I look down at my desk distractedly.

I'm in the middle of an English lecture and can't stop glancing at my phone as it lights up with messages in my open bag under the desk. Slater - sorry, Professor Hartley - kept eyeing me earlier with disapproving looks as I nibbled at my sleeve, unfocused, so I've resorted to restlessly clicking my pen.

"Are you alright?" Hannah whispers, quieter than the still air itself.

I nod in silent response, not wanting to get her caught by Slater's inhuman hearing. I still haven't given her an explanation to what happened earlier since I walked in late and Slater has been watching me like a hawk.

A few minutes pass and Slater prattles on about something, pointing at the quote he wrote out on the board. I know I promised myself I'd work harder but I can't help the itchy feeling that tempts me to text back a snarky reply just for some closure so I can proceed with this plan.

Quorra, reply to this message right now.

You are on thin ice, young lady.

We are visiting next Wednesday.

Quorra.

Respond now.

Fuck it.

As soon as Slater turns around, I fish my phone out of my bag and rapidly text a reply.

You think I'm a disappointment? I'm going to prove you wrong. Watch me.

How's that for a reply? I think to myself, tapping the send button before my self-consciousness can steer me away from it.

"Miss Neversea."

Instantly, I close my phone screen and snap my head up, chest constricting as I stammer out a hopefully-innocent sentence, "Y-yeah?"

He fixates his gaze on me as I try to slowly drop my phone back into my bag, to no avail.

"Phone, now," he holds out his palm.

I look down at the flood of messages now bringing my screen back to life, desperation driving my next words, "N-no... I can't. We're allowed to use phones for work-related purposes anyway."

It isn't false, it really is a rule, but something tells me that replying to an infuriating text with another infuriating text isn't quite related to classic novels.

'Excuse' was super effective! ...Not.

I sigh at my conscience.

"See me after the lecture."

I fall limp into my seat with an inaudible exhale, expecting his words. It's almost every single lecture that he holds me back, and only on a few other occasions has anyone else been punished. Even then, he'd talk to them first and save me till last so that he wasted as much of my time as possible.

Maybe because everyone else is working hard to clean up their act and become actually employable, my inner conscience prods. I scowl to myself, mood soured.

Screw everyone else, they aren't me.

Well, 'me' could be trying a lot harder, I finally manage to convince myself.

ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ

The last few people file out.

I blow out a narrow stream of air, shooing an obstructive strand of hair away from my face. Slater sets down a stack of perfectly aligned papers, tucking everything away into his suitcase precisely.

"Miss Neversea," he addresses after another ice age, voice clear in the emptied room.

I narrow my gaze, despising the formalness in his tone as I sit up and prepare myself for a speech. My phone still burns a hole into my hand, begging to be checked for new messages.

"I have noticed how distracted you have been these past few lectures, today more so than ever. How many times do I need to remind you?" he crosses his arms and walks around to the front of his desk, leaning against it with a serious expression.

At a loss for words, I shrug, my brain too concerned with my family situation to care about his judgement right now.

"You are not even trying."

His words shatter something inside of me.

I instantly stand up, chair screeching back with an uncomfortable sound as I grab my bag angrily, meeting his eyes furiously.

"Fuck. You."

I don't need another fucking person to tell me I'm not trying. I'll fucking show them.

Turning around, I storm out, the door slamming shut with a satisfying BANG!

ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ

My mouse lingers over the call button.

Lara's profile picture burns a hole into my eyes as I sigh and decide against it.

We haven't talked in a while but I'd hate to kick start a long-awaited conversation with a discussion about my lack of effort. Heck, she'd probably agree with everyone.

I slam my laptop shut and shove it off my lap onto the bed, frustration clogging the blood flow to the rational part of my mind. I almost let out a scream of anger as a timid knock on the door draws my attention.

"What?" I snap, expecting the stupidly-irresistible tone that belongs to Slater.

"Sorry, should I come back later?"

Remorse engulfs my heart as I hear Hannah's voice instead.

I quickly jump to my feet and open the door, apologising, "I'm sorry, I thought you were Slater," I mumble, letting her in as she carefully closes the door behind her.

"Slater?" she asks.

"Oh," I expand, as we sit down on the edge of my bed, "Professor Hartley."

She grins but I glare at her, daring her to mention my use of his first name. Sensing my warning, she holds her hands up, "I didn't say a thing," she states cheekily.

I roll my eyes and lie back across my bed, conflicted, "We arent on good terms right now anyway."

"Really?" she questions, unconvinced, "Because what I walked in on kind of-"

"-go choke on a parsnip," I scowl, cutting off the rest of her sentence, "You misunderstood it. I just hurt myself in the shower so he had to fix me up."

Hannah pokes my side, eyes twinkling with amusement, "Were you naked?"

With an expressionless face, I grab my phone from my bag and answer, "Do towels count?"

"Well then," she turns away from me with a smug look, "Case closed."

I sigh heavily as I click the home button of my screen, seeing the fourteen message notifications from my dad and three missed calls from my mum. They've probably moved out to separate houses since the divorce. I wonder who got custody of Cameron and Jayse. They shouldn't have to worry about this at their age, though no-one should at all. I miss them.

Hannah tilts her head at me, noticing my change in demeanour, "What's wrong, Quorra?"

I shake my head, "I don't wanna talk about it."

Shutting off my phone, I drop it beside me, dragging my hands down my face. Before I know it, my phone has found its way into Hannah's hands as she reads through the conversation with my dad.

I should really put a lock on my phone.

A silence falls between us as she scrolls down through the messages, frowning, "Quorra. Don't listen to them."

Not offering her a reply, I shrug, sitting up to lean my head against my knees.

She sidles closer, noticing the sensitivity of the subject.

"No-one thinks I'm trying. Not even Sla- Professor Hartley. They are all telling me I need to brush up my act and work harder and do better and stop being a disappointment. But I don't even know why they sent me to university in the first place, they should've known I'd be the one kid who wouldn't amount to anything because she never puts in the effort. And why should I? It never pays off," I exhale, stress threading its way through my body.

"I'm sure you can name one time when effort has paid off," she comforts as I appreciate the lack of pity in her bright eyes.

I look away from her, lifting and dropping my shoulders exasperatedly, "No, not really."

Maths, biology, english, physics, history, chemistry... tests fly through my head as bad memories wash over me.

"There is no way that is true. We put effort into everything. A want, a goal, drives this effort, and I know you have some sort of goal. Why did you jump straight to education when I asked you if your effort had ever paid off?" she reasons softly as I tighten my jaw, feeling patronised.

The fears inside of me finally find a voice as I admit what scares me most, "Because the amount of pressure put on kid and teenagers at as early an age as ten tells me education is your entire life until you become an adult. And even after. Education sets you up for a great or a shit life and I've failed already, it's not possible that I'll amount to anything."

She is quiet for a few seconds, stunned.

"A letter doesn't define you, Quorra. I'd slap you if I could," she gives me a disbelieving look, "Is that what you think?"

Of course it's what I think - it's all that's been drilled into my mind since I started school. Do well on this test, do well on that test, you need to improve on this area, you need to try harder. So much pressure is pushing down on me that it's impossible for anyone to lift me out of this hole. I'm stuck.

"I don't want to talk about this anymore," I mutter, feeling an onslaught of angry tears building, "It doesn't matter."

Godammit, why do I cry about everything?

"Quorra, I kn-"

"Hannah, please leave. I'll catch up with you later," I manage out in an unwavering tone.

She pauses.

I don't move.

With an empathetic nod, she quietly leaves. The door clicks shut behind her.

I turn onto my stomach, cheek pressed against the soft material of my pillow.

Of course a letter defines me. If there's one thing teachers have actually taught me, it's that you are worthless without an A* next to your name.

I'm stuck in my whirlwind of thoughts and negativity, heart compressed in between layers of sefl hatred and insecurity. Why did I ever think university would be different?

Once a failure, always a failure, I tell myself.

Closing my eyes, I haphazardly drape my duvet over me, feeling the warmth burn out the rest of my pain. I take deep breaths and erase my thoughts, but I seem to be playing a pretty damn difficult game of hide and seek with sleep.

I find myself giving up and rebounding into reality as footsteps from the other side of the room snatch my attention.

Or rather, a voice.

"Quorra, I didn't mean to upset you."

I hate that word. Upset. As if I'm a toddler reduced to tears over being told to eat my vegetables.

When I don't reply, he removes his outer clothing and sits down opposite me on his tidied bed.

Turning my head to face the other way, I concentrate my thoughts on the cooling sensation of the pillow against my cheek.

"I suppose this will be a one sided conversation then," he continues, though not bitterly.

Remorse almost manages to leak through my seemingly-invincible façade, but I lock it back into its cage in the last second, sealing the bars shut with a lock. No. No remorse.

"I've been concerned about your lack of focus lately. You have ignored the booklet and your classwork is hardly ever completed to the standard I expect of you. My words don't appear to be affecting you in any way, so punishment isn't even an option anymore. I decided to contact your parents the other day, and they were understa-"

"What?"

I push my hands against the bed, forcing myself up and snapping my head to him so fast that I fear for my neck.

"That was you?"

My remorse morphs into hurt.

He seems taken aback; actual emotion is displayed over his features.

"You know I don't have a good relationship with them. Why would you phone them?" I ask, questions screaming to be let out of my head as my hands grip the mattress in an unfaltering grasp.

Slater doesn't answer, for once left speechless and without a well-thought-out, preplanned, textbook answer.

I let out a scoff, but it's full of hurt, "Right."

I want to scream in frustration. I can't do anything. I can't run away because we're stuck in the same damn room, but I can't stay because I don't want to see this guy, and I can't just swear and yell and curse him to hell because he won't respond, which is what I need right now, yet I can't just sit here and do nothing because the anger is building inside of me and I might just burst at any second.

Breaths are tearing through my chest as I get up to my feet.

He stands at the same time, the guilt that once held me captive now exposed as clear as day in his eyes, "Quorra, I didn't realise your relationship was so-"

"Stop," I interrupt, "I don't care what excuse you have."

I turn for the door as he walks after me. He radiates panic.

"Now you too?" I abruptly turn around to force my gaze on his, "I guess everyone thinks I'm a failure. Thanks."

The door slams behind me.

●（=｀～'=） ●

This was more of a filler but we found out Slater was the one who told her parents. :O

Shocker? I'm sure some smart cookies predicted it...

Also, don't even ask me how I'm managing all these updates. I have a bunch of super important tests coming up in the following weeks and months but I'm sure I'll find time to update at least once every week or fortnight.

I don't have writer's block, but it's more that I'll have less time to write. Anyhoo, I don't have too many tests next week so the next chapter will be within the week :)

Over and out,
Agent Spud 🥔