Knife's Edge

CHAPTER EIGHT

I trudge towards the sixth building on Friday morning like a soldier marching into battle, mere hours away from a war I won't win.

I'm going to fail this exam – I know it. Why did I think taking Sociology, of all subjects, would be a good idea?

"Well, don't you look especially chipper this morning," Megan teases as she falls into step beside me, my one-man army now doubled in size as we face our doom together.

"I'm going to fail," I sigh.

"So am, I," she laughs, nudging me with her shoulder excitedly. "Isn't it great?"

It had never been Megan's idea to stay on at Greencliff Academy after she passed her GCSEs. She had never wanted to take her A-levels – that had been her parents' idea.

If Megan had been allowed to follow the path of her choosing, she would be finishing up her first year at the local college right now, happily enrolled in its Performing Arts course as she works towards her level three diploma. She says it's where she belongs, that she's far too dynamic to be cooped up in a classroom all day, every day.

I completely agree with her. I've been her best friend since year four – the girl couldn't belong further from a classroom if she tried. Though try she does, determined to flunk her exams so hard that her parents have no choice but to let her drop out. They have no idea that she's already sent out her college application for this coming September – what I wouldn't give to be a fly on the wall the day they find out.

I see Dylan standing by the sixth building's entrance as we approach, his expression nervous. He hasn't got an exam today; they're different kinds of nerves. When he sees me, I can't tell if they lessen or increase. In a strange way, I think it's a bit of both, and I know why.

Things ended badly last night and he's worried about me, wanting to know if I'm okay but unsure whether to ask in case it upsets me – it's a dance we've danced many times before.

We both ignore Megan as she rambles on about the assignment she's three weeks behind on in her English Literature class, entirely unaware that she's talking to nobody but herself.

"I'm okay," I promise him, my voice low as we trail behind Megan on our way to Tutorial.

He looks relieved that he didn't have to ask.

"Sorry about last night," I feel the need to apologise. I don't like making him worry and I hate that I ruined our date.

"How many times do I have to tell you?" he sighs, his arm resting around my shoulders carefully, almost as if afraid he'll hurt me. He kisses my forehead as we walk. "You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for. How's your shoulder?"

"It's alright," I say. I don't tell him that it still aches a bit, feeling bruised and heavy whenever I lift my arm too high. It's a feeling that will pass in a few days, as it usually does, and it's nothing I can't handle.

"Are you two even listening to me?" Megan asks suddenly, her eyes holding a look of exasperated accusation.

"No," Dylan says simply, and the bluntness of his reply makes me laugh. So does the look of offense that Megan gives him as she scowls, flipping him off in response.

Just like that, my spirits lift a little, the day no longer seeming quite so daunting as I listen to Megan and Dylan's bickering – the familiarity of their arguing chasing away the nerves I feel in the pit of my stomach – and they remain lifted all the way up until my free period, which I spend on a last minute cramming session before the exam.

"Do you think if someone crashed a car into the exam room, we'd all just be given top marks to compensate for the traumatic experience?" I ask Megan as we sit alone in an empty classroom, textbooks open on the table in front of us. Well, textbooks open in front of me – Megan is busy playing Candy Crush on her phone.