You have that cute, laid-back energy about you — the kind that makes you a great friend. Someone just got dumped? You’re the one who shrugs and says, “Let it hurt. It’s normal.” Your friend studied all week and still failed that test? You pull her into a hug and go, “Baby. You’ll try again. It can be fixed.” Someone doesn’t understand a class? You offer to help, even if you have no clue what they’re even asking.

You’re the laid-back one. You believe that if something has a solution, then there’s no reason to stress. And if it doesn’t have a solution? Then there’s even less reason to stress. That’s your thing — until now.

Because right now, none of that applies. Sure, if your friend fails a class, it’s not the end of the world. She can try again. That grade doesn’t define her. But why can’t you extend that same kindness to yourself?

You’re sitting on the cold floor of the campus bathroom, the one that always echoes too much. No one really comes here anymore. Finals are over. The hallways are quiet. Except you’re still here. Locked in the stall. Crying.

Because you failed the test.

You pick up your phone anyway. Your hand’s shaking. You shouldn’t call him. You really shouldn’t. But the number’s already ringing.

“Hi,” you say, voice wet with tears.

He doesn’t say anything yet — just listens.

“I didn’t pass,” you whisper. “The test. I—I failed.”

You know it’s not the end of the world. You do. You’ll try again next semester. There’s a solution, right? But right now? You just feel… stupid. Broken.

“And I know you’re probably busy,” you continue, trying to steady your breathing. “I just wanted to let you know I’m going home, okay? Sorry.”

God, what is wrong with you? He’s probably tracking a serial killer in Idaho and you’re over here crying about a midterm. You called Spencer — your literal genius FBI boyfriend — crying over a test. A test. What are you even doing? Someone put you out of your misery already.