My eyes might fall out of my skull if I stare at this paper any longer.

A cone has a radius of eight Centermeters and a height of twelve Centermeters, workout its volume in pie.

As I gaze up through the window and sink into the clouds slow dancing through the sky, I picture my hand plucking the guitar strings while the drums and base interloop smoothly to create a pulsating rhythm bouncing all over the stage. A raving crowd pumped with exhilaration jump with the beat, cheering and singing along. My legs lift off, launching me towards the audience.

"Lay your pens down and pass your exam paper to the next person," Mr Patel's announcement crashes through the music, dragging me back to my daunting reality.

I stare down at my test paper, dreading its contents. I forgot to answer the questions.

The next day is predictable.

In bright red, large enough for everyone to see, is the letter E; curved, slanted and posh, written at the top of my exam paper.

Jaxson pulls a chair to my desk, "congratulations on ending your two year F streak."

"If you really didn't want to play Fiffa at mine you should have said so," If I didn't know his poison is a lack of gaming, I would have to bare through hours of his 'humour', which unlike he claims, lacks any flavour.

To avoid the next phase of post exam torture, I gather my papers and stuff them into my bag. The bent corners and scrunched sides take up more space, as they expand without my strength squishing them together. Swollen, my bag refuses my workbooks, I pile them under my arm and rush towards the staircase whilst feeding Jaxson enough fake laughs and nods to keep communication to a minimal.

However, my persistent, chatty friend follows me out the door, at the same time Mr Pates stops me. Like a thief who has just run into a police officer, Jaxson returns to his desk after confirming with me, "I'll be at your place tomorrow, yeah?"

GCSE's, the final boss of secondary school, which determine what direction my life will take. Or as my parents phrase it; "a critical point in my life" but they also included my SATs when I was eleven, my french exams, my end of year exams, and pop quizzes in that category. I have no doubt my choice of breakfast is a game changer in their eyes.

Despite their doubts and eye sagging worries, I lead my life and I know where this rhythm is taking me, and it's definitely not a song played by letters and numbers on a piece of paper no one's going to care about in three years.

Before I can explain to Jaxson why my parents wouldn't want us playing games right now, Mr Pates calls me outside for a "quick word" as always.

He'll start about how much potential I have before tuning into how disappointed he is and ending with an uplifting quote, a monotonous beat.

"Aiden, you're a bright student with a bright future ahead..." Mr pates starts.

Behind my maths teacher, I catch Jaxson in his coat with the same bag over his shoulder as almost everyone else, as if there's only one store in London. But he quickly merges in with other students flowing out the door and down the stairs like a packet of red skittles.

I glance at Mr Pates so he knows I'm listening, even though my attention is with the traffic of students all going home, which I could have been a part of by now.

"How does that sound?" The Teacher asks.

I return with a generic answer, "yeah, that's cool."

To my annoyance, he pushes with another question, "what time would you prefer?"

"Umm" I buzz through my thoughts, "I'll have to ask my dad."

Mr Pates looks at me with a gripping stare, his voice slows down and becomes serious, "Aiden, your GCSE's are crucial. This after school program will allow your teachers to focus on you more than in class, but you must put in the extra effort in order to excel"

Wait, what.

"Bring it back to my office with your parent's signature by the end of this week," he hands me a sheet of printer paper with times and days - Monday to Friday 3:30pm - 5pm.

Until five pm, How is that not against the law? Glaring at the letter, I feel like I'm walking through a dark tunnel.

I've just arrived home when I find my studious twin sister; sitting on the grey, stone steps, with a book to her face like she's about to get eaten by it. Even after we just had an exam, she doesn't give herself a break.

She doesn't realise I'm near until I pull down her biology book from it's top corner and shut it. I sing "take it easy with the reading, your eyes look like they're bleeding, they're scaring me."

Her perky nose rises as she looks up at me, her eyebrows crossed in irritation. "Maybe if you left me with my book, I wouldn't look so furious, and aren't you taking it too far with my description, bleed'n eyes is such an exaggeration" she sings back in a fake voice, with animated hand movements and a smile that widens with her laughing, wiping away the sour expression she had before.

"No, I'm being serious, your eyes look demonic," I announce, and catch my insensitivity simultaneously. A gloomy darkness strikes her face like the sudden clash of timbals, "but its not something to worry about" I quickly reassure her.

She uses her phone's camera as a mirror, staring in horror at her blood shot red eyes for over a minute. Her hands tremble, tears begin to emerge, "I went to book an appointment, but my doctor's fully booked." She looks at me with a cry for help boldly visible on her face, like a warning sign. "I don't know what to do."

I rush up to her, tying her with my arms as she is about to collapse in tears, "what's wrong?"

"Maybe nothing, I don't know," her hand swipes across her face, drying the tears, "maybe I'm being paranoid."

"What are you talking about," I try to piece together her words, but I'd have more success solving a rubric cube.

She won't say anymore. Which is unlike her.

Since our parents aren't home, we visit our favourite cafe - the caramel factory, the hidden gem of our town. As soon as I drag open the heavy door, the sweet, warm, scent of caramel swirls round and into my nose. I take a deep breath in, picturing caramel deserts. The phantom taste of salted caramel tart lands on my tongue like a flower petal, I can almost feel the soft pastry layer in my mouth.

We make our orders and take them to our seats. Warm lights illuminate the cafe, a poster of liquid caramel drizzling into a bowl is plastered on the wall next to me.

"Mum's going to be so mad at us, we aren't supposed to have snacks before dinner," she worries while slurping a salted caramel milkshake, a caramel chip muffin sitting besides it.

"You say that every time, but she hasn't found us out so we're fine," the caramel cheesecake on my plate glistens. The sweet brown thickness hangs on the edge of my spoon as it falls back onto the dessert. "And I need the extra sugar, my brain's been going full mode this whole week," Although my mouth is full, I manage to get the words out. If I could savour this taste for eternity I'd give up anything.

Speaking of how hard I've worked, I take out the letter Mr pates gave me and pass it over to Adalyn.

"How is that not against the law?" Maybe she knows a way I can get out of it.

"But you kinda need it" She returns, to my suprise. So unexpectedly in fact that I drop my spoon.

"I don't need extra lessons, I've got the best tutor ever, thanks to you I scrapped past an F." I'd rather pour all my attention into music, but school holds me back, I can't waste anymore time with these extra lessons.

"You got an E!" She yells, eyes roll over to our table, she quickly turns behind herself to apologise. "After how much I tutored you, you only got an E?" Thankfully, she's quieter.

"It's better than an F, and if you give me more time I'll be getting C's, so can you please convince mum and dad to not sign it?" I fixate my gaze on her, out of everyone, Adalyn should understand most how I feel.

I give her time to think. She starts drumming on the table and I can't help piling up sympathy for my sister. I remember strumming the guitar while Adalyn hits a rhythm with the drums, her hands moving all over the kit with amazing speed and a head hoping rhythm, meanwhile Rob followed along on the base.

"I'll try, but you have to put some effort into your studies." My wonderful sister announces.