Failing the exam - Sarah Paulson

"And that's why Ken Wilber's integral theory of personality emphasizes that an individual's development is closely tied to their social bonds and spiritual awareness."

The wooden folding seats creaked as the students shuffled toward the lecture hall exits. The air was stuffy, the lighting dim. It was one of those older lecture halls with 300 seats, nearly all of them occupied during the lecture. The oppressive silence that had been broken only by the professor's voice now dissolved into the pleasant hum of student chatter. I stayed seated for a few moments, trying to shake off the wave of exhaustion that had crept over me. Unlike Pete, I'd made an effort to pay attention during the lecture and take notes. Maybe it could help balance out the disaster that was likely my midterm exam? Pete nudged me impatiently from his seat.

"Come on, I want a good spot in the Hall," he whined.

Slowly, I slid my notebook into my backpack, stifling a yawn. When would we finally get the midterm results? The lecture hall was almost empty now. The professor stood by the podium, rummaging through her bag. A few blonde strands fell into her face as she sorted through her things. To be honest, I was a little afraid of her—of that sharp voice she used to eviscerate a student in front of the entire class if they failed to answer her questions correctly. Her demeanor was intimidating. She had dark, piercing eyes that scanned our faces as she spoke about the developmental theories of Wilber and Kant.

I stood up quickly, not wanting to risk Pete deciding to leave through a different exit. There was no way I wanted to be left alone with her.

We were just about to leave when her voice cut through the noise.

"Claire Thorne?"

I froze mid-step at the sound of my name.

"Miss Thorne, I'd like a word with you."

Heat rushed to my face, and I could feel myself blushing furiously. What did she want with me? Pete grinned wickedly.

"The dragon wants to talk to you," he whispered, pushing me down the stairs toward the professor, who was standing with her arms crossed in front of the podium. She was wearing wide black dress pants and a crisp white blouse. Her stern gaze fixed on me as she curled her lip slightly.

"Are you Miss Thorne?" she asked, her disdainful eyes briefly resting on Pete, who was fidgeting nervously behind me. It seemed she made him uncomfortable too, for some reason.

"Uh, no?" Pete responded, though it sounded more like a question than an answer.

I shot him a look, silently willing him to leave me and "the dragon," as he called her, alone, but he completely missed my alarmed expression. Reflexively, I ran a hand over my mouth to stop myself from cursing out loud. This was one of those moments when I was deeply ashamed of being friends with Pete.

"In that case," the professor said icily, "I suggest you stop obstructing the conversation between Miss Thorne and me." She put special emphasis on the word obstructing. Her glare brooked no argument.

The yellowish glow of the ceiling lights fell on her white blouse, reminding me of the color of buttercups. Around her neck, she wore a delicate silver chain that rested on her collarbone, shifting rhythmically as she spoke. Pete muttered something under his breath and slinked away.

The lecture hall was eerily quiet now. I glanced at the empty rows of seats. From this angle, the hall looked more imposing, more grand, like an ancient Greek amphitheater.

"Miss Thorne, you failed the midterm."

I stared at her dark eyes, uncomprehending. Her hand glided over the upholstered armrest of a seat in a smooth, deliberate motion. It was as if she were recounting a childhood memory rather than informing me I had failed the exam. A faint smile played on her lips.

I felt sick. My hands clenched into fists as I searched for something—anything—to say.

"Okay, Ms. Paulson?..." I managed to stammer, hoping to detect a shred of empathy in her gaze, some hint of emotion. But her expression was one of pure disdain.

"Okay? That's all you have to say?" Her voice echoed sharply in the vast lecture hall.

I darted a glance toward the exit, praying no one, especially not Pete, could overhear this conversation.

"I can't allow you to take the final exams if you've already failed the midterm," she said, shaking her head in disbelief. Her necklace jostled with her movements. Hastily, I brushed a stray strand of hair out of my face. My cheeks were burning.

"What do you think this is, Miss Thorne? A pony farm? You're at one of the best universities in the world!" Her voice grew louder, cutting through the stillness of the hall like a whip. "And you have the audacity to show up here and fail every assessment thrown your way?!"

I wanted to protest but couldn't muster the courage. Tears welled in my eyes, threatening to spill over.

"Do you have any idea what kind of consequences this could have? Not just for you, for God's sake," she said with a dry, bitter laugh before regaining her composure. Her dark eyes locked onto mine, pinning me in place. "No, for the university. For my reputation as a professor. Hm?" She tilted her head slightly, pausing just long enough for her words to sting.

The fury bubbling in my chest solidified into a dense, burning mass of hatred. Who did she think she was?

I struggled to hold back the tears, but they slipped down my cheeks anyway. The droning hum of the ceiling lights filled the silence between us. I discreetly wiped at my face, mortified.

Ms. Paulson tapped her fingers against the armrest.

I inhaled shakily and wished more than anything that I could walk away without saying another word.

"I... I'm sorry... I..." I stammered, hoping naively that an apology might soften her.

The tapping stopped. The ceiling lights buzzed.

"What do you even want to do with your life, Miss Thorne?" she asked, her voice quieter now, almost concerned. Her gaze flicked toward the exit Pete had used earlier. She shook her head slightly.

"I really have to go now," I said in a tight voice, turning to leave.

"Wait, Miss Thorne. I have an offer for you."

I slowed my steps, staring at the black linoleum floor, avoiding her gaze at all costs. I braced myself for whatever proposal she was about to make—whatever it was, I would refuse. Out of protest. Out of principle.

"You can attend my supplementary seminar."

Ms. Paulson closed her bag, seemingly oblivious to how deeply her words had hurt me. I wiped my face again, hoping Pete wouldn't notice I had been crying.

"It's technically only for external students—you know, the ones from the Psychology University in Cambridge," she said, gesturing dismissively while adjusting her glasses. "But..."

She looked up at me then, and I felt her eyes rake over me. I glanced furtively toward the exits.

"I really have to go," I said again, this time firmly.

With that, I turned and left the lecture hall as quickly as possible.