"Pop quiz!" Elina announces cheerfully, as she walks into the class on Monday. She shakes the stack of loose papers she has in one hand. She is saying something else now, but I am no longer listening. Something inside me has gone cold.

A quiz.

But I haven't studied for it. I haven't studied any Finnish all weekend. And I've forgotten everything we were supposed to have learnt over the past week.

The only thing I remember, with any certainty, is the word lohikeitto. And the smile on Aksel's face when I got the pronunciation right.

But that's not going to help me in the quiz, is it?

I stare down at my tabletop as Elina hands out the quiz. When she gets to me, she smiles and says something in Finnish.

I stare at her.

She stops to repeat it, slower this time. I can understand her, even if she thinks I can't. Don't worry, she's saying. Do your best.

Then she asks, "Do you understand?"

"Ja," I mumble. And then I grimace and correct myself, "Joo. Kyllä."

With another smile, she moves on down the row. I can feel everyone else's eyes on me. Pressing my lips together, I bend over my quiz so that I won't have to look at anyone.

Why did she say that to me, and to no one else? Does she already think that I'm going to flunk?

"Okay," Elina is saying, clapping her hands together. She rattles on, but my mind is in too much of a whirl to focus on what she is saying. Finally, she stops talking and heads back to the teacher's desk at the front of the room. I look around, and see that everyone is busy scribbling away.

Oh. It's started, then.

I hunch over my paper, reading the questions. I can understand the first two. I don't understand half of the third one – I don't remember what the grammatical cases of the words mean. I flip the first page over. There's a reading comprehension on the second page. I try reading a bit of it, but the words begin to blur together.

Fuck. I can't do this quiz.

This has never happened to me. I'm a good student. I always have been. Not in terms of attitude, or hard work, but I've always gotten one's and two's, back in Germany. I've never needed to study all that much to do well on tests and exams. But now...

My right hand is trembling. Slowly, I bring the pen down to the paper, and write.

Emilie Hoffmann.

Okay. That's one blank filled in, anyway. Never mind that it won't get me any marks.

My gaze shifts downwards. The first question. It's a conversation between an American named John and a Finn named Jukka.

Olen suomalainen, the Finn says. Oletko englantilainen?

I am Finnish. Are you English?

The blank is in John's reply. I can guess, from the few words provided, what the answer is meant to be: No, I am not English. I am from America.

But I don't know how to say it in Finnish.

In Finnish, you have to conjugate the word 'no'. I know it's different from the positive version, when you want to say you're not something. But I can't remember how to conjugate it.

I squeeze my eyes shut.

When I open them again, everything looks slightly blurrier. But I swallow and look back at the paper. Okay, forget the first blank. I know the second one – I am from America.

Minä olen kotoisin... What is America called in Finnish? Amerika? Or Amerikka? And the ending in this case would be -sta, wouldn't it? I remember that embarrassing self-introduction on the first day.

Amerikka looks right, I decide. Amerika looks too German. And after all, the problem I have with Finnish is that it is so far removed from anything I know, isn't it?

With a shaking hand, I put pen to the paper and write down: Minä olen kotoisin Amerikkasta.

I hope it's right.

Then I put down the pen. I've only answered one question, but I am already exhausted.

The next question has an illustration of a flower on a table. Below it is the sentence: Kukka on– and then a blank.

Kukka means flower. Theoretically, I can guess what goes in the blank. On the table.

The flower is on the table.

And I know there's another grammatical case for that. But I don't know what it is. I don't remember. I don't know how to say anything in Finnish.

This language has too many grammatical cases. I can't remember any of them.

I cover my eyes with my left hand. I can feel the tears on my fingers. My mascara is probably smudging. But I can't stop.

This past weekend had been so nice, too. How does everything change in a flash?

My nose is clogged by now, so I open my mouth to take a quiet, shuddering breath. My hand is still shielding my eyes, because I'm afraid to look, to see who in the room has noticed that I am silently crying over this stupid pop quiz.

Then suddenly Elina is crouching before me, her eyebrows drawn together, her dark eyes fixed worriedly on me. She speaks to me in English now, "Are you okay? Do you need to take a break?"

She's speaking very softly, but in a room this silent, the others are bound to have heard her. I dare not look at Priscilla, who is sitting again on my left.

"Yes," I whisper. I remove my hand from my eyes, and see that the tips of my pointer and middle fingers were black. I must look a fright, but Elina keeps her gaze steady on mine.

"Take all the time you need," she tells me.

I shake my head, pushing the barely filled in test towards her. "I'm sorry, I need to go." My voice cracks a little, and I have to stop and swallow multiple times before continuing. "I'm done. I can't..."

I can feel the others raising their heads now, to glance at me.

This is humiliating.

I need to get out.

There is a pause, before Elina nods, "Have a good rest. We'll see you tomorrow."

I can't do anything more than nod. Avoiding her concerned gaze, I throw my pen into my bag and stand up. All the way out the door, I keep my head bowed, in hopes that the curtain of my hair is enough to hide my face from anyone who happens to be looking.

"Bye," I whisper in Elina's direction.

Out along the corridor, I walk quickly towards the sign marked WC. Pushing into the ladies', I come to a stop in front of the mirror.

It's that damned new mascara I bought the other day. It had looked like the one I normally use, and I hadn't understood the Finnish packaging, so I couldn't have checked. But it had turned out to be not waterproof. Not like my usual one. The one I buy in Germany.

Bending over the sink, I splash water on my face and scrub until all my makeup is gone. I don't have any moisturiser with me. My skin is going to peel on the way home.

Through the mirror, my reflection stares back at me. Her eyes are red. Her complexion is overly pale. And even as I stare, her eyes well up again. I turn away. I don't want to look at her.

Outside, I tug my coat closer around myself as I head for the tram stop. I don't like taking public transport in Helsinki. It's easier when with the metro, but buses and trams are confusing. Still, there is a direct tram from here to our apartment. It would be faster that way. I wouldn't have to spend even more time wandering outside around Helsinki.

I just want to go home.

The tram stop is crowded, and I remember that it's barely six. I'm usually in class now, so I've never had to take a tram at this hour. I park myself at a far corner of the stop and try not to look at anyone else.

My tram – number 2 – arrives presently, and the ball of dread in my stomach grows. It is packed. I don't want to have to sit beside someone, or worse, stand squashed between two tall people. I want to sit far away, in my own corner, by myself.

Still, I join the queue, fumbling in my bag for my travel card. My turn to board arrives sooner than I'm ready. I stand on the step by the doors, well aware that I'm holding up the line, rummaging through my wallet for the damn card.

Where the hell is it?

I finally feel a familiar corner, and whip it out. I'm already holding it to the machine before I notice the HVV symbol in the corner.

I can feel a flush coming on. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why do I still have my Hamburg travel ticket in my wallet? And an expired one at that – the season ticket it holds is no longer valid. Because I no longer live there. The last time I'd been back with Aksel, we'd both bought day tickets, because it's what people do when they are just passing through.

I wish I was back in Hamburg. There, my card would be recognised. In fact, this problem wouldn't exist in the first place. You don't have go through a stupid machine just to take the tram in Hamburg.

Everyone on the tram, including the driver, is staring at me now. Probably thinking about how hopeless I am. How foreign.

Fuck it. I don't have to stand here to be stared at.

Whirling around, ignoring what the driver is saying to me in English – "Do you need help?" – I push past the queue behind me and stumble off. Everyone is staring at me.

"Anteeksi," I mutter, before gathering my bag in my arms and taking off at a run.

Stop staring. Stop staring.

I'm running blindly, my legs moving without thought. I don't even know if I'm going in the right direction – but I must be, because then I see the Helsinki main railway station. I slow to a walk, only just realising that I'm half-panting, half-blubbering.

I swipe a rough hand across my nose. The back of it comes away wet.

I keep my head down, tugging my hood over my head to hide my face from the passers-by I walk past. But I can still feel some of them staring at me.

Why don't they mind their own business? What's wrong with them, that they have to stare at everything, at everyone who looks the slightest bit out of place?

My eyes are leaking. The snot has smeared all over the bottom half of my face.

My vision is blurry now. I don't know which way I'm supposed to be going. Walking with my hand outstretched, I come to a stop when I feel the rough facade of the railway station. The grey stone wall is cold beneath my fingers.

Turning to face it, I edge forward until my forehead is resting against the stone. It's probably dirty, but fuck it. I don't care anymore.

Behind me, people are walking past. Probably staring, as usual. As always.

I let my eyes drift close. Maybe if I can't see them, I can pretend they're not there. Or that I am not here.

I hate this place. I hate the class. I hate this language.

And I hate these people, these people who stare at me, watch me everywhere I go just because I look different from them, just because I look like I don't belong. These people who, seeing me with my cheek pressed against the building as they walk by, make no effort to even ask if I'm okay.