I remember the nervousness. I walked into that office, with my math teacher echoing through my mind.
“You are, not any of you, even fit to write elementary math!!!!”
The specters of my parent’s disappointment, my father’s quiet disapproval and my mother’s shrill exclamation, it was prophetical. I had Failed everything, I was sure of it, even as the secretary bustled around finding my result slip. My death warrant.
I sneaked a peak while leaving, and crumpled in the doorway, relief running down my cheeks. I hadn’t wasted 3 years, and my parents money. There were no failing grades.