Pushing Perfect(26)

“Dare to be different!” Justin said.

“Or not,” Alex said. “I know how important this all is to you. Just remember this isn’t the only option. And you’ve studied as hard as you can, and you’re doing everything you need to do. You’re going to be great. Say it.”

“Say it?”

“Say it. If you say it, maybe you’ll believe it. You’re going to be great.”

“I’m going to be great,” I said, trying as hard to believe it as I could.

“I’m going to be great,” I muttered to myself, over and over, as I got ready for the exam on test day. I didn’t really need to mutter; no one was home, since I’d told my parents I’d be less stressed out if they just went to work. That had the added benefit of giving me time to take the Novalert without having to worry about them catching me.

Mom had left a bag of bagels on the counter and a pot of coffee brewing—she must have gotten up super early to make sure everything was ready when I woke up. She’d left a note, too:

Good luck! I’ll be thinking of you all day. Call when you’re done.

I loved that she’d bought me carbs because she knew I’d want them, even though she was on a gluten-free kick herself. I ate my bagel with some eggs and coffee and then took out my minty-green pill. Such a small thing, but it could make all the difference in the world. This was my last chance to change my mind, to try one more time to make it on my own, but it was hardly even a serious thought. I had no other options.

I popped the pill into my mouth. It had a little bit of a sugary coating, like Advil, and it went down easy. Now I just needed it to kick in. On the drive to school I could feel the first hint of it, the little gears in my brain starting to whir, that feeling of confidence I’d had at the party, that I could do this. This is just a normal day, I reminded myself, as I had last time. It will be over in a few hours. But already things felt different. I felt alert and focused, and, more important, calm. No nausea, no headache, nothing. Of course, that could always come later, but I wasn’t worried about it like I had been in the past. It was like the Novalert was my friend, whispering in my ear.

You’ve got this.

I was in the same room as before, which I already knew; Ms. Davenport was the proctor again, which I also knew. Seeing her at the front of the room was comforting, and in a strange way, so was the familiarity. It was like I was getting a do-over from last time. If today went well, I could pretend the last time had never happened.

Ms. Davenport read the instructions and handed out the test, just like before. I tore open the seal. Once again, the first section was math. But this time all the questions were perfectly clear right away, and the nausea and thumping in my head that signaled the potential for a panic attack never came. I kept coming up with answers that matched one of the options, and I was done with the section even before Ms. Davenport came around to collect it. Just like in calculus.

The other sections went the same way, even reading comp. No panic attack, not even a single symptom of one. And after four hours that went by pretty fast, it was all over. I’d stayed conscious, which was my biggest concern, and it was even possible that I had done well. Every single muscle I had unclenched in what felt like a full-body sigh—Novalert might have helped with the mental stuff and the basic physical symptoms, but my body still knew what all this meant, down to my muscles, and I’d been tensed up the whole time without even realizing it.

I hung around after everyone left and went up to Ms. Davenport. “I made it!” I said, unable to hold back my excitement.

“I know!” she said. “Listen, are you in a rush to get home? I could use a cup of coffee after this, and I’d imagine you could too. I’d love to hear more about how it went.”

“Sure.” I probably had enough in my system between all the coffee I’d drunk before the test and the Novalert, so I wasn’t about to drink more caffeine, but Ms. Davenport didn’t need to know that.

“I’ve got to get all the paperwork done—I’ll meet you at Philz in about half an hour.” She squeezed my hand. “I’m really proud of you, you know.”

“Thanks.” I was surprised to feel my eyes welling up, and I turned to go before Ms. Davenport could see. “Philz is perfect.”

It was weird how much what Ms. Davenport said meant to me. I knew my parents loved me, and they were probably even proud of me too, but it wasn’t the kind of thing they’d say a whole lot. They had such high expectations of me—they never stopped talking about how much they’d loved Stanford and how much I’d love it too, and Stanford was even harder to get into than Harvard, especially for someone from Silicon Valley. Sometimes I thought it would be nice for them to acknowledge that meeting their expectations was really hard work. Ms. Davenport was no substitute for my parents, but it was comforting to know there was a grown-up in my corner.

I got to Philz before her and ordered a gross green tea, thinking of Becca and her matcha. I really wanted hot chocolate, but I didn’t want Ms. Davenport to think I was a little kid. When she arrived, she got an enormous mocha with whipped cream, which I eyed with envy. “I’m exhausted!” she said, collapsing into the chair in front of me. “I can only imagine how you kids must feel. How are you holding up?”

“Pretty well, actually. I mean, given what happened last time.”