"I promise that I'll never fall in love with you. Cross my heart, hope to die."
"Here's to hoping."
Harper Young was sure that moving in with her aunt would be an improvement. It wasn't. This was all due to three tiny little problems.
1) Embry Call...
" Errors are not in the art but in the artificers. " - Isaac Newton
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F is for Fuck Up
Harper had been told she was annoyingly dramatic. Whether it was her teachers while fighting to get an extra point or students who were at the end of her glare as they questioned her. It certainly caught the attention of Ms. Gourdon who had begged her to try out for the school play only to be met with a pitying look and a shake of the head, but a promise of directing in some way was made. Yet as she sat there with an essay gripped in her hands she could hear nothing but blood rushing in her ears.
She could see it mocking her, barely able to feel the teacher give her a sad pat on the shoulder before passing the next essay out. She could hardly register Ms. Rena asking her to stay after class. She would've been glued to her seat anyway as she tried to fathom how it had happened. Harper had spent months on that stupid research paper. Digging through journal after journal, article after article. She even typed until her hands cramped.
The large blaring F was enough to put her in her place. The frowny face was enough for her to feel guilty for whatever reason. Disappointment pooled in her gut before spreading out to the rest of her. Everything felt wrong. Like the earth was off-kilter.
The blaring noise of the bell took her out of her pity party induced trance and her head shot up to meet the gaze of Ms. Rena. Harper had barely noticed that her peers had rushed out as the teacher had moved closer to her desk.
"Are you okay?" Ms. Rena asked in concern. Her eyebrows pinching together as she looked down at the young girl.
Harper's mouth had opened slightly and she could already feel the tears pool in her eyes. She wasn't going to cry, she had promised herself. Although, these tears would be more than welcome in the safety of the bathroom of her rundown high school. She refused to cry in front of Ms. Rena.
"Not really," Harper finally got out. She had been slipping as of late. Everything had been piling on top of each other. Each night she got less and less sleep. Her prominent eyebags were signal enough to the worried teacher and then the paper. "Why?" She asked, her voice cracking.
Oh, her 22-page mess of a paper was nothing if not a cry for help.
The title read Anxiety and it's Biological Effects Outside of The Brain. The paper was unfocused and scatterbrained. The sources were great, but it was like Harper had rambled on and on and on. She had always been an overachiever, but this was excessive.
Ms. Rena didn't know how to explain. "Harper, hey. It's not the end of the world. There's always the makeup paper."
Harper didn't react as Ms. Rena had wanted. She dropped the paper and put her head in her hands. A low groan coming from the girl. The girl who certainly didn't have enough time to write a paper on top of the hours of homework she had to do. What was she going to do? If she brought home this stupid essay her dad was going to kill her. She was in so much trouble.
