Little Girl | L. Hemmings

eleven - study buddy

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I saw this post on Instagram a while back that I felt so true. It said "School isn't about learning anymore. It's about passing."

It definitely wasn't wrong. The pressure of these midterms coming up was really getting to me. Who knew being smart would hurt so much?

I had my Physics on Monday, my Economics (thank god this was only a half-term class) on Tuesday, my Spanish on Wednesday, nothing on Thursday and then my dreadful Pre-AP Calculus on Friday.

And it wasn't like I had anyone to study with for any of those because let's face it, my friends are the epitome of stupidity. No offense to them at all. Albeit I do have Charlie in my Physics but he's as smart as a doorknob in that class. I'm such a bitch I can't deny it.

That's why on this Sunday morning at precisely eighty-thirty, I have awoken to begin the studying for my future A.K.A my death.

I hurried downstairs to grab a bowl of cereal, a water, and a few snacks before rushing up to go back into my hole for the rest of the day.

I opened up my textbooks and notes, scattering everything along my bed. I crossed my legs to fit more room for the rest of my stuff. I grabbed my highlighter, devoured a spoon of sugary cereal, and began to highlight all things important.

And as I did this, I could feel the headache coming on. I rubbed my temples and decided to just keep pushing on through, to at least get this page of problems done.

I sat there, reading each question over and over again slowly figuring them out without the help of my trusty phone. I was becoming quite proud of myself until I couldn't do anymore.

Just three more to to go you do it, you whore, I thought to myself. I believed that pressuring myself would make me want to finish things quicker. It didn't work.

Sighing in exasperation I threw my textbook across the room, a loud bang sounding throughout the room in return.

Luke walked by just as the textbook met with the floor, jumping in the slightest at the loud sound.

"Jesus, don't murder the poor thing," he breathed out, placing his hand over his heart which I assume was racing from the scare.

"It deserves to die," I snapped, walking over to it to place it back on my bed.

He stepped inside my room to take a glance at it and a pained expression came onto his face as he saw what the cover read.

"Ew. I hated that class," he spoke in distaste, eating a spoonful of his cereal.

"And I hate it now. I don't know what I was thinking when I applied for it. I've heard all the rumors about it being difficult but I brushed it off because I felt like I was smart enough. But here I am, ranting to you, on the verge of killing myself because I'm sure that'd be less painful," I rambled on, pacing back and forth and shoving my hands in my hair.

"Lucky for you, I passed that class with no problem. If you want I can help you," he shrugged, drinking the milk left over in his now cereal-less bowl.

"You just said you hated that class."

"But that doesn't mean I wasn't good at it," he pointed out. He reached over to my notebook to see what I was doing and sat on my bed to read the textbook.

He reached for my pencil and began to write notes down or finish the questions I couldn't do so myself. Curious to see what he was doing I walked over and looked at his work and saw him completing the questions no problem.

"Here, I even wrote down some notes for you to study off of for the final two." He handed me back my notebook and pencil then got up to most likely go back to his room.