Page 27 of Sad Girl Hours
Chapter Twenty-seven
Saffron
“How was it?” Casper asks when we’re walking from our respective exam halls towards the bus stop two hours later.
“Was it awful? Mine was. I think I passed, but I doubt my grade’ll be anything to write home about.
Although, even if I got full marks and the professor told me my knowledge clearly eclipsed her own, I’ve graduated on the spot and I was now the class’s professor instead, I think my parents would still write back and say they were disappointed I wasn’t a professor at Oxbridge. ”
I offer a wan smile. “I’m sure you did great.” There’s a pause in which I realise Casper’s still waiting for me to answer him. “Oh. And mine was … fine. Could have been better.”
I’ve failed. I know I have.
“Physics is a tricky beast.” Casper nods. “You’re doing amazingly, though, especially considering you had that time off last year.”
A sob quivers out of my mouth before I can stop it.
“Saffron?” Casper looks bewildered, stepping in front of me and placing a hand on my arm. “What is it?”
“Nothing. I…” I try desperately to shove it all back in. This isn’t happening. I’m fine. “Nothing.”
“Saffron. Usually when people cry it means that something is wrong. Or that they’re really happy. But my Casper senses are telling me that that’s not the case here.”
I don’t think I’ve ever cried from happiness. I’ve never had so much positive feeling that it’s swelled up and spilled out of me. I’ve only ever had this, this overwhelming surge of sadness that pours over and floods every room.
“What’s wrong?” Casper implores, concern hazy in his blue eyes that I have to look away from because they’re not helping the tear situation. Instead, I stare down at his brown leather boots.
“I don’t know. I’m sorry. I’m being silly.”
“Don’t apologise. And I’m sure you’re not. Was it something I said?”
“No,” I say with more force, not wanting him to blame himself for this when it’s all me.
“OK then. Well…”
“I’m sorry. Honestly, Casp, I’m good. Just stressed from all the revising and glad that the exam’s over. It’s a lot, you know?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Definitely.” He releases my arm and we keep walking, but I’m not sure whether he believes me.
Back at home when I say I’m heading upstairs, he says, “Sure, see you later then.” But then he pauses, pulls me into a hug and holds me for a second.
He smells like subtle aftershave, and I let myself be hugged until he pulls away and walks into the kitchen.
I’m not used to being held when I’m upset. It made me want to sob properly, to let it all come pouring out in a way I would definitely not be able to put back in.
Later that night, we all walk towards the bonfire in the park.
The November air is hazy with the smell of smoke, and amber light dances through the trees.
There’s a chill too, the kind that radiates into your bones, warning them of the onset of winter soon to make everything feel more brittle, the kind you can see floating in the air in front of you with every breath that pushes out from between your chapped lips.
Vivvie’s been talking to Nell about something …
but suddenly she stops. “Oh, I almost forgot. Here you go, losers.” She extracts five woollen hats with different-coloured pompoms on from her tote and tosses them to each of us.
“Reluctantly, it is no longer crochet-crop-top weather so I’ve started making practical winter stuff.
You guys all get one of my practice hats. ”
“What an honour,” Nell says, pulling on her brown and white one while I tug my own orange and yellow one over my ears.
“Yes, thanks, Viv.” I smile at her.
Gathered round the flames dancing out of the wooden epicentre of warmth, spiralling up into the air with golden tendrils, Jenna says we need to get a photo. I oblige, pulling out my phone from my coat pocket.
“Oh, hang on,” I say, noticing an email notification from my uni email account. When I click, I see it’s from my tutor, James.
Hello Saffron,
I’d like to arrange a meeting with you at some point to discuss your attendance – perhaps when you get your exam results back in the last week of term. Could you come to my office at some point to arrange a time?
Thanks,
James
Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God. They’re going to kick me out. The warmth from the giant pyre in front of me vanishes, the cold creeping through my body along with the panic.
“Saff? You good?” Nell’s the first to notice because of course she is.
“Yes.” I try to bury the fear in my voice but it still comes out a little too high-pitched. “Yes, sorry. Here we go.”
I aim my phone camera back at us, the others gathering in closer to fit in the frame.
“Everyone say ‘hat lads’,” Vivvie says.
The others laugh and repeat her words as I take the photo.
When I open it later that night, staring at my phone in the dark with tears running freely down my face, I look at my smiling face in the photo and want to scream.
I want someone to stop me, to say that they see that I’m hurting, despite the smiles in the photos and videos. I want someone to know.
But I’ve been doing this so long. Would they even believe me?