Page 43 of The Chemistry Test
Penny
I’m sitting at the kitchen table, going over everything CJ and I said (and more importantly, everything we didn’t) for the fiftieth time when I get an email from my Biochemistry lecturer.
Our latest exam results are up and, for once, I’m feeling quietly confident.
We got our grades back for the multiple-choice section ages ago, so I know I’ve got at least seventy-five per cent overall, but we’ve been waiting for the final part to be marked for quite some time.
Our grades don’t actually contribute to our degree this year, but we still need to do well to progress to the next one.
I relax my shoulders. And unclench my jaw.
I shouldn’t be this ramped up for something so small.
It’s not like it can change my overall test performance since you only need seventy per cent for the highest grade, but if all goes well, it could take the pressure off my next set, giving me some additional points and making it that little bit easier to pass the year.
I could really do with a boost like that right now. And whatever grade I get on this section will be a good indication of how I might perform on the essay-based exams next year, when our grades actually count.
The thought takes me by surprise as it’s so unlike me, but a part of me wonders if I could be in with a chance of getting a hundred per cent overall this time.
Amy and I talked through our essays when we left the exam hall, checking our main points against the textbook.
And as far as I could tell, I included all the keywords and processes, and for the first time this semester, so did Amy.
With her nerves, she kept doubting herself and changing her answer (to wrong ones) at the last minute in her other exams, but as far as I could gather, she didn’t this time.
I log into the student guide on Moodle before opening the file to see my mark. Here we go.
At first, I think it says I got seventy-five per cent on the essay too, but as I click into my online exam paper, it slowly dawns on me that I just got seventy-five per cent. For the whole test. Which means I got zero per cent on the essay. What?
I click into the feedback box as quickly as I can, heart thumping in my ears. If this is right, this does not bode well for my exam prospects next year. At all.
Amy walks in as I’m scanning over it, so I have to bite my lip to stop it from wobbling.
‘What’s going on, Pen?’ she asks, and I know I won’t be able to tell her without crying, so I push the laptop towards her instead. She sits on the bench opposite me and reads through my comments.
‘Oh, Penny,’ she says. ‘How did this happen?’
In the feedback section, it says I got zero per cent because some of the terms I used were so similar to the revision guide that it almost counted as plagiarism. Even though I didn’t have access to any textbooks or resources in the exam. And even though I had no idea at the time.
‘When I learn stuff, I remember it word for word,’ I say, wiping my eyes.
I feel so embarrassed. Like I’ve finally been caught out.
‘This never happened at school,’ I add, trying to defend myself.
‘I’ve always dreaded something like this happening, though.
Is it still called imposter syndrome when you’re actually an imposter? ’
Amy laughs and nudges my arm across the table. ‘You’re not an imposter, Penny. Things are just different here. It doesn’t mean you’re not smart, you just have to practise putting stuff in your own words for the written exams.’
‘I don’t know if I can do that,’ I say. I know other people have success re-taking tests and getting a different result, but deep down I’ve always known I couldn’t do that.
I do my very best every single time, blowing all my energy (and more) in one fell swoop.
Catapulting me into an energy debt that has to be repaid over the coming days and even weeks, whether I like it or not.
And often with Amy taking on some of my daily chores herself to lessen the load.
So, realistically, I don’t know how I can improve on that. It took all I had just to type out my answers exactly as they came to me – without thinking of my own way to say them.
I feel betrayed by my mind. The greatest strength I thought I had left isn’t even a strength here – it’s a weakness that could get me disqualified from the whole degree if I don’t do something about it. But I’m already giving it all I’ve got.
Oh no. My stomach lurches as I think about the TED talk proposal I’ve been working so hard on. That’ll be going through Copycatch to check for plagiarism too, and I’ve probably done the exact same thing there, without even realising.
CJ may be impressed by my one-liners, but they’ve probably all been said by someone else before too, surely? In fact, I’m not even sure what constitutes an original thought anymore. Welp. The boulders have been slowly tumbling down on me since I got here, and now, I’m so close to going under.
I give myself a wriggle to expel some of the tension gripping my bones, pulling myself together – and apart in the very same breath, making the decision to stop going to TEDx right then and there. Squashing the stress before it has a chance to squash me.
No more being a jack of all trades and master of none.
I take a steadying breath, feeling marginally better. My next session can be my last, then I can close that chapter properly. But that’s it. After that, I’m done. I need to focus on my actual studies – clearly.
I sigh heavily. ‘I don’t think I’m cut out for university.’
Amy takes my hand but lets me keep my eyes glued to the table.
‘If you’re not cut out for university, then no one is.
I know you can do it – you could even get a scribe to write the essays for you.
What you lack in energy, you have an abundance of elsewhere.
Your greatest currency in exams is time – you’re given extra, yet you always finish early.
If you used it to dictate your answers – in your own words – to a scribe, you’d be unbeatable.
No one learns the content as well as you do. ’
She opens the second feedback box, where my academic advisor and head of department have chimed in.
I’ve read it three times already and it just says that there’s no consequence at this stage since none of our results count until second year anyway.
And that even though they know I’m not a cheater, I’ll have to prove it next time, as they can’t grant any special circumstances on such a serious matter.
Especially for the end of year exams that are externally moderated by people who haven’t seen how I work.
‘Ah, look here,’ Amy says, just as a new email comes through. ‘They want to set up a meeting with you to see how they can help going forward. See, told you it’s no biggie. You’ve got nothing to worry about.’
It’s a huge relief, and yet, it’s also the straw that breaks the camel’s back as I’m so tired of needing meetings, appointments and discussions just to do the bare minimum.
I’m already anxious about the big apology and explanation I owe to CJ (as well as the physical toll it’s going to take), without adding even more energy-exhausting stuff into the mix.
Everything I do, no matter my intentions, always goes wrong. And every time, whatever it is becomes an even bigger problem because I don’t have the energy to nip it in the bud and fix it.
Amy’s smiling optimistically, like the world is in its rightful order again.
‘It’s not just about that,’ I say, this time not worrying about the trembling lip or how unattractive I sound when my voice cracks in a million places like this. On nearly every syllable.
I somehow managed to hold it together despite everything that happened with CJ this morning. But now, with this added layer of worry, it all topples out as my world comes crashing down.
I tell her about my own anxieties first, both with believing in myself – or not, as the case seems to be – and my fears about not fitting in anywhere anymore. And then, when I’ve calmed down a little, I move on to the bigger, more pressing issue: letting CJ down.
I tell her about the notification and how he didn’t even give me a chance to explain myself.
‘That’s on him if he just left like that, without hearing you out,’ she says. ‘You can’t beat yourself up about something he thinks you did because that’s not what actually happened.’
I finally lift my eyes to look at her. Recounting it, I felt like I was back in my room, right where he left me, but her gentle reassurance is slowly pulling me out.
‘He’s annoyed because he thinks you’ve been hiding this for ages, but you literally only just found out yourself,’ she continues. ‘So, he can go ahead and be cross if he wants, but you shouldn’t feel like you’ve done anything wrong.’
‘Oh no, that’s not—’ I start, trying to figure out how best to phrase it.
I want someone to understand me, but not at the expense of misunderstanding CJ.
And now I feel bad because CJ wasn’t angry, so I must’ve explained it wrong.
‘He wasn’t cross with me, he was just hurt,’ I say, folding a piece of kitchen roll to use as a tissue.
‘Which, to be honest, is even worse. But he wasn’t angry. ’ It’s important she knows that.
Her eyes soften. ‘It’ll be alright once you’ve explained it, though. You just need to talk to him. He’s probably too upset to agree to meeting up right now which is fair enough, but you’re in the same seminar group so maybe you could try after the next one? It’ll all be okay.’
‘That’s not for a few more days though.’
‘I know, but you need to give him a chance to cool off properly, so it doesn’t happen again.’ She rubs my shoulder tenderly. ‘Look, he might not be ready right this second, but he still deserves an explanation in person, Pen. And so do you.’
I pull out my planner. Even though I don’t want to wait any longer, I know she’s right. I owe it to him, and I owe it to us.
The impatient part of me wants to just explain everything in a big message, but I need to talk to him, not at him. A wall of text can only achieve so much.
Ro walks in then, clocking my red eyes and the plagiarism notice on my laptop straight away and making a very logical but pretty misguided assumption.
His face falters for a sec as he looks between me and the screen, scanning the text.
‘It sucks,’ I say, stating the obvious.
‘That’s a fair assessment of the situation.
’ He nods, before plonking his own test paper on the table in front of me.
There’s a big zero circled in red ink and once he’s satisfied I’ve seen it, he raises his hand for a high five.
‘But I personally am going to enjoy this moment, if that’s okay with you, as this is probably the one and only time I’ll get the exact same grade as you – Miss Penelope Steele, smartest person in the year. ’
When I don’t respond, he picks up my hand and claps it against his own with way too much enthusiasm for someone whose test results resemble the freezing point of water.
Amy looks like a lost puppy, eyes wandering between us both, debating who to console first. It’s not lost on me how, even if Ro and I could magically multiply our results with each other’s, we’d still be in exactly the same situation.
Ro laughs, thinking along similar lines. ‘The best part is, we’d probably have scored higher if we sat each other’s papers and taken a wild guess.’
‘We genuinely might have,’ I snicker, as crushing as it is to admit. ‘We’d probably have had more luck if we did it with our eyes closed. You might’ve gotten a few right and I might’ve gotten enough wrong to not be disqualified from the bloody essay section.’
Ro cackles, I knew he’d get a kick out of that. With our spirits at rock bottom, it feels good to acknowledge it and even better to have someone to joke about it with, rather than trying to convince each other that everything’s fine. When, in this very second, it feels anything but fine.
I turn to Amy then. ‘You never know, might be just you moving on to second year.’ I know it’s an equally low blow, but it’s better for her to prepare for the worst and hope for the best.
‘You two have lost the plot, I swear,’ she says, shaking her head vigorously. ‘I’m not going to sit back and watch you throw your dreams away like this.’
Ro interjects, ‘I’m not joking, I really can’t—’ He lifts his hands just in time as Amy swipes his paper off the table, narrowly avoiding a papercut by the skin of his ... finger.
‘Ro,’ she says pointedly. ‘Yours was all multiple choice – literally all-or-nothing questions, you’ll have no problem getting a few right when we move on to the practical and essay-based exams next year, where you can actually demonstrate everything you know.
Plus, you design your own jewellery with 3D printers all the time.
For fun. That requires a lot of skills that overlap with your course, you just don’t even recognise them as skills as they come to you so naturally, right? ’
She nods firmly, as though he’s lost for words, despite not actually giving him a chance to answer. ‘ Exactly. So, you are good at machine-based technology, and you know it. You just need to learn how to implement it in your exams – and realise that not all exams are going to be like that anyway .’
Cruel-to-be-kind Amy is an absolute savage and I love it.
My face must say as much, as she turns to me.
‘Your case is no better, Penny. You got disqualified because your work was too good, so you have no excuse either. Besides having to pass, our grades don’t count this year for this exact reason.
We’re meant to be making mistakes and learning from them right now. ’
Ro gives me the are-you-hearing-this look, lips clamped tightly together as we struggle to keep a straight face, thinking the same thing: what on earth has gotten into her and how do we take the blasted thing out?