Early November, Year 12

Exam time came. Gab had studied consistently and intently, as always. In the preceding weeks, she had felt extraordinarily eager to do her best and knew that she was ready, tight-chestedness notwithstanding. But on the morning of her first exam—Maths—her nervousness was overwhelming.

She stared shakily into cereal she couldn’t eat. Finally, she forced down three mouthfuls even though it was like swallowing cardboard.

Gab helped Jack to get ready for school; they packed their bags and then went out to grab their bikes. Gab had double checked that hers was in the shed the night before.

The ride to school stopped Gab from shaking, but she started again after she’d dumped her bag in the study block and was walking towards the exam rooms.

The small class of students gathered in twos and threes around the building. Some of them were loud and jovial, most were hushed and tense. The doors were set to open in five minutes when Mr. Cheng walked over.

“Hey everyone!” he smiled, as he approached. The students waved, trying to smile, calling out greetings.

“I just wanted to wish you all good luck,” Mr. C. said. “Actually, you don’t need good luck. You’ve worked hard and it’ll pay off. Just go and do your thing.”

He went round and spoke a few encouraging words to each of his students, asking them how they were, telling them they’d be fine. When he came to Gab, he didn’t say much—only four words, but they were imbued with confidence:

“Go for it, kiddo.”

Gab smiled, despite the tornado riling in her stomach.

Maths, more Maths, Biology, English, Agriculture and Psychology. One by one, Gab ticked them off as the exams fell like dominoes at the end of a long and winding year.

And at the end of them, she felt strangely bereft. School had structured her life since … well, always. It had given her a place, a routine, goals for the future. It had placed her in a community that was generally supportive, stable—and had mitigated the turbulence at home. That wasn’t to say it had always been easy, or that the usual social dramas didn’t occur. They did. But they were less troubling, less dramatic, than life at home. Gab, Jane, Lauren, Toby … the whole of the year level … had been together since primary school. They knew each other too well. Many were ready for a change of scene, and admittedly, Gab found none of her friendships particularly compelling, though she and Toby had enjoyed a healthy rivalry.

Gab had never had friends over to her house. Once, in Grade 1, a girl named Sally had come over. But Sally had seen a rat in the kitchen and screamed and wanted to go home. And then she’d told her mother about it and her mother forbade her to go back. That was the last time Gab made the mistake of inviting people in. She wouldn’t risk such humiliation again and necessarily kept other kids at a distance.

Year 12 celebrations came and went. Tess cried on Gab’s last day and hugged her for longer than ever, and Gab promised to keep in touch. Muck up day and the Year 12 formal (Gab partnered up with Toby, as much for convenience as anything) were followed by the tense wait, mingled with summer liberation, in the lead up to the release of results.

As Mr. Cheng had suspected, Gab topped her Maths class; she also topped her Biology and Agriculture Studies classes. Her final score was outdone by only one other student, and the two of them still gained the highest scores ever attained by students at their regional high school.

The Year 12 teachers were thoroughly proud and wholeheartedly bestowed their students with awards and praise at school presentation night—which Gina didn’t attend. But Tony went along and spoke with Mr. Cheng afterwards about Gab’s success, the possibilities for her upcoming year, and the shame it was that Gina just didn’t seem interested. “A bloody shame, that’s what it is. Bloody disgraceful,” was the way Tony described it. Mr. Cheng didn’t use the same words—not at presentation night anyhow—but he was in agreement with Tony. “If only there was more we could do,” said Tony, even though he already did a lot. And Mr. Cheng agreed, but unfortunately the one thing they couldn’t change was Gina—and the responsibility that came with her and fell upon Gab. The conversation only strengthened their resolve to do what they could for Gab, when they could.

Gab didn’t know anything about this, of course; she would have felt mortified and defensive of her mother. The awards night had been a real triumph for her, in recognition of her hard work and outstanding results. She only allowed herself to feel sorry for her poor mother, who found life so difficult that she didn’t want to leave the house—even for her daughter’s Year 12 presentation night. And what else could Gab do? What else was there to feel? Gab couldn’t trade families. She couldn’t yell at her mother or vent her disappointment without throwing her mother into spirals of violent lament. She couldn’t change what had happened. So, she allowed it to silently shape her, and she contorted herself to fit around the poky circumstances of the situation, like she always did—perhaps to her own detriment, but also for her own survival.