Page 1 of Enemies to Lovers

I should’ve used a damn razor this morning.

My fingernails scrape through my overgrown beard, the sound grating against my ears in the quiet of Professor Young’s classroom. The screen of my Chromebook has been on the same question for two minutes, six seconds, my vision blurring every time I turn to it.

I swallow hard, forcing my hand away from my beard. My fist clenches to the right of my laptop. My knuckles graze the cold, hard surface of the long table I share with about twenty others here in the back row.

Damn it, there’s a ticking in my brain—an internal clock that won’t shut the hell up. Tick, tick, tick… I’m running out of time. Time for this exam, time in this career, time on this earth… It’s all the same right now, when time feels endless, yet there’s still not enough of it.

My gaze darts around the room, my hand going for my beard yet again. Scratching, pulling, tugging, plucking… I won’t need a razor after I’m done with it.

Professor Young sneezes from his desk at the front, the whiteboard gleaming with green and red art he did to “get into the Christmas spirit.” As much as I appreciate the giant tree with red bulbs, it does not quiet the niggling voice in my head.

Oh, you’ll fail this one. You can’t pay attention long enough. You don’t know what you’re doing. Why try? No one in their right mind would give you a medical degree.

I inhale a shaky breath, and a flash of red catches my eye .

Val reclines in the first row, her long, brown hair twisted around a pen at the top of her head. She pushes her laptop to the side, the bright redCOMPLETEprinted across the screen.

Thirty-two times, now, she’s finished her exam before everyone else.

It’s pathetic I know that. More pathetic I keep on counting. My jaw ticks, and my exhale comes out in a growl. She turns in her seat so I can see her more directly, doodling nonsense in her yellow spiral notebook. Her head bops like she’s listening to a song only she can hear, not a drop of sweat on her, even though this exam determines whether we pass or fail.

She’s passing. I know it. She knows it. And it kills me she can take a test without any of the tics that plague me.

I look at my knee that’s bouncing like it’s enjoying a nice day at the trampoline park. Trevor, my desk mate, keeps throwing me the side-eye, annoyance clear in his grimace. I try to calm the leg down, but then my whole arm starts shaking.

I run a hand through my hair. My fingers come away sticky, and I quickly swipe the residue on my leg, making it bounce even more.

The anesthetic process can be divided into several steps. Which of the following demonstrates the desirable effect of the pre-medicating step in the anesthetic patient?

My vision blurs slightly as I selectA: Reduces patient stress and anxiety. Then I overthink it for a solid two minutes.

Val shifts, dragging my gaze from my laptop to her. She sighs, like she’s bored, and my back teeth clench and slide off each other. I should be used to it by now—her superiority ineverything. All started in pre-K. I was showing off my skills on the monkey bars, being the only kid who could successfully get from one end to the other. Then this short, round, pink-cheeked girl ties her hair back and swings her way across first try. My jaw was in the playground woodchips. She laughed, said it wasn’t hard, and skipped away.

I missed the next three monkey bar attempts.

Her eyes drift from her doodles to me, a smile pulling at the corner of her lips. I swallow hard and turn to my exam.

My brain starts on a journey about what I did today—a calming technique my therapist taught me.

Woke up.

Took Hershey for a walk.

Made breakfast smoothies for myself and my housemates—and sisters. Two banana slices for Emerson, three for Sammie. More peanut butter for myself and none for Emerson.

Blend on low.

I take a deep breath, my leg slowing its cadence, my fingers avoiding my beard.

Humane Society after smoothies. The drive was uneventful and quiet. Snow was piled along the sides of the road.

I said hello to all the animals up for adoption when I got into work. Brewster was on my first round—a loveable pit mix I was afraid would be at the shelter forever. When I saw the big sign that splayed the wonderful wordsI’M ADOPTED!I made a sound I only make around animals.

I pray to God none of my siblings find out I’m capable of…squealing.

My lips curl into a grin. I gave him all the attention—saying goodbye, really—and my knuckles relax, my leg no longer feels the need to dance on its own. My jaw loosens, my back teeth appreciating the lack of pressure.

Right as I answer the last question, Professor Young says, “Time. Ready or not, hit submit.”

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