"But—"
"And," she cut me off, eyes narrowing, "you will complete your homework in the library where I can supervise you. Not your bedroom."
I swallowed. "You don't trust me to study?"
"I have invested far too much money in your education to risk your failure in these critical years," she replied. "You're not my child. This is not charity. Youwillimprove, do you understand?"
"Yes, ma'am."
I wished I could say that my fifty-five percent was a one off, that it was a freak incident that had not repeated itself. Unfortunately, it was only the beginning.
My English essay was handed back to me with a sixty percent, my ancient history assignment a fifty-nine, and my visual arts project a sixty-five. Instead of improving, I only seemed to be getting worse.
Wow, the Devil said as I stared down at yet another low scoring assessment result,you’re not even good at school anymore. Even good grades are running away from you.
The fifty in biology—my lowest mark yet—was a gut wound that could not be mended. I would bleed out, my body swimming in its own pool of blood.
Pathetic, really, the Devil went on,what good are you if you’re, you know, not any good? And Aunt Vera paid all this money…
My hands curled into fists at my side, knuckles whiter than clean snow as I breathed through my racing heartbeat and nausea.
You’re such a disappointment, Augustus. Really. You let Alexander win. And without even putting up a fight.
“Shut. Up,” I whispered.
I can’t believe you’re failing everything. No, wait, I can. You ruin everything.
"I said shut up."
If you can't even maintain good grades, whatcanyou do? You're a failure. A failure, a failure, a fail—
“SHUT UP!”
The room went silent.
Heads swivelled in my direction, some bewildered and some annoyed. Alexander stared at me as though I had grown a second head and Ava frowned, studying me like a confusing piece of art.
“Augustus?” Mr Han approached me, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips pulled down. “What’s the matter?”
My cheeks warmed, leg bouncing up and down uncontrollably as I picked at my nails. I wanted to run. I wanted to run far, far away until I couldn’t run anymore. And so, I did.
Without taking any of my things, I launched to my feet and sprinted out of the room.
Mr Han called out to me, but no one followed as I fled the building and travelled across the school yard. My feet guided me to the only place nearby where I felt safe. The art block. I found the empty art studio, slipped inside, and slammed the door shut behind me. As soon as I did, I pressed my back against the door and slid to the ground, my whole body trembling as ugly sobs burst from my mouth.
I cried, and cried, and cried until exhaustion took over and I merely sat with my head hung low, the Devil finally quiet.
***
The window in Principal Reid’s office was open, a cool breeze wafting through to brush my curls out of my eyes. She was seated behind her desk, elbows resting on the dark oak wood while I sat in the chair across from her, my restless hands busying themselves with a piece of lint I’d torn off my sweater.
It had been a few days since my outburst in Mr Han’s biology classroom, a few days since I’d deigned to attend school.
Mrs Brighton hadn’t really believed I was sick, so she’d called Aunt Vera who was visiting theatres in Paris. She warned me that if I didn’t resume classes, she would withdraw access to my art studiopermanently.
And so here I was, in Principal Reid’s office.
“I know year eleven can be…an adjustment,” she was saying, her voice blending in with the Devil who sang church songs from the chair beside me. “But the drastic drop in your marks, your absences, your outburst…we’re all very concerned for you, Augustus. Can you tell me what is going on?”
