety and it's Biological Effects Outside of The Brain. The paper was unfocused and scatterbrained. The sources were great, but it was like Harper had rambled on and on and on. She had always been an overachiever, but this was excessive.
Ms. Rena didn't know how to explain. "Harper, hey. It's not the end of the world. There's always the makeup paper."
Harper didn't react as Ms. Rena had wanted. She dropped the paper and put her head in her hands. A low groan coming from the girl. The girl who certainly didn't have enough time to write a paper on top of the hours of homework she had to do. What was she going to do? If she brought home this stupid essay her dad was going to kill her. She was in so much trouble.
And then came the shakes. Harper felt as though she might fall from her seat at any moment. Or if she stood she would soon meet the ground. She could feel an uncomfortable and unrelenting warmth, her ill-fitting wool sweater was becoming too hot despite the room being 60°. She couldn't breathe. It was like a sandbag had taken permanent residence and she brought her head up to see the unflattering fluorescent lights as she put a desperate hand on her chest. It was too much.
Ms. Rena watched with wide eyes before moving to sit at the desk in front of her student. She tried as hard as she possibly could to keep her voice from shaking. "Harper, look at me," she said her tone pleading. Harper's deep brown eyes looked into her own. "I need you to breathe, okay?"
She tried and only felt it worsen as she took shallow breaths. She shook her head, expresso brown hair falling into her sight as she gripped at the desk to steady herself. Her teacher began to do it as she spoke. "In for four. Out for four," the woman repeated like a mantra long after Harper caught on and continued with her.
"Harper, talk to me about Rosalind Franklin," Rena urged. The idea popping through her head as she remembered her previous opinion piece on women in science that were duped.
The girl heaved out a breath and nodded, "She was a- uh... physical chemist." Harper began sprouting fun facts, even giving a timeline of the events that lead to the discovery of the structure of DNA. Rena occasionally piping in with a question or a comment to do anything to keep her talking.
Harper hadn't even noticed when the shaking had stopped. She did notice when she had nothing else to say about the woman that she was still in deep shit.
"Do you want me to call your dad?" Ms. Rena asked, her lips tugging into a frown as Harper shook her head.
"No, he would freak!" She exclaimed. Her attendance record was perfect and she would rather it not be beseeched today. How embarrassing would that be, all for a three-minute freakout?
Ms. Rena quirked her head, "Does that happen a lot?" She asked.
The girl merely shrugged and turned her gaze downward to look at her now tearstained essay. When had she started crying? She hadn't even realized. "Look, I can't get an F," she pleaded with her teacher who looked at her with nothing but worry.
Rena nodded stiffly before taking the paper and flipping through the pages. Stopping on the 6th. She ripped the rest of the essay off, before going to the last page and tearing that off. Harper watched with wide eyes as her 2-month-old baby was butchered. Rena reached over and grabbed a stapler. The woman nodded in satisfaction as she stitched her own Frankenstein's monster together. She bit her bright red bottom lip as she grabbed her matching pen, flipping through the pages and skimming it over before finally turning to the front and crossing out the grade and the frownie face with Harper's usual A. The woman even added a little "Sorry, my bad" note.
Harper's jaw had dropped as Rena slid the paper back over to her. "Your mental health is important, y'know," the English teacher stated casually as if she had seen many honors students have panic attacks.
Harper winced and looked at the teacher in disbelief, tugging at her prematurely gray strand of hair. Stress was an understatement for the overwhelming sense of pressure she had constantly felt. "Yeah, I'm well aware," she drawled out. "I just don't have time for it," she added snarkily.
Harper had dreams, big ones. She would be damned if she wasn't leaving Neah Bay. Maybe go south. Berkeley or Stanford. Maybe east, to Harvard or Duke, maybe even Brown. Not only was there the ever foreboding pressure of her own future on her but her unyielding dad's expectations.
Adrian Young would be damned if his daughter, a product of a teenaged fuckup, followed in her mother's footsteps and he took every precaution to make sure it didn't. That didn't mean it had positive effects despite the perfect outer appearance.
Ms. Rena looked taken aback as she stared at Harper for every hint she saw past the unrelenting sarcasm. "You had a panic attack!" She whisper-shouted to the student across from her. She caught the eye roll and narrowed her eyes. "Harper, your brain is an organ, you have to take care of it if it's sick."
"Yep," came the automatic response from the girl. Her eyes flicking to the clock on the wall that was no doubt wrong before checking her phone. She was grateful for her free period, but she had AP physics homework to do.
It wasn't due for a couple of days but she couldn't complete it at home because she had to watch Claire. Claire, her 9-month-old half-sister who she swears has a vendetta against her with how many shirts she had ruined with her baby stuff. And then after that, she had to clean the kitchen and then the living room and then mow the grass and so on and so forth.
Homework wasn't an after school option unless she was willing to stay up past midnight to finish it.
"Harper, I have to call your dad."
The girl's gaze flicked over to her teacher at lightning speed. Eyes wide as she stared at her teacher while shaking her head. He would flip. Or call her overdramatic. Or complain about it. Or call her crazy. And she couldn't deal with that right now. She didn't have the time to deal with that right now.
"Please," Harper pleaded. "Call my stepmom instead," she suggested after the thought of Maya pre-wedding who told her she could come to her with anything. Harper had not taken that offer up after 3 years, but there's no time like the present.
Ms. Rena looked at Harper suspiciously before nodding. "Okie Dokie," she stated simply as she moved back to her desk, spending a few moments on the ancient computer before rapidly clicking on the buttons of Maya's number.
It rang only twice before Maya picked up. The woman was on her lunch break as a Dental Assistant and wasn't in a rush to finish. "Hello, Maya Young speaking. Who's this?" Her excited and curious voice was matched by a pair of perfectly straight and blindingly white teeth.
"Hi, Mrs. Young. This is Amanda Rena, I'm Harper's English teacher," Ms. Rena introduced, her eyes flicking up to see Harper pouting as she glared out the window. "I'm calling because Harper had a panic attack and I think it would be best if she went home."
Maya Young's smile diminished and she nodded. "I'll pick her up in five," the woman promised before hastily hanging up as she rushed out of the break room. She barely remembered to grab her purse before rushing out of the office.
Ms. Rena rose an eyebrow at the receiver before shaking her head and putting it down. She looked back over at Harper who had stopped glaring at the trees and now was taking the time to glare at her boots. Thrift store docs with too many scuffs to count and were faded from years of use. The woman gave herself a small smile as she pulled out her lunch bag. "I have a cupcake in here with your name on it."
Harper gave the teacher a small grin before moving to sit on the office chair kept to the side while Ms. Rena was having the time on her life with the exercise ball she brought from home. The two shared the cupcake in a somewhat comfortable silence as she waited for someone to get her to tell her that Maya was there to pick her up.
Soon enough Harper was bidding a stoic goodbye to the teacher and rushing into the front seat of Maya's fancy car. The woman occasionally glanced at Harper who spent her time avoiding all eye contact by looking out the window.
"Are you-"
"I'm fine," Harper snapped lightly before turning the volume up so there was something beside mind-numbing silence in the car as she drove to their home.
Maya and Harper got along. She would by no means call her mom. Ever. Why would she need to? Maya wasn't her mom, she was Claire's. She had known the woman since she was twelve and after four years there was no changing that.
As soon as she pulled into the house Maya stopped her from leaving by lightly tugging on Harper's parka. The girl gruffly sat down in her seat and looked at her stepmom questioningly with a practiced raised brow.
"Take it easy today, okay?" Maya asked and Harper couldn't help but notice the concern laced in the request.
She was fine, honestly.
"I have chores and homework to do Maya, I can't. I'm busy," Harper reminded.
Maya simply waved a hand and let an easy-going, and what she hoped was reassuring, smile take over her face. "It's okay to skip it for one day, I'll ask June if she can stay longer so you don't have to watch Claire too."
Harper couldn't help but be shocked. Since Claire had been born the middle-aged neighbor was overzealous with her baby fever. June might love children, but that didn't mean Harper had to. And she was sure Claire didn't like her much either despite what her dad had told her. Even with June's help, they still requested Harper to look after Claire after school was June could and do council stuff.
From 3:17, when she got home from Neah Bay High to 7:30, when her dad arrived home she had to look over the monster that was Claire. And thank God for Emily, her aunt, who liked to stop by on the weekends to help June and Maya out. She claimed it helped soothe her own baby fever.
Harper nodded at Maya and let a wisp of a smile take over her face. "Thanks, Maya," she murmured out as she climbed out of the car.
Maya nodded and rolled down the passenger window, "Bye, love you!" She shouted with a joyous wave. Not a flicker of hurt showed in her eyes when Harper just gave a half-hearted wave when she walked into the house.
The teen was just thankful June was doing whatever in the nursery as she snuck into her own room, throwing herself on her bed. She was never one for subtlety. Harper let out a low groan before pulling her backpack and herself down to her desk.
She had AP Physics homework to do after all.
It was 6:30 by the time Harper pulled herself away from that stupid textbook. She couldn't focus for the life of her and with a growling stomach, she knew it was time to put that insipid book down. Exhaustion and hunger were the only two things she felt. Then came the mouthwatering scent of baked goods. With a smile, Harper pulled herself to the kitchen to find her grandpa making muffins. The smile that broke out on her face was unmatched as she raced to the elderly man, carefully throwing her arms around him.
Her grandpa was her favorite family member. She took after him the most in every area except for baking. That had been reserved for Emily and whatever hellspawn she would have. He worked at Peninsula College as a professor in Chemistry. He was all in all a gigantic nerd that she could poke fun with.
"How's my favorite girl doing?" He asked gleefully, returning Harper's ambush of a hug with equal fervor. The loving elder pressed a kiss to his granddaughter's temple with a smile.
Harper might have been his favorite family member too. Her smile dimmed as she pulled away. "Did Maya tell you?" She asked with a wince, grabbing a blueberry delicacy and biting in.
He nodded simply.
Harper pursed her lips together and ran a hand through her hair. "I'm fine I just- I just got a bad grade is all," she revealed, her cheeks flushing.
"Harper, it's okay to get bad grades," he nagged. She could practically feel what be was about to say and nodded. "They teach you what not to do so you can better yourself. It's only November," he reminded her.
She had been told this, yes. Did it matter much to her at all? Hell no.
Yes, it was only November. But November was a stepping stone for midterms which was a stepping stone for finals. And then she would do it over and over again until graduation. "I know, Pa. I just-" she crossed her arms defensively and turned away to stare at a spot on a wall when she caught his concerned glance. "I just worked so hard on this stupid paper. 2 months! 2 months of work for it to go all down the drain with an F and then I have 8 hours of homework and then these chores and then there's Claire and it's like I barely have time to sleep I'm just-"
Her grandpa was watching her with wide eyes as she ranted and when she caught his gaze she let out a shaky breath she hadn't realized she had been holding.
"I just need a break." Her voice was a mere croak as she let out the tears she had been holding in about that stupid paper. At this point, Harper didn't even know why she was crying. The grade was fixed. It was only November. Everything was fine.
Except it oh so obviously wasn't.
When Adrian Young got home the last thing he expected to see was his daughter balling her eyes out while feasting on muffins, trying to converse with his father who watched on.
He looked over to his father her gave him the look. You know the look that has such a burning intensity that he could almost feel the childhood punishment if he didn't come and sit by his father at that moment. So he did.
"I just feel like I can't breathe," Harper, now completely red in the face moaned out.
Her dad furrowed his eyebrows. "Asthma?" He whispered turning to his father who shook his head.
"It's like I'm sitting at the bottom of the ocean and I can feel every gallon of water on top of me. Pushing and pushing and pushing... until I just-" Harper cut off as her eyes met her dad's. They looked like her grandpa. Sad and concerned.
They never did like talking about Liam. Liam who had died too young and said the same thing in a little note they hadn't found until it was too late.
"Harper, I think we need to talk."
Fast forwards two weeks and Harper was making the hour and a half trip down to La Push by herself. The entirety of the back of her old and frankly crusty powder blue jeep was filled with everything she actually needed and everything her dad and Maya insisted she brought.
Harper couldn't help but repeat what her dad had told her. She needed a fresh start. New faces. More trees, less sand. As if there wasn't First Beach five minutes away from Aunt Emily's house.
A fresh start at another school where she would just be labeled as an ambitious bitchy control freak.
Sounds great.
***
Be prepared for some pining bih. Also all my interest in writing the next chapter of angst went out the window.