Chapter 6:

#BleederBoard

My eyes snapped open to the glare of morning sun, my temples pounding. I’d been dreaming—but it felt like I’d actually pulled an all-nighter on hospital call. The blurry images from my sleep didn’t fade like usual; instead, they felt like were tapping into a different version of me. Someone with medical knowledge I hadn’t even learned yet, and who had a real boyfriend to sleep next to instead of Hotstuffy—my stuffed animal dragon. 

Gotta hand it to those mind-altering herbs. They’re no joke for easing tension.

Between academic probation, the run-in with Sebastian, and a cup practically spilling over with stress, I was hanging by a thread.

The herbs were the only thing standing between me and a week of sleepless nights.

The sun climbed higher through the window, marking a morning of firsts. First class. First day of college. First time dunking Oreos in orange juice.

Nervousness had a way of bringing out the worst in my food choices.

I overheard the chatter of freshmen buzzing around me as I stepped into the vast, C-shaped auditorium. The sharp echo of a woman’s voice reverberated through the space.

Standing uncomfortably close to the stage microphone, she announced, “Welcome to Biology 101—one of four required courses for all freshman pre-med students.” Her voice boomed in stereo. “I’m Professor Nash. In addition to teaching this class, I’m also Head of the Pre-med Program. I look forward to meeting each of you over the next several weeks. My office door is always open, so feel free to stop by between classes. Also, keep in mind: we’re releasing the lab schedules later today, and the first Pre-med leaderboard results will be posted in four weeks.”

A student sitting in front of me leaned over to his neighbor and whispered, “Who do ya think is gonna end up a bleeder?”

The Pritzker Pre-med Leaderboard, infamous among students as the Bleederboard, ranked pre-meds by academic performance in their four required freshman classes–Biology, Biochemistry, Math, and Physics. Falling to the bottom meant earning the dreaded title of “bleeder,” a sign that your academic situation was beyond resuscitation. At the top sat the Pritzker Pre-Med Pick, the student who dominated the rankings.

While faculty touted the Leaderboard as a way to foster “healthy” competition, in reality, it was one of the biggest reasons so many freshmen pre-meds sprinkled ativan over their breakfast cereal. There were rare exceptions, of course—like the occasional vegan triathlete who somehow managed to balance nutrition, exercise, and stress like a pro. But for the rest of us, survival meant microwavable snacks and claiming the comfy chair in the library.

“As many of you already know,” Professor Nash said, her voice even and authoritative, “we consider multiple factors when compiling the monthly Leaderboard rankings.” She paused briefly, smoothing her hair back with practiced precision, as if to emphasize her point.

The Leaderboard had long been a point of contention among faculty. Some had argued it was a toxic pressure cooker, fueling anxiety and burnout. In an effort to appease both sides, the school struck a compromise: the rankings would stay, but students wouldn’t be listed by name. Instead, they chose their own anonymous hashtags—things like #SpliceGirl215 or #Bad2theBone01—as if turning their academic survival into a game.

“Let’s do an icebreaker to help you get to know your classmates.” She paused as students passed around stacks of Post-its. “Now that everyone has a Post-it, write down the name of a famous movie character and stick it on the back of the person next to you. You can ask up to three questions to figure out who your character is. Afterward, walk around the room and meet more students while continuing the game.”

The girl sitting next to me handed over the stack of Post-its “Here you go. Grab just one, not four.” Was she making a clever reference to my #VanishedValedictorian days? Her dark hair was styled in a way that only a 1904-era Samantha Parkington American Girl Doll aficionado could appreciate.

Without a word, the girl stuck the Post-it on my back. Classic fight-club etiquette—no introductions, no small talk, just straight to the point.

I raised my eyebrows, signaling I was ready. “Is my character male, female, or gender-neutral?”

“Assigned male at birth. XY chromosomes—just in case biology isn’t your thing,” she said, smiling sweetly enough to cause cavities.

My jaw tightened, but I refused to let my expression crack.

“I wasn’t, but thanks for the genetics lesson,” I said, my voice edged with sarcasm. “What does this designated male at birth do for a living?”

Her faux-sympathetic smile stretched wider. “Your character’s a motel owner—someone you clearly have a lot in common with.”

Four out of five stars for the delivery of your insult, American Doll Samantha Parkington. It was almost impressive. Almost.

She walked away before I could respond. I rolled my eyes, realizing I still had one more question to ask. Roaming the room, I got plenty of smirks and confused looks from the other students who read my Post-it.

Madison approached me, squinting at the note stuck to my back. “I don’t get it. Your Post-it has a pitchfork symbol and the letter O.” As she leaned forward to read it, the neckline of her dress plunged even lower—Newton’s Law was clearly in a fierce battle with her wardrobe.

I grabbed the Post-it and looked at it. “That’s not a pitchfork. It’s the symbol for psychiatry—it says ‘psych-o’ or ‘psycho.’ It’s referring to Norman Bates from the movie Psycho.”

“Wait, there’s another Post-it below it.” Madison pulled off another yellow memo with “VANISH!”

Psycho—VANISH! Nice welcoming for my first day of pre-med. At least they’d done some online background research. 

Madison’s eyes widened. “Oh… You should just ignore it.” She quickly changed the subject. “Mine was Reese Witherspoon. Got it in five. Did you know she has a book club and her own lifestyle brand?”

I scanned the room, uninterested in her Reese Witherspoon fandom. It didn’t take long to spot the brunette who wrote the Post-it on my back. She was standing a few feet away with two other girls, reminding me of a trio of Mean Girls Musketeers, wielding their words like swords to keep out undesirables.

The tall blonde of the group approached us with a smirk. “I hear you’re both interested in psych.”

“Actually, I’m interested in dermatology,” Madison said, offering her hand.

The blonde ignored it, clearly unbothered by social niceties. Madison didn’t seem to get the memo on Fight Club rules.

One of the other girls, with silky jet-black hair, chimed in,“Derm, huh? Makes sense—you’re clearly not afraid of UV exposure. Where do you get your SPF, Costco?” She eyed Madison’s outfit. En garde! Poor Madison. I had armor from years of income disparity, but she was easy prey for their hunting expedition. 

I turned to face the brunette who had stuck the Post-it on my back. “Samantha Parkington, right?”

“My name’s Linden Green,” she said, her confusion clear. She was clearly not used to playing defense.

“You’ve got me all wrong, Linden.” I held up the Post-it she’d slapped on my back. “You wrote Psycho, but I’m more of a Queen B Gossip Girl type. Someone like you would totally fit my minion profile—if I were a New York socialite, which, obviously, I’m not. So, no need to watch your back.”

Linden tilted her head, trying to process. “Is that a warning?”

“Of course not, Linden.” I smiled sweetly. “Just getting into the spirit of the icebreaker. So fun, right?”

I smiled until she looked away, then let it drop. This was just the first day.

If I was already earning a warning from strangers to leave, I couldn’t imagine what week four would look like.

***