This chapter is dedicated to Farhana1122 for the incredibly sweet message she sent me. Thank you so much! You really made me smile. :)

My parents are still at work when I get home. Thank god for that, because I don't think I will be able to face them just yet. I mean, sure, they reassured me over and over again that as long as I did my best, they didn't care about my actual results. But I didn't do my best, did I? How can it have been when my paper caught on fire in the middle?

The most agonizing part is that the test was almost over. It was almost over, I only had that one question left, and I did the exact opposite of what I should have done. I should have ignored it. I should have brushed it off and accepted that I wouldn't get it right. What does it matter, anyway? I'm aiming for a job either in the arts or humanities, and the question was math. I could have missed it and still gotten a good job in my preferred field of study.

Technically, there isn't any proof that the fire was caused by me. I know, however, that people will have no choice but to assume that it was my fault. Who else could have done it? Who else was close enough?

If some random kid I didn't know had managed to get their paper set on fire, especially after being visibly frustrated with several of the questions, I would probably be a bit suspicious. I'd think that they tried to sabotage their own test so that they could be given a retake and a chance at a better score, along with more time for preparation. Which is obviously something I would never do, but the officials don't know that.

The question is whether they will find sufficient proof that I was not responsible for the fire. Then, it will be a matter of whether they will allow me to take it next year, as a sixteen year old girl, sitting in a room with dozens of kids who are in the year below me and have had one less year of their lives to prepare for a test that would greatly impact their future.

Fat chance.

Though I can't, and I don't want to, suppress the slight glimmer of hope that they will indeed go through with that course of action.

But... My mind starts racing. They can't use that solution for an entire room filled with almost one hundred students, all of whom missed out on the last two minutes or so of the test because of that one girl. Can they?

Maybe two minutes isn't very much. But I know that testing irregularities are taken very, very seriously when it comes to the Examination. I'm nearly positive that some sort of retake will need to happen, but the question is whether I will be allowed to take it. It really all depends on whether or not it's decided that I'm guilty of that fire. But then again, that's a very big if...

I clamp down that thought. I don't even want to consider it. I will get a chance to retake the Examination, one way or another. If I don't, I'll be homeless, jobless, and without any way of supporting myself as soon as my parents retire and are no longer able to financially support me. Basically, I'll be screwed for eternity.

No, no, no. Think positive thoughts, I tell myself. Think positive thoughts.

I am positive that I will not get to retake the Examination and I will be a hobo for the rest of my life.

"Shut up!" I say out loud, pressing my fingers to my forehead. Then I wince, realizing that if anyone saw me right now, they would think I'm nuts.

I should be trying to confirm that the other kids in my room will have a retake. But I don't think I can handle hearing the bad news if things didn't end up going in my favor. No, I think I will savor my ignorance for a little while longer.

Sighing, I look towards my desk. After a moment's hesitation, I slide into my chair and pull out a sketchbook and pencil. When I really need to take my mind off of something, sometimes I like to draw whatever it is that's bothering me. Somehow, sketching it on paper quiets my mind a little bit. I have entire sketchbooks filled with drawings I created when I was stressed and needed something to do--three of them--and I'm nearly halfway through a fourth.

I flip to the next open page in my book and twirl my pencil between my fingers. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and lightly touch the tip of my pencil to the paper, imagining the scene that keeps occupying my mind. Then I open my eyes and begin to draw.

***

Hours must have passed by the time I'm finished. I only take a small break to make myself a sandwich. I spend much longer than usual perfecting angles and shadows, determined to busy myself with this for as long as possible.

I'm only startled out of my concentration when I hear the door slam that must mean that either my mom or my dad, or possibly both, are finally home. I'm suddenly terrified of facing either of them. Please be Mom, I think fervently, crossing my fingers. She's a lot more likely to hold off on the questions than Dad is, and is less likely to make jokes about it that would only make me feel worse.

Then I hear the voices, two of them conversing with each other, and I realize that of course it's both of them. That's just what I need right now. Lucky me.

The voices quiet after a few seconds, and then I hear Mom, calling up the stairs. "Elayne, are you there?"

I make up my mind then. I can't tell them. I can't bear to deal with the disappointment they will have in me, hidden under all of the reassurances that they still love me for who I am regardless of a test score. They will tell me it's okay, but I will know that underneath, they are not pleased. And I can't deal with that, not now. I'm a coward, I know. But I can't help it. So I take a few deep breaths and plaster a fake smile on my face. "Yeah!" I call out in the brightest and chirpiest voice I can muster.

Pause.

"Do you want to come down, or would you rather we come to your room?"

They know something's up. My parents never come to my room right after they come home from work unless they really think something is wrong. If I want to act natural, I have to go and face them. Still holding onto that fake smile, I call, "I'll come." And I hope they didn't hear the slight voice crack at the end.

My legs are shaking as I make my way towards the staircase, my heart thudding in my chest, palms getting sweaty. I really, really don't want to face them. I can't bear to see the looks on their faces, the ear-to-ear smiles that must be dancing on their lips, while knowing I don't deserve that pride. And it's so, so hard for me to lie to them. But honestly, unless I want to deal with the consequences of them knowing the truth instead, I have no choice.

They're not standing at the foot of the stairs. That gives me a little bit more time to collect myself. When I finally reach the kitchen and see Mom making tea at the stove and Dad reading a magazine at the dining table, just like they usually are when they come home, I think I've calmed down enough to act natural. But the moment Mom spins around to see me, abandoning the tea, and Dad shuts his magazine, turning his attention to me, and I see their eager faces, it's almost enough to make me burst into tears right then and there. They look so excited to hear what they're sure is good news. But the news is anything but good.

"How'd it go?" Mom asks immediately, practically bouncing with anticipation.

I feel a lump forming in my throat. "It--it was fine," I choke out, my voice uncomfortably tight. Don't cry, don't cry. But it's hard to hold back the tears that are already pricking at my eyes. I rub at my eyes, hoping it looks like a casual movement, and try to swallow down the sobs.

"Fine?" Dad scoffs. "Just fine? Don't be ridiculous. I'm sure you did amazing. You shouldn't downplay yourself, Ellie. You're a lot smarter than you give yourself credit for."

"You did get through all of the sections that you wanted to finish--you had four of them, I know--didn't you?" Mom asks, with a tone that plainly says, duh, of course you did, I don't know why I'm even asking.

The lump in my throat grows bigger, and my breaths are coming in tight little gasps. DON'T CRY! I mentally scream at myself. I open my mouth to say, "Well, I'm not completely confident on all of my answers, but yes," a completely normal response. But I don't even manage to get out the first word before I burst into tears.

Mom and Dad are both instantly by my side. "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry," Mom breathes, wrapping me in a warm hug. Dad follows, rubbing soothing circles on my back to calm me down. "I didn't mean to make you so upset. I'm so, so sorry."

I try to stop the tears from falling, but it doesn't work. I'm hiccoughing and my nose is running and my face is all blotchy, but I can't stop sobbing.

"What's wrong, Ellie?" Dad asks softly. "What is it? I promise, we'll try and help you."

I can't lie to or hide things from my parents. I don't know why I even tried. The entire story comes spilling out, down to the very last detail. I don't even leave out the part about how I was imagining setting my paper on fire, and it burst into flames right at that moment. I let out all of my fears about the future, and admit that I didn't want to tell them at first. And when I'm done, I feel so much better, as if a ten ton weight has been lifted from my chest.

Mom is furious, but not at me. "How dare they treat my daughter this way?" she demands angrily. "How could they even consider denying her a retake? If the Officials don't let Elayne take a retake, I will march over there myself and--and--well, I don't know what I'll do, but they are not leaving my sight alive unless they agree to do what I'm saying!"

"Yeah," Dad says, squeezing my shoulder. "You tell 'em, Angie. Those Examination Officials will experience the full wrath of Angela Woodson. They'd be lucky to survive."

I give them both a watery smile. "Thanks," I whisper.

Mom pauses from her ranting. "There's no need to thank us, Elayne. We're your parents. We'll always support you, no matter what."

I sniffle, wiping my nose. God, I love my parents so much. I was an idiot to even think about hiding today's events from them, even for a second. I should have known they would always support me.

All of a sudden, I'm hardly even worried about the Examination anymore. With both of my parents standing by my side, I'm sure I'll find a way to be retested, somehow. Mom very well might track down one of the Examination Officials and barge into their home, demanding that I get a retake, and threaten to stab them with a butter knife if they don't comply. I almost smile at the image, which isn't even that unreasonable. She's a force to be reckoned with when she gets passionate about something. Especially when it has to do with me.

Dad wraps his arms around me, offering his comfort, and I fall onto his lap just like I used to when I was little. He grunts a little at my weight but doesn't say anything, offering me a small smile instead. After a moment, Mom comes over and joins us. The three of us sit there for several minutes, together, arms surrounding each other, as a tightly knit family. And we stay there until I finally dry my eyes and offer them a genuine, happy smile.

In that moment, I know that as long as I have them, everything will be all right. I'll find a way to deal with even the biggest of problems thrown at me. We're a family, after all. We get through it together. That's simply the way it works.

But I guess I should have known then that it wasn't really that simple.

Sometimes, things happen out of the blue, things that can change your life completely--for the worse, or for the better. Either way, they turn your whole world upside down.

One of those things happened today.

I should have known that another would soon follow.