Ambition

The children at my old school were stupid, silly little things. They pranced and frolicked and got drunk and got pregnant and skipped class and vaped like ferrets in dank little bathrooms. Disgusting, I would think as I walked into those linoleum hallways. Really, where would they go after wasting their high school years this way? They didn’t have a clue. I did. I was the one who was going to spend the rest of my days reading books and drinking brandy somewhere cold. I was the one who was going to Woodsley.

So I led clubs and worked on passion projects and sped far ahead into the curriculum’s horizon. I made sure I was charming and smart and talked to all the right people. I made high school into a mirror, one that reflected a student that all the colleges would want. I preened and plucked myself into the perfect Woodsley College girl. So when I finally got in, I accepted immediately and ran off to Connecticut to start anew.

I saw Tammy Gong in my first Creative Writing seminar. She’d taken the seat right in the middle of the front row, the one I had planned to sit in since my first open house. Her cheap pastel highlighters and beat-up laptop were set neatly in front of her, in my spot. Poor girl, she looked so out of place. Her black hair was frizzy and I could tell she had pimples from over here. I sighed as I slid in next to her. Ugh, I thought, does she have any sense? It brought to mind what Mother used to say: as manners maketh man, a mirror maketh woman. She would be appalled. No matter, Charlotte. I thought. Don’t let her distract you from class.

“Hey.” Tammy said from beside me.

Easier said than done.

“Hello.” I hid my grimace and shaped my mouth into a beatific smile.

“I’m Tammy. Nice to meet you.”

“Charlotte. Charmed.”

I turned back to unpacking.

“Isn’t this place so big?” She piped up.

Oh God, not again.

“I’m really not used to it. I mean, the classrooms are probably bigger than my entire apartment!” She chuckled.

Oh, how erudite. A joke about the room’s size. Hilarious. I laughed along anyway.

“The dorms are super nice too. It’s like damn, now I see why the tuition is so high. Thank God for financial aid, am I right?” She looked at me almost needily.

Figures she’s a scholarship kid.

“Yeah. It’s really a godsend.” I replied. Anything to get her off me.

Thankfully, Ms. Cowley took her place at the lectern at that exact moment, and Tammy turned to watch. I did too, rapt at attention.

Lenore Cowley was one of the reasons I wanted to go to Woodsley. Her poetry and short story anthologies had sat on my mother’s shelves back home. When I was younger, I read them over and over again, imagining moonlit forests and ivory towers far away from my dusty old hometown. They were my solace, my yearning, my escape. And so when I learnt that she taught at Woodsley, well…I had to.

For a moment, the entire room was silent as she stood there, a white-haired denizen in red and orange. Then. she grinned, her beaded earrings jingling.

“Welcome, students! I am Ms. Cowley, your Creative Writing teacher, and I am pleased to say that you’ve made it!” Whoops, cheers. They quieted down as she opened her mouth again.

“The hallowed halls of Woodsley College have held many an academic, politician, and scientist. But mainly, they have held the ambitious. Those whose passion is single-minded, and who seek their goals for the rest of their lives. What I teach you in this class is vital: to harness that hunger and create magnificent worlds and stories that will live on far after you shuffle off this mortal coil. I will nurture your ambition into something beautiful. I am here to help you shape the world, as true Woodsley College graduates must do.” I hung on her every word, cowed by the musings of a genius.

“As many of you know, I begin our year together with a challenge of sorts. To encourage you to strive as far as you can, I shall offer some…friendly competition. In the coming months, I invite you to write any creative work of your choice. I will review your work and, together with your performance in class, I will pick one exceptionally ambitious student. I will then work with them personally to publish their writing. Suffice it to say, it is the opportunity of a lifetime. I trust it will be taken.”

It was almost painful, how hard the wanting hit me. It ached and burned, trapping my mind in its vise-like grip. How often had I dreamed of having my words inspire other little girls in their mother’s libraries? How fervently had I sought the day where I would finally be able to go home and tell Mother that I had made it, that this grade was the final one that mattered? This is it, I thought, this is what I’ve wanted for so long. I had to get that deal.

I soon learnt that the weeks at Woodsley fell like dominoes. September and October passed in a misty haze, while I spent my days eating, sleeping, and working. The work at Woodsley piled up endlessly. School rules be damned, my teachers were going to assign as much work as they could. At least I was losing weight. Food was not a priority here.

Through my mountains of papers, my mind strayed to Ms. Cowley’s challenge whenever it could. My project was shaping up to be my magnum opus. In the wee hours of the night, I wrote. On the bus to the grocers, I wrote. I even managed to eke out some scant minutes before my lectures. Well, before all except one: my class with Tammy.

She had somehow managed to become even more insufferable. Always smiley during note-taking, much too forward during class discussion, too naive for her own good. It was all I could do to stop myself from audibly sighing. Worst of all, she had for some reason decided to sit next to me every chance she got.

It was in that tradition that she slid into the seat beside me at the start of a November class. I stared straight ahead at Ms. Cowley, taking as many notes as I could. Through the lecture, I would feel her eyes on me every now and then. I somehow managed to get through the period without having to talk to her, but my streak broke when Ms. Cowley announced we were getting our first full-length stories back.

I almost jolted out of my seat when Tammy elbowed me.

“Nothing like the stress of essay grades, huh?” She said, waiting for a laugh.

“Hah. Yeah.”

“It’s like how I imagine a death sentence would be.” She whispered as Ms. Cowley came up to us.

I gave her a quick fake smile and took my paper. All marked up in red pen. Shit. I tried to calm myself. No matter. I don’t need the four hours of sleep I’m getting, do I?

I quickly regulated my expression as Tammy got her graded story.

The minute she flipped the paper over, her face fell. It took precious few seconds for her to launch out of her seat, fleeing to the hallway. I got back to arranging my papers, but then I heard Ms. Cowley clear her throat. My head snapped up.

“Do you want to go get your friend?” She said kindly.

I couldn’t imagine anything worse, but this was Lenore Cowley. I nodded as brightly as I could manage and bounded off after Tammy.

I could hear the heaving from the bathroom door. It was almost like she was asphyxiating, what with the way her breaths curdled in the air. I stepped in and her cries quieted slightly. At least she’s got a modicum of sense, I thought as I walked over to her stall door.

“Tammy?” I said.

Silence. But then, a mucus-clogged breath.

“Yeah?”

“Is everything okay?”

I strained to hear her reply.

“Oh. Um…I…”

Just tell me you’re fine so I can go back to my seat, I prayed, hoping she would somehow hear me.

“This is just so hard!” A fresh flood of tears erupted.

I almost wanted to force open the stall and slap her across the face. That was the point! Woodsley was meant to push you, and you were meant to lie about it. God knows I did.

“Oh, Tammy. It’s okay to find things tough.” I said. “You just have to push through.”

Sniffling. “I’m trying! I haven’t gotten a full night’s sleep in a week, and I’m just barely getting Bs, and everyone else waltzes around here like it’s easy!” Tammy cried.

I felt something twinge in my chest, then imagined crushing it under my shoe. The only way to escape a bad situation was to distance yourself from it.

She continued. “It’s like they’re in on some secret code about how to do college, and I missed out.” She was slowly sliding down the hill to a full-blown sob again.

“No, no, no.” I reluctantly opened my mouth again. “You’re so good at discussions. This is just some imposter syndrome.”

I waited until she had quieted down a bit to continue. “Come on. We should get back to class.”

A pause. Then, “Yeah.”

I heard the bathroom latch unlock and out came Tammy, red face and all.

“There you go. Let’s head out.” I smiled. If I wasn’t raised polite…

She nodded weakly, but before she walked over to the door, she gave me a lingering look.

Oh God, please please please tell me she doesn’t-but she did. Tammy Gong actually hugged me. Tightly. So tight, in fact, that I could barely choke in a few breaths of her hideous perfume. Thankfully, she let go before she bruised my lungs.

“Thanks, Charlotte. You’re a really great friend.” And with that, she walked out into the hallway, leaving me dazed.

After class ended, I had planned to meet with Ms. Cowley. I plotted my line of questioning as I strolled over to her office in Grant Hall. When I got there, I heard a murmur. I instantly pressed my ear to the door.

“You really shouldn’t worry. No matter the grade, your work shows promise. That story you wrote about your grandma had some very moving scenes. ” Ms. Cowley said.

“Thank you.” Someone replied. I strained harder, trying to find out who was garnering this praise.

“And don’t think I haven’t noticed your contributions in class!” She chuckled. “You have a very unique interpretation of the issues we’ve discussed. I’m tempted to think it’s because of your upbringing. Where did you say you were from again?”

“Oh, um…America?”

“Well, you’re really from the Far East, yes?”

“Yes! Yes.”

“It really puts your perspective in context. I’m an avid traveler in that area, actually, and I’m always astounded by that collectivist spirit.” Ms. Cowley said, sounding very proud.

The student let out a strained laugh.

“But seriously Tammy,” Her? No. “If you don’t mind me saying, with some work, you’re a pretty strong contender for getting published.”

“Really?” Tammy said.

“Really. In fact, if you work hard enough, it’s practically guaranteed.”

“Oh! Thank you so much Ms. Cowley! It’s an honor and…um…”

“My pleasure. Have a good evening, Ms. Gong.”

Some shuffling of bags. “You too, Ms. Cowley!”

I quickly ducked around the corner as Ms. Cowley’s door opened, watching Tammy walk out mumbling happily to herself. I let out a small choking sound. It almost reminded me of the way a central beam cracks when it’s engulfed by flame. That whole bodied crunch, the wispy crackle of fire. The way one knows that it is well and truly over, that every power has played its last card. It’s the sound of a doomed end, of fate, one might say. It’s the sound of a true, single minded ambition escaping its bonds.

I would not let this stand. Tammy Gong of all people was not allowed to be better than me, to take the prize I had so toiled over in the blink of an eye. What would people think? What would Mother think? To have that cheap, crude imitation of intelligence succeed over me? I felt my chest heave, my breath increasing until I felt like a hummingbird, my wings beating hundreds of times per second. I couldn’t bear it. I would die. I would kill myself!

I would, I realized, for this. I couldn’t imagine a life without being the best: that was who I was. That was what got me into Woodsley, what had kept me going for all this time. Death would have to be the answer.

Someone’s death, sure.

Looking back on it, it was an epiphany. That feeling of walls slowly closing in on me suddenly disappeared. It was simple, really. The situation was at a standstill. One of us had to go, and I wasn’t about to let it be me. It would be so easy…people got away with it all the time. Just one mistimed fall, one nighttime walk, and she would be gone. The source of all my headaches would disappear!

I felt an almost manic grin come over me. How would I do it, if I did? Shovels, saws, a slip of something special…it was almost drug-like, the pleasure it gave me. I could do it, I really could. Just poof, and Tammy would be gone.

I peeked around the corner and slid out of my hiding place. I could still hear Tammy’s footfalls on the plush carpeting. I padded towards them, resting my hand on the mahogany walls for bearing in the dim hallways. I turned left, then right, and then followed Tammy out through the Grant Hall back door. We were on the forested edge of campus, and the dark woods called to me, beckoning. Shutters were closed, the lawn was empty…I could do it now. I would do it now.

I screwed up my courage and walked faster, catching up with Tammy.

“Hey!” I tapped her on the shoulder.

“Oh!” She whirled around, face lighting up when she saw me. “Charlotte! Nice to see you.”

I fell into step with her. “You too! I was just going for my evening walk, and I saw you here, and, well…would you want to go on a stroll?” I tucked my hair behind my ear and flashed the biggest smile I was able to.

“Yeah! I need to walk off my nerves, anyway. I just had an…eventful meeting with a teacher. God, the professors here are so scary!” She gabbed.

“I totally relate.” I glanced behind us, watching the antique facade of the building for faces in the windows. If I wanted to be out of sight, I should duck into the forest around here. “Here’s my normal route. Let’s head in.” I cocked my head towards the trees.

“You sure?” She chuckled. “Looks pretty scary.”

“Oh, it’s fine! I walk here all the time.”

“If you say so…” She hiked her bag higher on her shoulders and followed me in.

The forest was almost eerily quiet, with only the rustling of the leaves to accompany us as we walked further in. The lights from Grant Hall were quickly hidden by the thick foliage. We maneuvered over mossy roots and sinking holes, going farther and farther from the path. It came to a point where the only light was the moon filtering in through the autumn trees.

It was perfect. Out of the way, unassuming. My eyes began scanning for tools. A particularly large stick, a spacious knoll. Nothing seemed big enough. I almost began to despair at my choices, but then Tammy tripped into me, almost knocking me over.

“Sorry! It’s just…this bag is so heavy.” She said sheepishly.

“No worries. You go ahead.” It gave me an idea.

My bag was pretty heavy too, filled with books and the like. I had one, The Compendium of Fairytales and Legends, that I had been using for my Creative Writing submission. It was decently large, and when I had dropped it on my toe a week ago I had to go to the nurse. It could probably pack a punch with enough force behind it. Enough to knock someone out? I almost deliberated, but then I realized I should at least try.

Quietly, I pulled the book out of my messenger bag. I quickened my pace until I was right behind Tammy, just enough to…I raised the book and just as Tammy turned around, I brought it down on her head. Again and again and again, fuelled by that raging inferno that I had first encountered in Ms. Cowley’s class, the only thing that really mattered at Woodsley. I hit and hit until Tammy’s body was on the ground, still and silent. I crouched down and pressed my head against her chest. Nothing. It was just the glassy look in her eyes and me, prone under the moonlight.

I looked at her for longer than I should have. Smelling of that too-strong perfume, hair greasy, hands pressed to her ears. I felt them on the small of my back, where she’d tightened them just a couple hours ago. The book felt wet in my hands, and when I looked at it I saw the red-black glisten of blood covering its title. It occured to me that somewhere far away, beyond the bounds of my floating body, I was crying. I felt the wanting that had so propelled me dissipate, the fire fizzling out, extinguished by my tears.