Page 17 of The Tartan Thesis

She nods, so I go on.

“The bigger problem is that I don’t know how to get that understanding. Knowing the GDP, current political drama, and data about public sentiment on various issues isn’t the same thing as understanding the daily life of a Scot and how the country got to where it is today.”

She nods again. “True. It will be difficult, but you don’t seem like you back down from tough problems or hard work,” she says and squeezes my bicep.

My spirits buoy with the reminder that I didn’t get where I am today by walking away when things got tough.

“You’re right, of course,” I say, the corners of my mouth finally turning up. “You usually are.”

“Thank you for noticing,” she says, tossing her hair.

“Since you’re so amazing,” I say, “I assume you have thoughts on how I can fill my knowledge gap?”

“Of course I do,” she says, the “duh” implied. “You need to integrate into the country more. Meet people, talk to them, participate in local traditions, visit sites where all that history happened. You can’t learn everything you need from books, papers, and lectures.”

“True,” I say, running a hand through my hair. I do little other than read, attend classes, write, and work out. It’s been difficult to find time for anything else. “But I’m not even sure where to start.”

“Start with your Scottish classmates. I’m sure they’d be happy to help,” she says with a triumphant smile.

“Even Torin?” I ask, doubt clear in my voice.

Her smile falters. “Okay, maybe not Torin. He’s very serious about his studies and doesn’t like distractions, but maybe he’ll at least give you some ideas.”

“I don’t know,” I say. “He doesn’t seem to like me. Personally.” This is the first time I’ve admitted it out loud. Based on the look on Maeve’s face, she doesn’t disagree.

“Well, even if Torin won’t help, I know Isla will. She needs breaks from writing and she was great at making me feel at home in Edinburgh my first year. I’ll plan a dinner together this weekend so you can get to know her better.”

“That sounds great, Maeve. Thank you,” I say. “You really are the best.”

She reaches out and pats my hand. “That’s why you’re my favorite. You see me.”

I laugh as she heads back to her desk. Feeling lighter, I open my laptop and wait for it to boot up.

Maeve’s right. About all of it. I have the grade that I have, and I can either wallow in it and hope things will improve, or I can do something about it.

My laptop chimes to life. I log in and pull up a project template, one of my favorite ADHD coping mechanisms. I draft a problem statement, proposed solution, goals, and resources, then create a list of action items with checkboxes so I can put my plan into motion and track my progress. While creating a document doesn’t fix the problem, it turns the swirl in my head into something I can tackle one step at a time.

I’m about to show it to Maeve when Torin shuffles in with his exam booklets. An A+ sits boldly on the cover of his Scottish Reformation midterm. A toxic mix of jealousy and shame roil inside me. I feel my cheeks flush, so I look back down at my computer and pretend to be very busy typing.

“Morning, Torin!” Maeve calls out, our unofficial social chair, greeting everyone when they arrive.

He startles in a way that seems more surprised than necessary. “Oh, hi,” he says distractedly.

He heads to his desk. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as he reads his exam booklets. My hands are on my keyboard, but I can’t focus. Torin usually ignores me in the office, so this isn’t different from any other day. But today is different. Today I’m sitting here with a C+, wondering if I’ve made a massive mistake coming to Scotland. And the sight of that red A+ makes it easy to believe Torin might have been right about me all along.

I take another deep breath and am about to review my notes ahead of today’s lectures when Torin clears his throat. “So…” he says, “midterm grades are back.”

I don’t say anything, but Maeve replies. “Yep! We should celebrate getting through the first half of term. I’ll send out a note to see when everyone is free.”

“That sounds fun,” I say, trying to sound upbeat, and failing.

Torin says, “Sure,” but doesn’t seem interested.

There’s another pause before he asks, “How did you do on your exams?”

My shoulders tighten, creeping up toward my ears.

He’s trying so hard to be nonchalant that it’s anything but. It’s clear he has an angle. He probably just wants to brag about his own grades and make sure we all know he’s the smartest boy in the room. Like always.