She knew her friends wouldn’t get it—hell, most of the time she didn’t even understand her obsession with grades. Those little letters could seem trivial and inconsequential in the grand scheme of life, but they choked her. They wrapped their arms around her throat and squeezed all the air out of her. She felt childish and stupid for caring so much, but she had no control over the circling obsession. Being able to rationalize their overall insignificance and still have the overwhelming compulsion to excel made it all the worse.
“What’s wrong, Harpy?” Thu asked, reaching for her.
“I fucked up,” Harper said, running trembling hands through her hair.
Thu’s face turned to a mask of confusion as she craned her neck to look at Harper’s screen.
“B minus? You’re hysterical over a B minus?”
“I’ve never gotten a B before,” Harper snapped, tugging at her hair. “Minus!” she added, throwing her hands in the air. She started pacing the room.
“Is the apocalypse upon us?” Indira teased, but shut her mouth at Thu’s warning look.
“It isn’t fucking funny, Indira,” Harper said. “You all act like I’m some sort of fucking joke, like I’m an idiot for trying so hard. Do you think I want to be this way? Do you think I like feeling like this?” Harper gripped at her chest. “It hurts,” she said through gritted teeth. “My body fucking hurts. All the time. And it’s so easy for you guys to look around and think everything is fine and I’m overreacting because, yeah, technically everything is okay, but that doesn’t stop my body from feeling like it’s dying. Like the world is ending and adrenaline is eating me from the inside out.”
Her hands were shaking as she pushed her bangs away from her face, feeling like she couldn’t breathe. “And there’s nothing I can do about it. But instead of showing me a little patience, all you do is poke and tease me and tell me to fuck some guy because it makes a great punch line to your jokes.”
She sucked in a rattling breath. “But I care,” she said, jabbing a finger at her chest. “I care about my grades. And residencies care. And I care about getting into residency.” She paused for a moment, her whole body shaking. “It’s all I fucking have.”
Walls were closing and air was in short supply. Her mind transformed into a highway, incoherent thoughts that she couldn’t slow down racing from all directions. If they would just slow down … She was torn between the urge to sprint away or curl into a ball, but emotions rooted her body to the spot as hot, shameful tears slipped down her cheeks.
“Harper. Look at me. We need you to calm down.” Thu stood in front of her, running soothing circles up and down Harper’s arms. “We don’t think you’re a joke, we think you’re amazing. But we also think you’re human and too hard on yourself. Bs are nothing to be ashamed of. Residencies won’t turn you down or revoke placement over one B. It’s a great grade.”
“Better than anything I could ever do,” Lizzie said, eyes filled with worry.
“I don’t— It’s not—I—” Harper sucked in lungfuls of air. They didn’t get it. No one really did. She didn’t want to explain that the endless competition she felt was against some idyllic Harper that was always just out of reach—the spiraling feeling that she was never quite where she was supposed to be, never quite worthy enough. Of what, she wasn’t sure.
“It isn’t a comparison with you. Or other people. It’s me. I have a standard.” Harper rubbed sharply at the tears pouring down her cheeks. “I have to do my best. Be my best. I’m just … failing otherwise.”
“No one doubts you constantly do your best—we all admire you so much for how hard you work—but some days your best can be a B and some days your best can even be a C or some days it could mean doing nothing at all but just breathing.” Thu ducked to try to meet Harper’s eyes. “And we’ll still be proud of you. Your best isn’t the same thing as your breaking, Harper. I think you confuse the two, but one of these days you need to learn the difference. You don’t have to live with this pressure.”
Harper let out a cold laugh. “Without the pressure, I don’t perform. That’s what this whole stupid Dan thing has proven. I don’t focus and I don’t perform. I’m just a normal, unimportant girl, doing normal, unimportant things.”
“You are important! You’re so important,” Lizzie consoled, moving to stand closer to Harper.