Ivy I failed. Not the kind where you “barely scrape by” or “missed the mark by a point or two.” I failed—bold red ink underlining the 72 circled at the top of my philosophy paper like flames licking at my confidence. It mocked me in my lap as I sat in the back of Professor Vale’s lecture hall, my heart pounding so loudly I could feel it hammer against my ribs, drowning out the click of pens and hushed whispers around me....