I got the answers right.
Eventually.
Just didn't breathe while doing them.

Told Dad I felt like drowning.
He told me I just needed to practice.
I do. That's why it hurts.

They always finish first.
Every time.
I pretend to check my work,
In reality, I didn't start.

Back home, I was meant to revise.
Instead I tapped my pencil into the wall.
Created a mark.
Decided to keep it. It felt true.

Got 92%.
Finally. Something to be proud about.
"You could've hit 95."
Dad smiled—he was 'proud.'
It was almost impossible to believe.
So it still stung.
Felt the familiar gnaw in my ribs.

He would probably love the boy in my class as a son.
I bet they'd enjoy studying.
Without the tears and shouting.
Without butchered expectations.

I needed help.
Didn't want to shatter his expectations again.
I almost cried,
But the room stayed the same.

I realized it wasn't ever about math.

Lively chatter
Glasses clinked
Chairs shuffled
Then all of a sudden
Dark hair
Brown eyes—
Boyish, warm, curious.
A pale seashell necklace
A black earpiece.
My heart rallentando.

The sun rippled over the surface of the pool, gleaming.
Carbon bubbles clawed at my throat.
The Mallorca sun pleasurably scorched my legs.
The sun kissed your shoulder blades.
Showing off the way your skin clung to your bones.
That, there.
Made me hold my breath.

Cheers and groans.
Pearched on a bench, your arm around your sister.
You watched the little football match.
I walked past silently.
My brain beginning to tick like a bomb.

The birds taunted me.
The sun was blinding.
The chairs screamed when pulled.
Glasses clashed.
Made my way to the bus.
Saw you there. Waiting for yours.
My luggage staggered behind me.
I watched you from the window.
Growing smaller and smaller.

As the bus rattled away
I pulled out a map.
The size of my finger—
UK to Italy.
You, a world away.

Voltaic–that was the word to describe that feeling.
Everytime our eyes met,
The way your dimples appeared like little craters on the moon each time you smiled.
But it was never directed at me.
That wasn't possible.
You're as dazzling as a burning comet.
As striking as a solar flare.
I watched,
Starstruck.
Just a random satellite in your orbit.
One that mistook its own glow for your reflection.