༄ "MOM."

"No, Samira. I told you."

"Please, goddamnit! Just for three seconds!"

"Go upstairs."

"Mom—"

"You're not lending my phone."

"But Minho— Mom, I have to speak to him— just for a second, please—"

"I've explained to you, you're not hanging out with him for a while and it's not my fault you can't find your phone. You're not lending mine. I don't want that," some horrific nicknames toward Minho, "to have access to my number."

"I'll delete it. Mom, just one single call. One!" She followed the woman around the house. "I have to know if he's okay! Or at least let me ask Newt, Mom, please—"

"No, Samira. No."

She nearly bursted out in tears. "You-you... I hate you! I hate you so much I'd almost fail everything on purpose, if it weren't for my future. You've locked me up here for a week already and don't even allow me to speak to someone after school. What the hell, Mom— not even to Jeff!"

"Get in your room."

She crossed her arms. Looked up. "I'm not going anywhere until I've texted Minho."

"You're going into your room," she commanded, and clasped her hand around Sam's upper arm so hard it made her wince. "If I catch you sending an email or anything like that to him," she said, dragging her daughter upstairs, "you won't be seeing anyone for much longer."

"I'll tell Dad!" Sam threatened. Another cry left her mouth when she got pushed inside her room. "I'll tell Dad," the door slammed closed in front of her, "when he gets back home!"

Then, she sat down on the ground, her back sliding against the door as she did so. She buried her head in her hands, frustrated.

Minho said harming himself turned into a literal part of his routine. Now, Newt and Sam both knew, but only Newt could currently help, while she wished she could too. She had to. She couldn't leave him hanging like that, and everybody was probably confused why she wasn't watching practices, or seeing her friends.

She sighed. Decided she could try contacting some people at school the next day.

Exhaustion hit her when she sat down on her bed. She hadn't been sleeping well, knowing she couldn't be there for Minho. And she'd spend a lot of time studying, though only half of the things got through her mind.

Tomorrow, a Spanish test. She barely knew anything about what Jorge had taught them, which was new. She always understood the subjects. In the past, she barely had to study for the languages.

Now, she knew nothing.

So gave up and crawled under the sheets.

❤︎︎

"Good luck, everyone." Jorge handed everyone the papers they needed, then sat down at his desk.

Sam stared at the paper. Blinked a few times, and rubbed sleep out of her eyes. She hadn't managed to fall asleep early, for some reason.

Bolígrafo. Pf, that was an easy one. She got it in seventh grade already.

Pen.

Wait— pen or pencil?

No. Lápiz was... what was it?

She skipped those for a second, though she knew the first few exercises on the tests were beginner level. The easy ones, to get used to it.

Fill in the right verb of tener.

Tener. She held a hand against her forehead. Tener was meant 'to have'. I have... yo tengo, or just tengo. That didn't really matter in Spanish. You have... tiene? He, she, it has... she didn't know.

She filled in the ones she knew... that was exactly one. Next. Ah, ser. She knew ser. Ser meant 'to be'. Easy.

A few minutes later, she still stared at the exercise.

It was like her mind went blank. Everything she had learned in the past years vanished. She was dizzy. The letters danced in front of her eyes, which nearly fell closed from tiredness.

How much sleep did she really get last night?

Not sure.

When the bell rang, she flinched. Out of habit, she started filling in the last things she hadn't known. Just random guesses, to possibly score more points.

"Samira. The period is over. Hand in your test, please."

She handed Jorge the paper and grabbed her bag.

At the door, "Have a good day, Hermana."

For some reason, she couldn't open her mouth and reply.

❤︎︎

"How'd Spanish go?"

"Good," she said. Her eyes watched the school disappeared as her mother drove them back home.

"You got biology next week, right?"

Her nails pierced the flesh on her palms. "I think so."

"What's it about?"

Sam hummed.

"Samira. Are you there?"

"I'm not sure what's it about," she said.

"Go study for it today, alright? History is nearing, too. Just like Geography." A pause. "I've got mashed potatoes for tonight. You'll like those."

Alright. She was in a good mood. Don't ruin i—
"I hope." Sam looked down.

"What did you get for English?"

"An A."

"Awesome." A hand on her shoulder. "You got it. I knew you could do it."

Inside her room, Sam stared at her history book. She took a big breath, the guilt of Spanish hitting her like a brick. She could already hear her mother's words if she told her about the F she most likely was gonna get. She didn't want that to happen for history too.

She grabbed a highlighter and tugged her tie off, then got to work.

A few hours later, they were eating dinner. "Is the studying working out? I'd help, if you need it."

"It's going great." She said the words with more confidence now. Actually studying and knowing she did it felt great. "I understand it."

"Good."

Carefully, Sam looked up. She swallowed her food away. "Mom..?"

"Hm?"

"I'm sorry," she whispered, goosebumps growing on her arms. A shiver went down her spine when she thought of what her mother could reply. "I'm sorry... I lied. Spanish didn't go well at all."

Her eyebrows raised dangerously. "How come?"

"Please don't get angry," she begged, mumbling. "I just— I forgot a lot of things."

"Hm." Edith chewed for a few seconds. "I guess that's okay. It happens. What did you forget? First questions are easier ones, right? I'm sure you got those right."

"I..." The words got stuck in her throat. Sam swallowed again. Averted her eyes. "I forgot everything," her voice broke. "I'm sorry— I just haven't been able to sleep well and I—"

An confrontation about how it was possible to forget the things she had studied every year for, since seventh grade.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you."

She looked up, eyes turning glossy. "I didn't mean to forget."

"Did you even study? At all?"

She looked down again, which her mother grunted at. "I tried to."

"You... tried to?" Edith wondered, slowly. "Trying isn't gonna get you anywhere, Samira. You have to do it. You have to understand the full subject. You can't walk inside the classroom knowing just half of the things you were supposed to study."

"I know history already," she peeped. "I do know history and I'm starting Geography."

"Repeat. Repeat, repeat, and repeat. One day, you know it. The next day, it's gone. The more you repeat, the more your brain remembers."

"I know. I'm gonna repeat it."

"—'till the day of the test, yes."

"I know," she said again. "I will."

"Good."

A minute of silence. "Mom?"

"Yes?"

"If I succeed history— can I sleep in my dorm again?"

"We'll see."

"And can I call dad? He promised he would call. Can I do it on your phone? And can I maybe buy a new one, since the other one is—"

"Call him tomorrow. I've got a meeting tonight. Don't burn the house down."

"I won't."

"Good."

Sam finished her food with more issues now. "I'll go back to—"

"Dishwasher, please."

"Right," she mumbled, and got up. Halfway through the job, she heard the front door close and she was left alone in the house.

She could sneak out. She could take her mom's laptop. She could steal food. She could visit Minho. She could, she could, she could—

But she didn't.

She studied, again.