I drew a blank.
It was not as huge as Nationals, but all of a sudden, in the middle of an equation, I forgot what I was doing. And again, Future Sam, it was so strange because, yes, I was confused and upset, but there was also this sort of loopy happiness that made no sense, like I had just woken up from a long nap. And again, I almost laughed or smiled or something at the absurdity of it. Like, huh, what did I come in here for? What was I doing? Was I multiplying something? Huh, well, la-di-da.
As the fog cleared, I retraced my steps. I went back to the beginning of the problem and tried it again. But I couldn’t keep track of where among the numbers I went astray. I couldn’t reroute without erasing everything and starting completely over, and I didn’t have time for that. I was panicking.
So I cheated. I thought of which of Coop’s methods would work, and I really, really cheated. I made sure no one was watching, I licked my thumb, and I moved it across the ink of the next problem until the numbers were unrecognizable.
While Mrs. Hoss looked closer at my paper, I zeroed in on Felicia Thompson’s desk in the front row. As I walked back to my spot with a new test, I chanted her answers quietly to myself. A, A, B, D, C, C, A…
Over lunch I felt so guilty, I completed an entire practice test, just to prove I could have done it if it hadn’t been for NPC. (I aced it. But still.)
On the last hour of high school, while everyone in the senior hallway was ripping papers and books out of their lockers with vicious glee, I caught up with Coop and told him.
“Aw, baby’s first guilt trip,” he said, and put his hand on top of my head, ruffling my hair. “It’s over! Who cares? You would have killed it, right? You didn’t do anything wrong. Sometimes it’s just about timing.”
“Sure,” I said. For Coop it was.
Coop stopped in the middle of the hall, next to me. “What are you doing now?”
“Walking,” I said without thinking, because I was thinking about a million other things.
“People are coming over to my house to grill hot dogs.”
“That sounds fun!” I said, and waved good-bye.
Later I realized he might have been inviting me. Oh well. Me and social cues.
As we walked out of Hanover’s doors for the last time as high schoolers, I wasn’t reminiscing, I wasn’t crying, I wasn’t celebrating. I was praying. God, Jesus, Mary, and all the saints, I said over and over. Please, please, please let graduation day be the right timing.