Chapter 4
December
Theodore Knight
E very day for the past four months I have been haunted by regret.
My stomach is in knots, twisted together in bundles that will never be unravelled. I wipe my palms down the legs of my jeans, unable to look towards Jazmine, who sits at the back of lecture theatre eight. It has been her usual spot since the first time I saw her in this class.
Professor Hart is giving our final exams back for Introduction to Psychology and telling us who earned the internship for next summer. My exam went well, which is a relief since I studied my fucking ass off. Making the bet with Jazmine was a great motivator but over the past months, I’ve seen her become detached.
In the beginning, I thought it was a one off. So, I watched Jaz closely. The bags under her eyes became darker and her ivory skin grew paler. Questions were on the tip of my tongue every time I passed her zombie-like condition in class, the halls or at Strong Beans.
Are you okay?
Did I drive you to this state of misery?
Her stupid comment—and I say stupid because it was and I shouldn’t have taken it to heart. Jazmine caught me on a bad day. My father spent half an hour interrogating me about football, while my muscles ached from a prolonged training session. So, I projected the feelings I keep buried onto Jazmine.
Selfishly, I want this internship to avoid spending most of the summer with dad and his excessive need for my life to revolve around football. I’ve spent nearly all of freshman year on the bench, which I understand, Dean Adams wanted me to realise I brought this on myself.
The punishment stung. Even more when I realised Nick Holden was the starting quarterback. We were rivals throughout our high school days, but after watching him training and getting to learn off him, I knew it was for the best. Although we didn’t win the championship this year, we were closer than we have been in a decade.
My skin burns, the knots in my stomach constrict further. Jazmine’s eyes are locked with mine as I twist in my chair. Oxygen is a luxury, restricted from entering my throat and into my lungs where I need it most.
Students’ names are called alphabetically by last name; Jazmine is first. She avoids my gaze as she edges closer to the front of the lecture theatre.
Professor Hart is extremely anti-technology—probably because of his age—so every assessment was to be submitted as a hard copy. Jazmine clutches the piece of paper; her eyes scan the page then she flattens it against her chest.
Is she relieved? Or disappointed?
People continue to pile to the front and I lose my sight of Jazmine. I don’t think time has ticked slower than this moment. My name reverberates against the walls, I stride forward, not wanting to waste any time. The paper is placed in my shaky hands.
“Congratulations,”
The comment shakes me from my rampant mind, my gaze immediately locks on the red number on the right side of the page. Ninety-six percent. My chair is a safe haven as I coach myself into keeping my head facing forward and away from Jazmine.
I flick through the ten-page exam, reading over any comment the professor left. Eventually his voice gains everyone’s attention.
“First of all, I’m extremely happy with most of the results. I can tell many of you put in the effort, but I will put you out of your misery.” Professor Hart pauses and, in this moment, I think my heart did the same.
“Congratulations, Theodore Knight. ”
I can’t help it. My first thought is to search the room for Jazmine. I catch her filing out of the lecture theatre with everyone else. Fuck. I shouldn’t feel bad about earning something for myself. I worked my ass off and deserve this opportunity.
Yet, every word that Professor Hart utters to me is a weight on my shoulders. The urge to see Jazmine before she disappears forces me to accept the paperwork and leave quickly.
I inspect every inch of the corridor after exiting the room. Jazmine has slumped onto a bench, her hands covering her face. I make my way to her, thinking of what I’m going to say. Honestly, I don’t even know. I’m not sorry, at least I shouldn’t be.
Coming to a halt, I linger beside Jazmine. She must see me because her eyes are narrowed, pulling her eyebrows closer together, while her lips curl inwards.
“What the fuck do you want Knight? Come to gloat now that you’ve won?”
“No, I just—” Fuck, what do I say?
Jazmine stares, baring her teeth. “Spit. It. Out.”
“I want to know if you’re okay. Is that a fucking crime?”
She scoffs, as if my concern is a joke.
“After what happened in there,” Jazmine points back, towards the lecture theatre. “Yeah, I don’t care what you have to say.”
“Please, just say something. Yell at me if you have to, it’s killing me to see you like this.”
Jazmine snaps her head, her stare even more piercing than before. “It’s killing you,” she says with disbelief. “You do not get to say that to me. I spent the last four months. Four. Fucking. Months. Running on fumes, I had nothing else to give. I would force myself to stay awake, to finish assessments, to study ahead, to give me any edge over you. But it was all for nothing.
“Do you even know what Cooper and Byrd do? They specialise in athlete’s mental health and the impact of sports on the brain. It’s my fucking dream company, but it’s fine clearly, I’m not good enough.”
“That’s—” I try to reply, Jazmine storms off and leaves me in her wake. “Not true,” I mumble to myself.
I take Jazmine’s spot on the bench, my mind on overdrive as I consider what she just said. Every word cuts deeper than the next. I thought senior year of high school was the worst, but that is no longer the case.
Freshman year was the worst year of my life.