Chapter 3
THREE
My stomach sank as I stared at the screen of my laptop.
Fuck.
I’d failed the math test I’d studied so hard for. And not just an “almost” D kind of failed, but in a totally-bombed-it kind of failed.
My entire life it had been beaten into me to not be a failure. But for some reason, math managed to make me feel stupid every time I tried. I could figure out most things if I gave it enough attention, but no matter how much attention I gave to math—regardless of the level—I struggled.
My elementary school teacher had suggested that I might have a learning disability, which sent my dad into an absolute rage.
He claimed the teachers were idiots and moved me to a private school where he donated extra money every year to be reassured that I was progressing as normal, even when I wasn’t.
Not even the expensive tutors he hired seemed to help.
My only saving grace was that I was a strong writer and an articulate speaker who worked hard.
I was also good with tasks that let me work with my hands, so even when math wasn’t going well, I was still regarded as a good student.
If only I didn’t constantly feel like a fraud because I struggled with the most basic math skills.
Sometimes even time was an issue. I’d found ways to work around it—such as setting alarms on my phone for things so I didn’t have to worry about always looking at the time, but that didn’t help me with passing this math class that was a prerequisite for my business finance class.
I’d even taken it during summer term so I wouldn’t have to talk about it with my friends. They knew me as the confident captain of our hockey team—the go-getter who helped rebuild this team my freshman year. They had no idea the secret shame I carried when it came to my math skills—or lack thereof.
There was a note next to the test results, and I clicked on it, opening it up to see a message from my professor.
Hey, Foster. This test was to determine where everyone was at, and I did not expect to see a student of your caliber score so poorly.
I’m worried about how well you’ll be able to keep up and I highly recommend you get some assistance from the tutoring center as soon as possible.
The tutoring staff is fantastic. I’ve seen a lot of improvement with several students that have worked with them.
The last thing I wanted was anyone else to know how dumb I was. But failing wasn’t an option. Not for my team. Not for my future. And not for the kid who still wanted to prove he was worth something.
I had to pass this class to get my degree, and I’d already talked to my advisor who’d told me I’d put the class off as long as possible.
I couldn’t put it off anymore without messing up my major courses and my graduation date.
And if I didn’t graduate on time, I was pretty sure my dad would lose his shit.
My only hope now was that the tutoring center would offer some discretion, because the last thing I needed was to be the laughingstock on campus.
That was the downside of being as popular and well-known as I was—the higher you were on the social hierarchy, the further you had to fall. And if anyone found out, I had no doubt that fall would hurt significantly.
Hockey had always been my go-to when I needed to get out of my head—until a teammate introduced me to Stardew Valley last year. It was just supposed to be for shits and giggles, but I’d gotten hooked on the game.
Although chatting with Peach might’ve also had something to do with my obsession with the game. She didn’t know me in real life and there was something freeing about that. I could just be myself with her, without any expectations.
When I was on the ice, it was all instinct—muscle memory and adrenaline and gut decisions.
It was the one place in my life where I didn’t have to think so damn hard to succeed.
Stardew Valley gave me a weirdly similar feeling.
It wasn’t about being perfect; it was about showing up, putting in the work, and watching something grow.
And if anything, I’d gotten into the habit of being what Peach called a chaotic gremlin.
Sometimes I stirred up chaos just to see her reaction.
Talking to Peach made everything better. She didn’t care if I was good at math or good at anything, really. She didn’t know how many goals I’d scored last season or how many people expected me to lead our team to the conference championship. With her, I got to be a freer version of myself.
And maybe that was the real reason I couldn’t stop playing—or why every time her name popped up in the chat, it felt like I could breathe a little easier.
BigBear88:
Just tried to give Mayor Lewis a void egg. He looked… concerned.
PeachyKeen:
Did you expect him to appreciate cursed produce??
BigBear88:
I thought it was mysterious.
PeachyKeen:
That man’s biggest thrill is judging the grange display. He can’t handle mystery.
BigBear88:
Tragic.
PeachyKeen:
A true loss for Stardew culture.
BigBear88:
You’re the only one who gets me.
PeachyKeen:
That’s because I’m a mystery appreciator.
A small smile tugged at my mouth—real and unforced, which felt rare lately. For a minute, it was easy to forget the gnawing pit in my stomach, easy to pretend that failing didn’t make me feel like my whole world was tilting sideways.
But it was still there.
Heavy.
Sickening.
The kind of shame that wasn’t new but hadn’t dulled over the years either.
It was the same feeling I used to get as a kid when numbers started swimming on the page and I knew—knew—I was going to get them wrong no matter how hard I tried.
The same feeling when teachers pulled me aside and talked in quiet voices that made me feel broken.
I hated this.
I hated that I had to ask for help like I was a little kid again, like I hadn’t worked my ass off to become someone better. Stronger. Someone people looked up to.
Getting help meant admitting I wasn’t enough on my own.
And that terrified me more than anything.
BigBear88:
You ever just… really suck at something and feel like it’s never gonna get better?
There was a longer pause this time, long enough that I thought maybe she wasn’t going to answer. Then her message popped up.
PeachyKeen:
Yeah. All the time.
But it usually does get better. Eventually. Especially when you let someone help you carry the weight.
I stared at her message until the words blurred.
I didn’t know how she always managed to say exactly the thing I needed to hear.
Maybe I didn’t deserve it.
Maybe she didn’t know what kind of failure she was really talking to.
BigBear88:
Thanks, Peach.
PeachyKeen:
Anytime, Bear.
I lingered there longer than I should have, fingers hovering over the keyboard, wanting to say more but not knowing how.
Finally, I logged off before I could make myself look even more pathetic.
Besides, I had somewhere I needed to be.
Her words had given me the strength and resolve I needed to face my shame.
Which meant I was off to the tutoring center because I was determined to pass this class, no matter what it took.