Jamie shot him a look. “You either.”
His grin widened. “Now would I do something like that?”
She turned and walked toward the kitchen, knowing full well he was watching her go. “Oh, you absolutely would.”
And the worst part? She wasn’t sure she’d mind.
She said her goodbyes to the girls and kissed Poppy on the head, promising to pick her up as soon as she finished her exams.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of practice tests and review sessions. Jamie knew she’d do well on the math and science exams, so she’d scheduled them first. Social studies, writing, and finally reading—her weakest subject—would follow.
Rather than pulling an all-nighter she opted for sleep. It would be embarrassing if she didn’t pass, but she had two more chances within the calendar year. She plugged in her phone, set multiple alarms, and climbed into bed. Waking up on time worried her more than the test itself.
When her alarm buzzed the next morning, she checked her phone: first try. Relief settled in as she made coffee and got dressed, mindful an online proctor would be watching. The thought of being observed unnerved her.
The math exam was scheduled for ninety minutes but she finished in forty. She went back to check her answers, but when she started to second-guess herself she submitted it.
Science came next, mostly memorization. She finished in under an hour, far ahead of the time allotted. That one felt solid. She only needed 8 out of 20 to pass, and she was sure she had at least that.
With time to kill before social studies she took a shower to reset. Had it been a mistake to take her best subjects first? Too late to change it now.
Social studies turned out to be easier than expected: questions about maps, charts, and civics. She knew most of the answers from watching the news.
Three down, two to go. Both language arts.
Writing first. She was confident in her writing skills, but the two-hour exam was more intense than the others.
A voice crackled through her speakers. “Please hold your ID up to the camera.”
She did as instructed.
“Jamie Keaton?” the proctor asked.
“Yes.” She adjusted her grip on her license and moved it closer.
Silence. Then, “Jamie Keaton, the singer?”
Shit.
She forced a smile. “Yeah.”
“Oh my God! I saw you at the Bridgestone Arena with Clayton Langley.”
Clayton Langley.The name alone sent her thoughts spiraling.
It took her a few minutes to refocus. She read each question multiple times to make sure she understood it, but the wording tripped her up. The writing section stretched every bit of the two-hour limit. The essay she felt good about at least—probably longer than necessary, but better too much than too little.
Only one exam left: reading. Her worst subject. If she were going to fail, it would be from this.
The passages were long and dense, the answer choices frustratingly similar. She read and reread, but still wasn’t sure. Each option seemed right until she saw the next one. Her temples throbbed. Time ticked down. She guessed on the last few questions, certain she’d screwed up.
Logging out of the portal, exhaustion hit like a wrecking ball. Hot tears burned her eyes.
Derrick was right: she was stupid. After months of studying she still couldn’t pass a high school equivalency test.
She collapsed onto the couch, replaying every wasted moment—pranks on the bus, museum visits, Disneyland. She should have studied harder.
She turned on her phone. Group texts flooded in.
