“Well done. I hope to see you in my lecture next week.” He puts the essay into a folder containing others and leaves.
I send a text to Emory as I leave the lecture theatre.
55%. Is that good? I don’t think that’s good.
You know the grade boundaries, don’t you?
No. Why would I?
I imagine him rolling his eyes as he reads my text.
40-50% is a Third-Class Honours. 50-60% is a Lower Second-Class Honours. 60-70% is an Upper Second-Class Honours, and anything above 70% is a First-Class Honours. So yes, 55% is great.
So if by some miracle I can average 55% between now and the end of my degree, I’d get a 2:2?
Yes. It won’t take a miracle, just hard work.
I snort. According to Dad, I’m allergic to hard work. The thing is, I’ll be happy with a 2:2. Heck, I’ll be ecstatic if I scrape a third. It’s still an honours degree. But I doubt my parents will be. They’ve told me over and over that they graduated with first-class degrees and that Dad got an award for having the highest exam results in his year group. I doubt anything less than a first will satisfy them. So even though 55% is a huge achievement for me, I’m still going to be a failure in their eyes. Fuckers.
I need to get my thoughts back on track and figure out what to cook for Emory. And the person who can help me is right over there. Talk about serendipity.
I jog up behind Casey and put my arm around his shoulders. “Fancy meeting you here.”
He raises his eyebrows as he stares at me. “Auggie. Um, what do you want?”
I jostle his shoulder. “Some advice. Or maybe inside information. I’ll let you decide which it is.”
“I’m confused.”
“You know I’m cooking dinner for Emory tonight, right?”
He stares at the ground. “Yes. He mentioned it.”
Do I detect a hint of jealousy?
“Well, I’m an idiot. I didn’t find out if there’s anything he loves or doesn’t like. Then I saw you and thought that’s the person who’ll know. So, will you help a guy out? I’ll buy you a coffee.”
He checks his watch. “I have to get to swimming practice.”
I pout. “How do you get there?”
“Bus.”
“A taxi would be faster. So you help me, and I’ll shout you a taxi ride. Please? I need your help.”
It’s true that I do want his help, but I figure this is also part of operation ‘make Casey realise he’s in love with Emory’. If he doesn’t get jealous while helping me plan my date with Emory, it’ll be plain as day he’s not interested.
He sighs. “Okay.”
“You’re a lifesaver. Thanks.” I keep my arm around his shoulder as we walk towards the closest canteen. “Wait. You probably are a lifesaver, aren’t you? You’d learn that sort of stuff through swimming.”
Casey side-eyes me. “Um, no. I went down the competitive track.”
“Oh. So you don’t know how to give someone mouth-to-mouth?”
“No.”
Bang goes that fantasy. Unless— “What about the other kind of mouth-to-mouth? Are you any good at that?”
