by
Urac Sigma
Part VII, Word Count: 1800
The
story so far, or at least the important bits:
With her friends having
(mostly) sorted out their would-be sex lives, Stephanie can once more pay
attention to matters of schoolwork. Which would make a change, because she
hasn’t really done that in a very long time…
You
know, I could officially start to get really pissed off about this.
As it is, I’m kinda pissed off that I’m not more pissed off.
Today
starts off fairly normal. I go to maths and squeeze out the bare minimum of
number-writing that I can, putting my own ticks on the work so any teacher that
looks over my shoulder will think I’m actually working hard at this. From
there, it’s to English where I lie about having read the set novels, answering
any questions by keeping one eye on Mario’s open notebook beside me. I also
nod when we’re reminded that there’s an essay due at the start of next week,
and swear to myself that I’ll finally get around to reading the questions.
I’m
exaggerating a bit, but you can sorta tell that the ‘business end’ of school
- you know, things like writing things down and adding things up - isn’t my
favourite bit. I’ve never been able to think of any real-life situation where
I’d have to know what a pronumeral’s index was going to do. And I don’t
think my love life is completely dead because I keep getting told, ‘What I’m
really looking for is a girl who can analyse A
Handmaid’s Tale as a metaphor for the end of the Cold War.’ (I know,
I’ve just jinxed myself. That’s going to happen now, I know it.)
What
I’m really saying is, I shouldn’t be as surprised that I’m as surprised as
I am in this next thing I’m gonna tell you.
Nate
is one of these people called academic supervisors. Basically, they’re in
charge of telling people what subjects to take, letting or not letting people
transfer…you know, basically anything relating to what kind of stuff you’re
doing or want to do at college. Which means that his job is probably piss-easy
until the end of the year, when suddenly everyone’s shitting themselves about
their UAI.
Don’t
know the UAI? Basically they do this weird sum to all your unit results over the
course of Years 11 and 12 and they give you this number. The higher the number,
the better chance you’ve got of getting into whatever uni course (or whatever)
you want to do. So, if you want to do something hard like medicine, you’d want
a UAI up there in the high nineties. Your basic Arts degree on the other hand,
you can probably get away with fifty or so. Get the picture? You’re right, it
doesn’t sound interesting. That’s why we have academic supervisors to worry
about this sort of thing, because normal people never would.
I’d
been meaning to get down to A Block and work out my scores sooner (you know,
about a year sooner), just to work out where I was at and what I should be
doing. But you know how it goes, you start off the year meaning to be all smart
and diligent, and ‘no distractions, this is the year I get it done’. The next thing you know it’s trimester three, 2000, and
you’re across a little table from Nate wondering just what the hell you can do
now.
What
he tells me makes me realise that the answer to the last question is
‘fuck-all’. Stupidly optimistic, I’d been thinking that maybe I was
looking at being a few points short of what I want (which is whatever it takes
to get into a university offering media, or better still, film-making), and that
a last-minute burst of dedication could get me back on track.
Nate’s
face tells me that this isn’t the story. You know, now I think about it, that
could be quite a nice face, that one. If it wasn’t for the fact that Nate’s
using it to make expressions that spell bad news for Chang, Stephanie M.
‘So
how many points away am I?’
‘Well…before
I say anything, Stephanie…try to keep in mind that we can’t guess your final
UAI for sure, you’ll get that at graduation. And that the UAIs for these
courses you want to get into might well go down…’ …or
they might go down, I can tell he’s thinking. Or, if I trail off like this, she might forget that I haven’t told her
the answer yet.
‘Yeah,
yeah…I know all that,’ I tell him. ‘Just tell me based on what we do have. How many points?’
‘Twenty.’
Twenty.
As
in, out of a hundred.
As
in Stephanie=snowball, academia=hell.
So,
not long afterwards, you find me at a pub with an empty cider glass. It wasn’t
empty before, and I’d much rather it was full, but at least now it matches the
one I made just before.
See,
I’m confused. I’m confused by myself. After I finished up with Nate, I found
myself thinking, ‘oh, well, that’s the way the cookie crumbles’. You’d
kinda think I’d at least be a bit more upset. Or at least upset at all. So the
fact that I wasn’t upset, well, that kinda made me upset. Maybe I’ve been
too hugely upset in the past that things that could piss me off don’t piss me
off anymore, no matter ho much they should. By now you’re probably getting a
bit confused by that. So try being me, ‘cos I actually have to live it.
That’s very confusing, and pretty bloody frustrating as well.
I
like cider.
It
doesn’t take Dizzy, Mario and Annika long to track me down, mostly because
Dizzy calls me on my mobile phone and asks where I am.
Hey,
I’m not a recluse, I’m just a bit confused and frustrated.
Er,
and tipsy by now. I should see this as a warning sign. Stephanie getting pissed
rarely causes good things to happen.
‘Heya,
Steph.’ Dizzy edges into the booth beside me. ‘Missed you in media project
today.’
Bugger. ‘Bugger. Sorry. You guys all had classes so
I came down here for a drink. Only then I drank something. So I thought maybe I
shouldn’t drive a moped back to the college. But I wasn’t sure. So I had
another drink just to be certain. So I couldn’t drive back.’
Annika
listens intently then announces, ‘I’m starting to like this cider idea.’
And it’s off to the bar for her.
‘Anyway,’
insists Dizzy. ‘What brought you down here? I was already to tell you my
shit-hot kick-arse gonna-save-our-butts-from-media-project-doom idea.’
I
should really ask what that idea is before I forget, but I’ve already
forgotten by the time I get to my story that started with the trip down to A
Block. Of course, now I think about it, it really started with me first setting
foot in Lang College at the start of last year. Oh, and I leave out the part
about Nate having a nice face, because now it just sounds weird.
‘Wow,’
says Dizzy when I’ve finished it all. ‘That kinda sucks.’
‘Have
you thought about going into another course?’ wonders Mario. ‘One with a
lower UAI? I mean, once you’ve got your foot in the door, you could transfer
into media.’
I
shrug. ‘I dunno. Thinking about all that crap really made me wonder if I’m
that set on going to university after all.’ Did it? Actually, I don’t even
think I knew that until I said it just then. On the other hand, it really starts
to make sense. No wonder I’m not upset at all.
Of
course, if I don’t go to university, what do I actually do?
This
is going to require more thinking. Ow, and I just worked out what the worst part
is. I’m going to have to tell my parents about it either way. And talking to
my parents under the influence? Let’s just say they haven’t quite adjusted
to me turning eighteen yet.
Not
that I’d actually have to tell them drunk just because I thought about it
drunk, of course. Hm, this train of thought has made me conceded that there’s
no more dregs to be had from this glass, so I want another one, this time full
to the brim with its dregs.
I
tell the others that since it’s not like we have to do anything tonight - or
tomorrow, for that matter - why don’t we park ourselves here for the duration?
Dizzy
declines. ‘Tempting offer…’ she says, ‘but me and Mario got some stuff
we gotta do.’
Shit.
Good thing I haven’t fetched that next drink yet. That’s the only thing that
stops my otherwise uncontrollable urge to blurt out, ‘What, are you gonna have
sex with him too?’ I settle for, ‘Oh. Fair enough. I’ll catch you guys
later, then.’
Mario
puts on a mock-stern voice. ‘Now, be good, you two. We don’t want a repeat
of last time.’
‘Nah,
getting into that much shit is no fun when there’s only the two of us.’
‘Bye.’
And they’re gone.
I
realise my ‘two of us’ remark. Better check that it’s true. ‘Annika?
You’re hanging round for a while, right?’
Annika just drained the rest of her cider, then said, ‘Our drinks are gone. I think I’d better get us some more.’
Quite
honestly, it’s not long after that that my memory really starts to blur. I
hadn’t meant to get that pissed - I hadn’t really meant to get pissed at
all, in fact. Just to chill out, turn things over in my head, chat to Annika a
bit. But, one thing leads to another, and the topic quickly goes from university
concerns to the pros and cons of picking up Defence Force cadets in
nightclubs…Annika pretty soon took the upper hand of the conversation, can you
tell?
Anyway,
when I wake up, it’s just like the ads. How will you feel tomorrow? Bloody
awful. I can feel I’ve got the mother of all headaches, and when I say that, I
mean I think I can feel that mother in labour now with all those baby headaches.
When
I finally open my eyes - with kind
of a similar effort to opening a rusty garage door - I notice that I can’t see
a Matrix poster on the wall across
from me. My memory tells me that last night is still a great black mess, but I
can’t imagine why I would have decided, after however many drinks, to take my
poster down.
As
I get to a sitting position (this takes a long
time), I realise more. Did I take all
my posters down? No. I look around and wonder if I took my whole bedroom
down.
As
I look around a bit more, it all sinks into place. Well, not all. Just the part
about where I am. Never mind telling my parents about the university stuff, how
do I explain this?
And, for that matter, what the hell am I doing in a police lock-up?
Continued…
© Urac Daria Sigma 2000
