86%

“You got an 86% on your final exam” is what my dad texted me this morning. I can tell from the text that he’ll call me to his office, grill me about how stupid I and the rest of the infantile population is, then proceed to tell me how SHE’s doing everything better. How SHE’s going to have the best grades in the grade. How SHE’s going to get the governor’s medal in 12th grade because SHE’s organized, SHE’ s a hard worker, and SHE doesn’t settle for under 95%. But I do, he’ll say. I’m settling and failing and letting myself fail, he’ll say.

I left school to go breathe. I was destabilized. Because I DON’T SETTLE. I just fail.

Bet he’ll grill me about how someone in my position, the student body president, the student trustee, can’t afford to look even a tiny bit sad. I need to be enthusiastic and smiling and happy all the time.

But I’m not.

Hence my presence here.

Just with the information I gave you, you could easily find me.

But you won’t.

And I thought of that while I contemplated jumping in front of a truck after trying to ditch school.

I thought of that while imagining myself jumping down a flight of stairs.

I thought of that while imagining myself slitting my arm open Hannah Baker-style.

I thought of that while sitting alone and wanting to cry but I can’t because I’m tough.

Because “it’s just grades”.

But it’s not.

And a lot of you might not understand that it’s not, but it is for me.

It’s all I have.

And SHE’s still better than me.

So in actuality, I have nothing.

I’m holding on to hope like one would the edge of a cliff.

But at least they could climb back up.

But I’m nothing but an 86.

Not “prize of excellence”.

Only merit.

I’m not deserving of life.