“… and remember that your workbooks are due on my desk at the start of class on Friday, not the end. I know some of you try to sneak in some work during class…” Ms. Ramirez is talking like half of her class isn’t frozen in fear, but I can barely hear her over the buzzing of dread in my ears. I really am going to pass out.

I watch my hand grab the paper Ms. Ramirez is passing to me as she walks by my desk and feel my sweaty palms dampen the pages. The buzzing is joined by my heartbeat pounding loudly in my head as I turn over the paper.

57.

I got a 57.

The sinking, swirling feeling isn’t relieved by knowing. It squeezes around me. Heaviness fills my body and I lose all feeling in my limbs.

Don’t pass out, Caleb. Whatever you do, don’t pass out.

This is the worst it’s ever been. This horrible, overwhelming feeling is crushing me and has been for weeks and weeks. It might actually finish the job this time and leave me totally squashed.

Before it can, the buzzing starts to die down and the swaying of the room slows. I look up to see if someone opened a window—suddenly there’s fresh air and sunlight in here—and see Moses across the aisle grinning big at his exam. There’s a big 98 circled on his paper. My stomach should drop in jealousy but I find myself feeling weirdly happy for him. Looking at him grinning like a maniac at his test is steadying me for some reason.

“Aw, look, Mr. Popular got a fifty-seven,” someone says behind me, and it’s like the window being slammed shut. “Guess it’s true what they say about Football Brain.”

Tyler snickers and it cuts into me like splinters. I find my spot on the wall again and stare at it like I’m Superman and could laser-eye a hole in the wall and escape. Don’t turn around, Caleb, it’ll just make it worse. You know the moment you look at his smug face, you’ll want to choke him with his hoodie.

The bell rings and I instantly spring into action. I shrug my jacket back on, stuff my test in my backpack, and stand up, my eyes never leaving the spot on the wall. I’ve moved through this classroom for the past two and a half years, I know exactly where the door is, so I start walking in that direction, don’t collect two hundred dollars as you pass Go. Simple. I can do this. I can use my stupid, strong Football Legs to walk the rest of my Football Body toward a doorway.

Goddamn. A 57. Maybe I really do have Football Brain.