Page 47 of Ladybirds

Sara stares at the exam questions, knee rapidly bouncing under the desk. Between her heartbeat drumming in her ears, the scratching of her classmates’ pens fill the silence. Mouth dry, she glances at the clock and feels herself pale. She’s already used up a quarter of her test time and has nothing to show for it but a blank page.

Turns out, the movie doesn’t cover everything.

She swallows thickly, the questions on the page blurring as her eyes water. So much for graduating after next semester—she’ll be too busy repeating this stupid class and cursing GE requirements.

Someone stands in front of her; a familiar charcoal shadow she doesn’t need to look up to name. “Pick up your pen.”

She gives the tiniest shake of her head she can muster. Even if there wasn’t an audience, she’s not sure she could trust her voice.

Seth sighs, lowering himself until his eyes are level with hers. “Pick up your pen and write exactly as I say. Do you understand?”

Hope flares, bright but short-lived. Things have been good between them lately, but does she dare trust him? With this? Her future?

He must see the hesitance in her expression, because he sighs. “Honestly, a little trust wouldn’t go amiss. What could I possibly gain by misleading you?”

The enjoyment of watching her fail. The goading I-told-you-so rights for the entirety of next semester (at least).

She looks at him, gauging his expression. There’s no hint of deception, but Sara’s not entirely convinced there would be. Still… her blank paper glares up at her, a daunting reminder of the alternative. With a bracing intake of breath, she picks up her pen and sets the ballpoint tip to the page.

Seth shifts to her side, his voice soft and measured despite her being the only one capable of hearing him. She transcribes each word, fills the lines and then the pages. When she turns it in with five minutes to spare, it’s with a silent prayer.

“I got an A minus,” she mutters numbly. She almost thinks it’s a mistake, but the numbers on her laptop screen stay the same no matter how many times she double checks them.

Seth huffs. “Well, you couldn’t possibly expect me to get you full marks. You passing at all is suspicious enough.”

Pulse racing, her hand shakes as she clicks for her overall grade.

C minus. A passing grade. Barely passing—but passing.

She slumps in her chair, relieved laughter shaking from her lungs. Glancing over, she catches the tail end of Seth’s smile before it recedes. “Thank you,” she breathes.

“Don’t make a thing of it. Witnessing you make a butchery of our language was becoming more wearisome than amusing.” He folds his arms over his chest. “Besides, there’s still plenty of time for you to fail, yet.”

He’s right. If she wants to pass this class, it isn’t going to be by getting an A on just one exam. She needs to do enough to hold the grade.

Pensively, she chews on her bottom lip. She remembers he had offered his help once, in that twisted half-mocking sort of way that he has. She had declined purely out of spite before, but she can’t deny that she needs the help. “Would you—I mean, do you think you could help me study for the next one?”

His head tilts, dimples flashing. He looks positively delighted. He crosses his legs, fingers laced over his knee. “I believe I can carve some time out of my busy schedule.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Jen asks, voice low. Her eyes flit between the picture on Sara’s screen, to the hair stylist finishing up another customer, and back to her face. “You hate it when they take off more than two inches.”

Sara shifts in her seat, the hard plastic chair a far cry from comfortable. The picture on her screen is definitely shorter than she’s ever even considered, and she had really only decided to do it on a whim, but she feels no apprehension. In all honesty, she isn’t sure. The idea only dawned on her a few days ago, a stray thought that nudged its way into a decision as she combed through her wet hair—playing with the ends and eyeing her reflection in the mirror.

It’s been years since she’s changed her hair; years since she embraced something new. Her life has become unrecognizable. There are more scars on her heart now, deep and twinging, and she’s tired of looking in the mirror and seeing the face of the girl she was before. She’s tired of pretending the pain hasn’t changed her.

Also… Ms. Green offered extra credit to anyone who came to class dressed up for Halloween—the amount of points a reflection of the amount of effort put into the costume. Sara thinks of the handful of 80’s movie posters her professor has hanging over her desk.

She could really, really use those credits.

“I’m sure,” she says, nodding. “I’m ready for a change.”

Jen still looks nervous for her. “Yeah, but this is kind of a big change. It’s going to take you forever to grow back if you hate it.”

Sara shrugs. “It’s just hair.”

Jen stares. “Ok, who are you and what have you done with my best friend?”

She rolls her eyes. Sara can’t even pretend that her friend is wrong for being concerned—she used to swear up and down that she’d never go short. Her long hair was a source of pride, something almost intrinsic to who she was.

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