“The question is…which planet in our solar system has the most volcanoes?”
My mind blanked and my opponent answered with a carefree, “Venus, Sir.”
“Correct!”
Heat climbed to my cheeks, every cell in my body forming a protest as I glared at my opponent—glared at the one responsible for snatching my win. He gave me a wink and a smirk as I walked off stage, and my body only burned hotter. I wanted to gouge out his eyeballs and slice the smirk right off his face. Instead, I dumped myself into my seat with a scowl and watched my opponent beat every single person from my team as though the questions were designed purely for him.
“Well, it seems we have a clear winner,” Dr Graham announced with a pleased smile as he gestured to my tall, smiling opponent. “Can I get a round of applause for my first recommendation, Nathaniel Carrington!”
***
The first semester at Dawnridge was overwhelming. Late nights cramming for exams. Early mornings skim reading the required articles for a nine am class. Assignments submitted seconds before the midnight deadline. Between work and study, I rarely had time for my art. Sketchbooks lay abandoned on my bedroom floor; paint brushes dry from disuse.
But the intense study load was worth it. I was at the top of every class—except one. InIntroduction to Psychological Studies,I was ranked second. Ranks were exclusive to Dawnridge University. To 'encourage competitiveness' that would lead to 'patterns of success.' It only made me anxious. I needed to be number one, but there was one student who bested me in every assignment. One student who buzzed around like a fly I could not squash.
Nathaniel Carrington.
And to make matters worse, he wasn’t even a psychology student. He was in his second year ofmedicineand had selectedIntroduction to Psychological Studiesas an elective. He waselectivelybeating me.
His hand was always raised to answer a question—a long, over-explained response that should have been five words at most—shifting in his chair to face the rest of us as thoughhewere our teacher.
I often had the urge to tear his arm from his socket and slap him right across the face with it. Instead, I took notes of every word that rolled off his tongue, underlining words I intended tofind the definitions of so I could reassure myself I wasn't all that far behind. I could be his equal, if I tried hard enough. No, I could bebetter.
You couldn't even best Alexander, and Nathaniel is smarter than him.
He laughed at Professor Graham's jokes, insisted on calling himdoctor,and requested further reading material at the end of every class. I remained behind, pretending to take extra time packing my bag, when I was really recording every title that Professor Graham recommended Nathaniel. I couldn't let him get ahead.
No one else seemed to share my disdain. He was popular, a swarm of wasps he called friends always around him as though he were a rare flower they needed to pollinate. Even those who weren’t a part of his friend group seemed to worship him, congratulating him on every success.
As part of our second assignment, we were required to respond to at least three students' discussion posts. And, of course, he chosemineto interrogate.
His condescending, and incorrect response contradicted every statement I made. It wasn’t a requirement to defend ourselves in the comments, but I did anyway, dismissing all his counter arguments with evidence from multiple peer-reviewed articles. If there was one thing I always insisted on being, it was right.
Unfortunately, Nathaniel appeared to share this mindset, for he responded once more, using his own ‘evidence’ to support his incorrect claims. This back-and-forth continued all night, the discussion board flooded with our repeated arguments. In the end, Nathaniel ended our debate with: ‘Let’s agree to disagree.’
We hadn’t spoken in person, not since he won Professor Graham’s personal recommendation. I doubted he even realised that theAugustus Sainthe had argued with on the discussion board was the same one he’d faced that very first day. I probablynever even crossed his mind, just a dark cloud being chased out of his sunlight.
He had certainly crossed mine, though. And it wasn’t even just about securing the Dean's Merit Award or the scholarship. It was about knocking him off his golden throne; about making him sweat. I wanted him to have tofightfor that number one ranking, for everything else seemed to come to him so easily.
I watched him sit in the front row of every class, friends circling him like birds waiting to be thrown a bite of bread. They craved his attention, waiting for a smile or a laugh, or even just a glance.
A permanent scowl on my face deterred anyone from sitting near me. I did not care. I was used to not having friends. And the friends I did make were only temporary, so what was the point? I was not like Nathaniel. I did not need an ensemble of adoring fans.
I built a cage around my heart and gave no one the key.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The second semester at Dawnridge brought with it endless rain and merciless deadlines. Students splashed through puddles, black coats and flimsy umbrellas raised above their heads as they sprinted between classes. Some mornings, there was snow—a blanket of white draped over the grass. By the afternoon, it had melted.
I was enrolled in four new classes, one of which was an elective subject where I was once again competing against Nathaniel Carrington. For someone enrolled in a medical degree, he sure seemed invested in psychology. And good at it, too.
Psychological Manipulationproved to be a rather difficult subject. A surprise to me, really, considering the course outline listed seemingly simple topics such as ethical versus unethical psychological tactics, human vulnerability to manipulation, the Milgram study, gaslighting, cult psychology, propaganda and psychological manipulation theories, to name a few. Science and statistical analysis—which I found somewhat more challenging in other subjects—were not required. And yet, I received a disappointing seventy-six percent on my essay: Foundations ofManipulation. A Distinction. It was a blow to the gut. I needed to secure a High Distinction for the remainder of the semester, or my second-year scholarship was as good as gone.
Despite the low mark, there was onlyonestudent ahead of me. Nathaniel, of course. He’d received an eighty percent, just falling short of a High Distinction. Clearly, I wasn't the only one struggling.
We were warnedPsychological Manipulationwould be a challenging subject during our very first lecture, but it was obvious Nathaniel had never received such a low mark before. His fingers raked through his black hair until it was sticking up in all different directions, teeth nibbling on his bottom lip until he tore skin, blood staining his teeth. He didn't relax until our Professor, Helen Haywood, announced the course ranking—as was the Dawnridge way—and he was crowned first place. My name followed his, and when it did, Nathaniel glanced over his shoulder to look at me.
I met his gaze, unflinching. We had two more assessments until our final grade was etched in stone. Two more opportunities to replace him at the top and secure the scholarship for myself.
