Chapter 6: Three Months Before
April came faster than expected. Suddenly, graduation wasn't just a word people whispered with excitement—it was real, and it was coming. But before I could walk across any stage, I had to pass that exam.
With Mr. Coward's threat lingering in the back of my mind, I knew I couldn't just pass—I had to excel. I had to prove to him, and more importantly to myself, that I was capable of anything I set my mind to. That my future was going to be just as bright, just as prosperous, as anyone else's.
So I worked. I worked hard. I studied every concept, reworded every sentence, and went to every lesson. But there was one concept that kept slipping through my fingers like water from a cracked pipe—Mathematics.
Math was my personal torture. A riddle I couldn't solve. A knot I couldn't untie.
But I had to get it right. I had to. Because Caltech—the school five minutes from my house, the best in my district, ranked third in the country—was waiting. I had to get there. I needed to get there.
So I prayed. I begged God. And I studied harder than I ever had before. Math was like a mountain, but I was going to climb it. I kept telling myself: Just get an 80. That's all you need. Get that 80, and you're in. So I studied, and studied some more, falling to my knees and begging God when I couldn't study anymore. I needed this school. I could feel it in my heart—this was where I was meant to be. Little did I know, God had a very different plan for me.
The exam consisted of three major sections in one paper: math, English, and comprehension. English, unlike Mathematics, was my cup of tea. It was as if the words just flew through me, landing on the page in just the right order. Comprehension was about how well you understood the language, its similar verbs, and sentence structures, which was easy enough. If I got that 80 in math, an 85 in comprehension, and an A in English, I would be well on my way to Caltech in September. 255—my new lucky number.
Much like April, May came quickly, and just like that, it was exam day. We weren't allowed to sit the exam at our school, so we went to a nearby high school shut down for the day to accommodate our exam: St. Mains High School.
As I sat in my seat, all I could think of was what I would be in a few years. This exam didn't just dictate the school I went to; it held my future in its pages. It all came down to 60 questions and an essay.
"You have 2 hours. I'll inform you when you reach the 1-hour mark. Begin," the lady said. Her hair high in a ponytail, black shirt, and brown pants, as if she wore a uniform. The room went silent. As quiet as my last day in Mr. Coward's class, I don't remember if I prayed, but I know I said something in my heart, something that was just between me and God.
As I opened the pages, my life flashed before my eyes. Fractions, percentages, "basic" algebra—who were they kidding, giving that paper to 11-year-olds? I could feel the knot appear in my throat as I sat there, trying not to cry my eyes out, feeling Caltech slipping through my fingers. I went through each question, begging God to help me remember the solutions. One by one, I got through them, and finally, with one hour left on the clock—I know this because that was the moment the lady with the high ponytail reminded us—I locked in:
"Another word for painful? Sure, excruciating."
"What would you title a poem about loving someone far away?"
"I Long For You Even While You're Afar."
I flew through each question with ease, which, to my luck (or God's sense of humor), was mostly multiple-choice. And then there was one: the essay. "Write a story using the series of images provided" (you never write on those; it's always a trap), or "Write about someone who is influential in your life."
So that's what I did. I wrote about my mom. It's crazy to recall, as she never believed me and always taught i wrote about the images, which might I add would have been essay suicide. I always wished I could see my exam paper, maybe show her the proof that I did write about her and it was a darn good essay. I left the exam that day with an odd sense of calm, as if all my problems had faded away, and all I had to do was wait and see—which is exactly what I did.
Interestingly, Jasmine and I really connected in that wait. You would have never known how much we hated each other a few months prior we talked everyday as if we were best friends, i never forgot what she did that day and how that affected my life but it felt good to lay a long standing beef to rest. Results came back close to graduation, and all the parents had to go to the school to collect our results, while all the kids (at least my class) waited on a house party call. the only criteria being once you got your results you left the call One by one, kids screaming in joy or crying their eyes out logged off : James, Aldania; Destine St. Lawrence; Alfred, Aldania; Shain, St. Marks. Until it was just me and Jasmine. She got hers first. Fractions, and much like I was about to be, she wasn't very happy—more annoyed than sad.
Then there was me—my heart beating in my chest as I pleaded with God to remember His promise, to never forsake us. A white, thin paper holding my entire future.
"250, Aldania!"
What? My heart sank. 250,75-in math. I didn't make it. My heart broke entirely, sinking into my chest. My mom was overjoyed. "Aldania's a good school; it's just a bit far up in the country, but you'll love it," she said. I didn't care. I lost. By 5 percent.
Mom went to Cal that week, seeing if they'd make an exception. I felt like a spoiled brat throwing a tantrum to get into a school she didn't even qualify for. "I'm sorry, we're full, but she can try again next year after she's spent one year at the school she qualified for." "We're full". I knew it was just a ruse to get us out of his office, but hell, what was I to do? I cried that night, pissed that after all the work I did, God had the nerve to bring me so close yet so far.
I got myself together eventually {knowing i had no other choice}. Plus, graduation was in a few weeks, and a school in the country? That sounded like quite the adventure.
The weeks blurred into days, and the days into moments. Before I knew it, graduation came and went like a whisper in the wind. I wasn't sad. I thought I would be, but all I felt was a quiet sort of peace, like a chapter had closed exactly when it was supposed to.
I had learned what I needed to from that place—the lessons, the heartbreak, the self-discovery. I was done carrying the weight of being misunderstood.
Aldania was waiting. It was what I wanted, but it was all I had.
A new school. A new uniform. A new start.
But I wasn't the same girl I had been when I first walked through the gates of St. Martins. No, Nyara had changed. I had changed.
And so, with my bag slung over one shoulder and my future pressed into the palm of my hand like a folded acceptance letter, I took my first seat on the bus to my new high school—
—unaware that the real story was only just beginning.