‘Sure.’
A cloud of unease descended upon them. It was unknown, uncomfortable territory, this awkwardness with the girl she peed in front of, shared a bed with, chatted to until the early hours and did her darndest to look like. Such was the weight of the moment that she almost forgot they were about to walk into school and find out their exam results.
Michelle took her hand, and she was glad of it. A reminder that they as a duo were bigger than the fancying of any boy, stronger than the meddling words of Tony Dunlop.
‘So what do you think, low hundreds?’ Michelle asked.
‘Fingers crossed.’ Bessie chose not to divulge that she thought possibly inside a hundred – there were, after all, three hundred and sixty-two pupils in the year and she figured she would likely make the top third. Good grades would mean a breeze for the next two years of school, acceptance into the sixth form, and her ticket, quite literally, to the skies . . .
‘Let’s do this!’
‘Yes, let’s do it!’ She gave a small smile, tinged with relief. The two ran up the wide steps and into the old school hall, the room busy with all the drama she had anticipated. A couple of girls held each other’s forearms in a fierce grip as they jumped and squealed, their side ponytails rising and sinking in unison. Monica and Verity – she might have guessed. Both were drama queens, the kind of girls who regularly cried hysterically and publicly as they stormed out of rooms and who were even now making way too much noise as they pogoed on the spot. Their antics only added to the already palpable tension. One or two of the nerdy kids, usually the ones in glasses, as if the world needed some outward sign to indicate their nerdiness, stood with their necks craned and spiral-bound notebooks resting on the wall as they scribbled down their grades. Standing behind him, Bessie glanced at the pad of Harrington Ainsworth – goodness only knew why he felt the need to write them down: Maths A, Advanced Maths A, Physics A, Chemistry A . . . and on it went until he had ripped through all thirteen of his subjects – thirteen! – and all with a shiny A grade. Harrington, with the best results in the year, had Oxford in his sights and, with this set of grades, within his grasp as well.
‘You’re here, Michelle!’ Louise Berry called out, pointing, as she spotted Michelle’s name just below hers. Michelle Biggs.
‘Cheers!’ Michelle smiled. Her hand slipped from Bessie’s and she walked slowly up to the board, running her finger down the list.
How were she and Lawrence going to handle the situation? Bessie felt a little shiver of unease at the prospect.
‘One hundred and seventy-two!’ Michelle beamed back over her shoulder.
Not bad at all. Bessie gave her a double thumbs-up, pleased for her friend, who had come almost slap bang in the middle of the year in terms of results. She continued along the boards towards the W’s, X’s, Y’s and Z’s, with her heart beating louder with each step . . . This was it! Her eyes skimmed the list and she was drawn to the number three hundred and sixty-one. Oh dear! She cringed for whoever had done this badly.
There she was on the last page, as she had expected, thanks to her grandad’s Yorkshire roots. ‘Worrall,’ she said aloud, knowing she was the only one in the year. Narrowing her gaze, her heart gave a little skip and her mouth felt dry.
‘Well, that can’t be right!’ she whispered aloud.
She looked around to see clusters of pupils all studying the board. She stared at the line with her results and it was as if they became magnified. She had attained a handful of F’s, a couple of U’s, which meant ‘ungraded’, and the odd E, but it was the number that burned into her mind.
Three hundred and sixty-one.
Three hundred and sixty-one!!!!
‘Are you actually fucking kidding me right now?’ she yelled. ‘No way!’ All eyes turned to face her. She could feel their stares burning into her back, but it was too late to keep quiet now.
‘Come on.’ Michelle, suddenly by her side, put a hand on her lower back and steered her towards the exit.
‘Bessie?’ Louise Berry’s shout echoed, and she turned slowly to see the smiling girl, staring at her with palms out and shoulders raised as if to say, How did you do? Louise was apparently the only person in the hall who had not heard the fiasco at the other end of the noticeboard.
Well . . . I won’t be coming back to attend the sixth form. I won’t be doing A levels . . . These facts lodged in her throat like sharp sticks. I’m stupid! I’m as stupid as my teachers and brother think I am! How can I apply to airlines without a single decent grade? What am I supposed to do now? She blinked at Louise and watched the girl’s smile fade; Bessie’s expression was apparently enough to convey all she was struggling to contain.
On shaking legs and with Michelle navigating through the crowds, steering her, they walked the length of the hall. The entrance seemed to move further away with every faltering step and the door got smaller and smaller.
‘All right there, Bessie?’
She turned to see Melanie Hall and her crew all huddled with their hands in or around their mouths, chewing nails, stifling giggles or whispering. Her face burned hot with shame and she again felt the sting of tears at the back of her nose and throat.
‘I heard MENSA were trying to get hold of you!’ Melanie called, and her mates laughed, as Bessie picked up the pace and walked as quickly as she could with Michelle towards daylight and fresh air. They came to a stop in the foyer beyond the school hall.
‘Are you okay?’ her friend asked, bending to peer into her eyes, like a mum checking on a sick child.
‘I don’t . . . I thought . . .’ she managed.
With whoops of joy and congratulatory chants ringing in their ears, Michelle led her down the shallow steps and out on to the parking apron at the front of the school. Even here, friends were hugging each other before running in the direction of home to share their success, while others jumped into waiting cars, where parents sat with engines ticking over before enveloping their offspring in tight hugs of delight. Everyone seemed to be screaming with happiness. The noise was loud in her ears and the air thick with an oppressive energy. She looked at the eager faces of her peers, all keen to announce the grades that would mean a ticket out of here – the first step towards making their dreams come true.
A ticket she did not possess because she was simply not as smart as she had thought.
Bessie’s confidence was haemorrhaging from her. Of course, there might be a way to get the grades, resit the exams possibly, but it was more than that – Bessie had thought she was clever and capable of travelling the world . . . but her results had brought her to an abrupt halt and made her think otherwise.
Michelle put an arm around her shoulder. ‘So come on, what did you get? It can’t have been that bad, Bessie.’
Bessie shook her head, tears stuck like a plug of salt at the back of her nose and throat.
‘I got . . .’ She couldn’t say it. ‘I did crap . . . I messed up . . . I . . .’
I had a head full of Lawrence. I haven’t studied properly for a couple of months – more interested in meeting him in the alleyway . . . I found it hard to concentrate . . .
‘Whatever you got, it doesn’t matter, not really. None of it does!’ Michelle applied the same kindly logic that Bessie had earlier when her friend had asked about her birthday gifts.