Special

"Emma! Emma, over here!"

Emma finally spotted Rachel bouncing up and down, waving frantically above the sea of heads. Nudging her way through the crowd of chattering students, she reached her friend, who promptly flung her arms around her.

"Ahhh! It's been so long!" Rachel squealed as she squeezed. Eventually, Emma managed to wriggle out of her grip.

"Hey Rachel," she said, with an embarrassed smile. "You didn't have to hug me that hard, did you?" she asked. Then, "People were staring," she added.

"Oh, come on!" Rachel laughed, "I don't see my best friend for two months, and I'm not allowed to be excited?"

"It's great to see you again, too," said Emma quietly, grabbing her friend's wrist. "Come on, they're all moving to the auditorium already." She started dragging Rachel towards the staircase.

"So how's the job?" Emma asked, as they climbed the stairs. "The boss still harping on your paperwork?"

"Not any more!" Rachel replied brightly. "I've been shifted to do sales. And the boss is really impressed with my - what did he call it? 'Interpersonal skills and marketing prowess'." She drew herself up in mock pride, and laughed. "What about you?"

Emma showed her the cover of the book she had been reading, a finger carefully slotted between two pages to mark where she had left off. "I decided to do a bit more reading first. Anyway, I doubt that anyone would want to hire such an unimpressive person like me."

"Still as pessimistic as ever," sighed Rachel, but she was grinning. "Come on, let's sit over there."

The girls edged down the row of chairs and dumped their bags on the floor. They watched the other students filing into the auditorium for a minute. Rachel broke the silence.

"So, results!" she said. "I'm really nervous, aren't you?"

Emma mumbled something in reply, with a non-committal shrug.

"How well do you think we did? I know I screwed up Econs, because of the stupid question number; and then Maths was a killer, I left the last question blank! And of course, I don't think the markers are going to like my essay; it's so unique they probably didn't know how to-"

"Shut up, Rachel, I'm nervous too," Emma muttered, pulling her jacket tighter around herself, but smiling. "It's really cold in here."

"Yeah, I know," said Rachel, casually tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyes flickered over the crowd in silence.

"Do you think you'll get 42?" she asked. "I don't know, I think I'll get 40 if I'm lucky. Maybe even 39. There's no way I'll get 41, let alone 42. Even-"

"Rachel, I fully expect that you'll get 45, like you did for the Prelims and the tests before that. There's no way you're sitting here throughout the ceremony. You'll be up on stage eventually."

"No...! I told you, I didn't write the question number for Econs and- okay, okay! I won't start that again," she said as she noticed the look on her friend's face. "But I know you'll be on stage with me too! You're going to get at least 43, definitely."

Emma just smiled faintly. "I've been an average girl all my life, Rachel, not like you. I'm never the best in anything, I only manage to do enough to get by. I'm not going up that stage. I've resigned myself to that fact of life."

Rachel was silent for a moment. "But you would like to, wouldn't you?"

"Wouldn't anybody?" she asked, and then laughed.

"I think you should get a score over 41," said Rachel, unusually serious. "Wouldn't it make you feel... I don't know, special? That's a bit of what I feel when I do so well for exams and stuff, I guess that's why I try so hard."

Emma started to reply, but was cut off by the Principal, who had begun to speak from the podium on stage, his voice echoing around the hall, which had fallen silent with every student staring at him with an abnormal amount of attention.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen," said the Principal. "I have the results for the year, right here..."

********************

"Emma! Emma, over here!"

Emma finally spotted Rachel bouncing up and down, waving frantically above the sea of heads. She saw her push through the chattering crowds of graduates and run down the steps off the stage.

"Congratulations," Emma said. "Just like I predicted."

"Oh, shut up," Rachel said, grinning. "You didn't get up on stage?" her grin faded. "Why? How much did you get?"

"39," said Emma, nonchalantly. "Just like I predicted."

"Oh."

They were silent for a moment, both at a loss for words.

"Well, d'you want to go out for lunch and celebrate?" asked Emma.

"Yes I do! But - I'm so sorry Emma - they want an interview with all the 45-pointers. And that's after the photo taking and everything. I don't know how long that'll take."

"Oh, well, we'll just have to celebrate some other time, then," Emma said.

There was another pregnant pause.

"Well," said Rachel, "I've got to go back now." She turned to go, but changed her mind and flung her arms around her friend again. "I'm special, Emma," she whispered in her friend's ear,"and so are you. They just don't know how to see it."

Emma broke out of the hug. "Yeah, Rachel, you're really special." She forced a smile, and glanced at the hundreds of happy students still milling around on stage, dozens of handshakes, congratulating each other with a thousand cheers of delight.

"Unique. Just like everybody else."