School is the last of her problems: an almost perfect student

Sara was terrified. The cold sweat between her legs clung to her itchy tights, and she shifted uncomfortably in the hard plastic chair. Mr. Downey’s gaze swept the room, narrowing before he would lock eyes with the student whose fear was the most palpable. 'Please don't be me', she begged silently. She had no idea what was happening in the lesson today. Normally, maths made sense, but today, her bones felt like lead, drained from the exhaustion of trying to keep everything together. She had no clue what X equalled.

The thought of answering incorrectly sent a sharp pang of dread down to the pit of her stomach. She could already picture the smirks from the arrogant group of boys behind her, the way Mr Downey would tut in that condescending, dismissive tone that always made her feel so small like she was barely worth noticing. The whole class would stare. Her cheeks would burn, and she’d rather crawl into the floor than face them, her face already flushing just at the thought of it.

The bell rang—a harsh, high-pitched trill slicing through her thoughts. Immediately, the class erupted in the usual scramble as metal chair legs scraped against the floor, jarring her nerves. Students packed their bags, eager to escape. Mr. Downey, trying to hold onto his shred of authority, half-heartedly barked instructions while everyone ignored him. Sara scooted sideways, hoping her polyester skirt would wipe away any sweat marks from the seat. She never saw other girls doing this, and shame squirmed inside. She rocked her left thumbnail into the pads of her fingers, focusing on the sharp sensation.As she moved down the hall, carried by the crowds, her mind veered to concern for her little brother, Owen, he must be tired too. He was only seven, and the night before had been another nightmare. The shouting had gone on until nearly 2:30 AM, the words slicing through the walls of their tiny cardboard-walled new build house. Sara had pulled Owen into her bed, slipping headphones onto his little head and playing soft lofi music, hoping it would muffle the chaos. He’d fallen asleep at midnight, but Sara had stayed awake, listening to the bitter threats and pointless arguing. She could feel the weight of it in her bones—too little sleep for her brother and even less for her. How could anyone be expected to focus on GCSEs when their mind was grey sludge?

Turning the corner, she found Tabi already waiting for her, holding their lunch spot against the younger kids who didn’t understand the unspoken rules of the school. Tabi waved energetically, her excitement and energy more than Sara could muster right now.

“No time to do your hair today, Sara? Good job you’re pretty!” Tabi grinned, teasing in the most direct way possible. Sara smiled back, not taking offence but resisting the urge to run her fingers through her frizz. Tabi always said what she thought without any filters, and it was one of the reasons she loved her, it made the relationship easier, no games.

Tabi launched into one of her signature monologues about Musa, recounting every moment of eye contact they’d shared in chemistry class and what it meant for their “inevitable relationship.” Sara’s mind tried to stay engaged, but she found herself torn between two thoughts: one part of her felt the thrill of her friend’s excitement, the buzz of those fleeting connections that felt important, and yet another part of her wanted to scream, to dismiss it all as pointless. Eye contact? Was that worth obsessing over? Relationships always end in disappointment. She didn’t need a psychology A level to know that. She could see it in her father’s failed attempts, in the way he’d hurt her mother, the reason she had never had the butterfly ‘feeling’ of connection.

Instead of saying any of this, she let the words of her friend wash over her, pretending to listen, nodding occasionally. Tabi’s words filled the space taking the pressure off her, and Sara let herself breathe, even if just for a moment.

This is the student who behaves in class and just gets on with it, she is described regularly in reports as a bit shy and would benefit from contributing to class discussion more but is quiet and conscientious. She doesn’t get involved in drama and isn’t in a stream of relationships; she isn’t out getting drunk or causing trouble - an almost perfect student according to the year team.

This is the student who quietly and slowly starts to burn out, whose standards slip, who seems tired, maybe a little anxious - probably the stress of exams a teacher mummers. The chance of her accessing the school counsellor is low, she doesn’t have any ‘risk’ criteria and the wait list is long. But what happens if she gets there, what would we find out?

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