CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
“You know, it was pretty embarrassing hearing Mr. Dawson reading my pop quiz mark like that,” I admitted as we walked in the deserted road, save for a few drunkards and late night workers. It was eleven forty nine at night, the sound of our footsteps echoing in the distance.
“Come on, you were in the top ten,” he argued.
“I was number nine in the pop quiz with seventy percent,” That, according to me was a low grade. I needed to get to an ivy league university if I was going to become the great doctor I wanted to be.
“Seventy isn’t a bad grade if you ask me,” he shrugged, attempting to sound consoling.
“Easy for you to say. You had a freaking ninety eight percent,” I wasn’t jealous that he passed but a part of me was hurt that I failed. I wanted to blam
