Chapter 47 Chapter Forty Seven

Chapter 47 Chapter Forty Seven
Nat’s POV

Mr. Mike stood at the front of the classroom with his arms folded, the projector casting a soft glow across the whiteboard behind him. The usual morning chatter died down the second he cleared his throat.
“Listen up,” he said, voice carrying easily over the room. “Finals are two months away and that is not a lot of time when you break it down. For some of you, these exams are the open gate to the future you have been talking about since freshman year. For others, they are the brick wall you have been pretending does not exist. Either way, you cannot afford to fail them.”
A few people shifted in their seats. Someone near the back muttered something that made a couple of guys laugh under their breath. Mr. Mike ignored it.
“Today we are going to see where you actually stand,” he continued. “I am giving you a short diagnostic quiz. Twenty questions. The system will grade it the second you submit. No excuses, no extra time. Open your Chromebooks.”
The room filled with the soft clatter of laptops opening. I pulled mine out slower than everyone else, already feeling the familiar tightness in my chest. I had been telling myself I would catch up, that after the season slowed down I would finally sit with the books and make sense of the material. Jeremy’s words from last week still sat in the back of my mind. He had looked me straight in the eye and said that football would not last forever, that if I wanted a real future I needed to start treating the books like they mattered. I wanted more than just the field. I wanted the white coat, Orthopedic surgery. Helping people get back on their feet instead of watching careers end too early. But wanting it and being ready for it were two different things, and right now the gap between them felt enormous.
Mr. Mike clicked something on his own screen. “Timer starts now. Thirty minutes.”
I opened the quiz and stared at the first question. The words swam for a second before settling into place. I knew this. Sort of. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, then started typing. The second question was harder. The third made my stomach drop. By the fifth, sweat had started beading along my hairline. I wiped it away with the back of my hand and forced myself to keep going.
Around me, the room stayed quiet except for the soft clicking of keys. Marcus sat behind me, tapping his pen against the desk in that steady rhythm he always used when he was focused. Tyler was two seats over, already leaning back in his chair like the quiz was optional. He caught my eye and mouthed “this is stupid” with a grin, then went back to halfheartedly clicking through the questions. Mira sat near the window, back straight, eyes moving steadily across her screen. She did not look stressed at all. Of course she did not.
I tried to block them out and focus. Another question. Another blank stretch of memory. My left knee started bouncing under the desk. I pressed my palm against it to make it stop. The air in the room felt thicker. My hoodie suddenly seemed like a terrible choice. Sweat slid down the back of my neck. I could feel it soaking into the collar of my shirt.
Come on. You know this. You studied some of it last night.
But the words on the screen refused to line up the way they were supposed to. I guessed on three questions in a row, then hated myself for it. My jaw ached from how hard I was clenching it. Every time I glanced at the timer in the corner of the screen, another two minutes had vanished.
Tyler leaned over slightly and whispered, “Just put C for everything. Works half the time.”
Marcus shot him a look. “Shut up and actually try for once.”
Tyler only grinned wider and went back to clicking. Someone near the front raised a hand to ask a clarifying question. Mr. Mike answered in a low voice. I tried to use the distraction to breathe, but my chest still felt tight.
By the time the last question appeared, my palms were damp and the back of my shirt was sticking to my skin. I submitted the quiz with three minutes left and immediately regretted every answer I had forced through.
The results loaded almost instantly.
Mr. Mike’s projector switched to the class ranking. Names appeared one by one. Mira’s name sat at the very top with a near perfect score. A few people let out quiet reactions under their breath. My name landed near the bottom. Lowest in the class. The number next to it looked worse than I had expected.
A soft ripple of reaction moved through the room. Someone behind me whistled low. Marcus leaned forward and clapped a hand on my shoulder once, not mocking, just solid. Tyler leaned over and muttered, “Damn, you really tanked that one,” but there was no real heat in it, just his usual careless honesty.
Mr. Mike did not comment on the scores. He just said, “Use this information in front of you to advise yourself. You have two months. Make them count,” and dismissed us when the bell rang.
I stayed in my seat longer than I needed to, packing my bag slowly while the rest of the class filed out. Mira was already near the door, sliding her laptop into her backpack. Every part of me wanted to stay seated and wait until the hallway cleared. Asking her for help felt impossible after the way things had been between us. But the score still burned behind my eyes. If I was serious about orthopedic surgery, about any future that did not revolve around a football field, I could not keep pretending I could fix this alone.
I pushed myself up and followed her into the hallway.
She was already halfway to the next building when I caught up. “Mira.”
She stopped but did not turn around right away. When she finally did, her expression was carefully blank.
“What?”
I scratched the back of my neck, feeling the leftover sweat there. “The quiz. I need help with the material. You are the only one who actually understands this stuff.”
She stared at me for a long second. The hallway noise continued around us. Lockers slamming. Someone laughing too loud. A teacher calling after a student. None of it touched the space between us.
“No,” she said, voice flat and final. “Find someone else.”
She turned and walked away before I could say another word.
I stood there watching her walk away. My jaw tightened. I needed that score to go up badly. I needed A’s in all my courses if I was serious about orthopedic surgery. But I wasn’t about to beg Mira of all people for help. Never.