Today was my last day as a student. I was going to find out my degree results and finally know whether I was doomed to be a cum laude failure, an acceptable magna cum laude graduate with no prospects, a summa cum laude girl who would go places even without having an internship lined up or—God forbid—a nobody with no degree designation whatsoever. I felt my stomach turn. I had done an acceptable amount of revision to get magna but I was secretly dreaming of a summa. I had revised every day from eight a.m. till eleven p.m. with only about four breaks a day. Surely people who got summas did that much. There weren’t enough hours in the day to do more.
I waited anxiously outside the English Department. Emma was meant to meet me here but she was running late. Our department was the only one in UCL that made the students come in to collect their results.
On cue, Emma ran up to me, tottering in wedges under a black maxi dress. She looked like she should be drinking piña coladas on a yacht. I was wearing leggings and an oversized T-shirt with flip-flops. Dressing up had not been on my agenda this morning.
“Sickness on a scale of one to ten?” she asked, hugging me.
“Twelve. You?” I replied numbly.
“Worse. Let’s just go in and do this,” she said, taking my arm and leading me towards the building. I nodded my assent as we approached the notice board.
There was already a small crowd in the common room, scattering out into the hallway, mostly chatting happily. I bet they’d got Firsts, the bastards. We ignored them and walked over to the notice board. My heart pounded as my eyes raced over the board, looking for my candidate number. I’d written mine on my hand over the fading I am over him. My hand was right; I was so over him.
There it was. With great honor. What did that mean? That was . . . magna cum laude. Oh thank God. I breathed in relief, but then felt disappointment race through my veins. I hadn’t magically gotten summa. I wasn’t a genius. I wasn’t destined to be an academic scholar. There went my chances of getting in to the CIA or doing a PhD on Shakespeare.
I looked at Emma. “Well?” she demanded, her eyes sparkling.
“Magna cum laude. Average,” I said. “You?”
“Summa!” she squealed. “I literally have no idea how this happened. Oh my God. Maybe I shouldn’t go into PR anymore—I could be a Shakespeare scholar.”
My face darkened. She was stealing the dream I’d never gotten a chance to live.
“This is so exciting!” she cried out.
I sighed. “I hate you, but I’m so ridiculously proud,” I announced, wrapping my arms around her.
She laughed. “Thanks, babe. If it had been the other way round I probably would have only hated you. And magna cum laude is still amazing, you know that.”
Still amazing? Ugh. I hated the “still.” But she was right. And she was also wrong. If it had been the other way round, she definitely would have been ecstatically happy for me. Besides, I’d passed; I’d done acceptably well. I hadn’t really worked as hard as I could have, but fuck it—my friend was a genius.
“Let’s go get celebratory drinks,” I announced. “Drinks are on me!”
“Waheeyy!” Charlie called out from the other side of the common room. “Let’s go to the Fitzroy Arms, guys. Drinks are on Ellie.”
I rolled my eyes at him. “Sorry, Charlie, but I was just talking to Emma because she went and got a summa,” I said proudly.
He looked at her in admiration. “Fuck. Well done, Emma.”
She grinned, shrugging. “What, do you think it’s hard?” she asked, and put her arm around me. “Pub, now.”
We all ended up leaving the common room and walking down to the pub in a trickling throng, laughing and chatting as we took up the entirety of Tottenham Court Road’s east pavement. Everyone was being completely normal with me, and Hannah wasn’t even there. It seemed like no one knew my virgin secret. I decided to forget the whole thing and let myself relax. We were no longer students, I was no longer a virgin and the sun was shining.
I was on my third gin and tonic when my phone beeped. It was an email and the subject line said Re: Internship. I slammed my drink down on the table and immediately opened up the email. It was from London Magazine—a very cool, hip online magazine that I’d sent my vlog to a fortnight ago.
Dear Ellie,
Thank you very much for your email applying for our three-month internship. As you know, competition is high but we would love to offer you the position, starting from September.
We absolutely loved your “vlog” and found it hilarious. It would be fantastic if you could write something similar for us, and we look forward to hearing your ideas. Please get back to us to confirm you’re keen to take up the internship.