I needed to leave right now if I was going to make it across town in time for class. I grabbed my heavy bag and headed towards the back door off the kitchen, intending to sneak around the side of the house so the sound of the front door opening wouldn’t wake my parents. 

But the second I stepped into the kitchen, I heard the telltale thump of my mother’s feet on the floor upstairs.

Which meant I had woken her up.

Fuck. She was going to want to talk to me. Which meant I was going to be late.

“Hey,” I exhaled as she blinked and yawned her way down the stairs, performing the part of “aggrieved parent woken too soon” perfectly. My mother missed her calling when she opened a bakery rather than moving to Hollywood to star in old-fashioned, overly emotive silent films.

“I heard you were home,” she sighed pointedly. “I didn’t want to miss seeing you. You’re like a ghost in this house.”

I sank back onto my heels. The issue here was that my class schedule, and now my new job next door, had me out of the house most of the day. In a normal family this would mean we could relax together in the evening, unwinding as we shared stories of our day. But that would never happen for two reasons. Number one was that my parents were in bed by seven. And number two was that there was no guilt-free relaxing in the Foster home.

But both of these reasons were facts of my life that were never going to change, so I just shrugged. “Yeah, sorry,” I said, and bent to retie my shoes.

She yawned and stretched again as she headed to the coffee maker. “You headed back out?” she asked, as casually as can be.

I paused, steadying my hands, then resumed tying the laces. “Yeah,” I said, breezy and easy, giving her the benefit of the doubt. “Class is at 3:45.”

“You have class today?” my mom interrupted.

Her back was still to me. She reached up into the cupboard to retrieve her mug, then tapped her foot, waiting for the coffee maker to heat up. She couldn’t see me staring at her in disbelief. “Yeah, Mom. I’ve had class on Thursday afternoons all semester.”

When she finally did turn around, her expression was halfway between bored and irritated. “You didn’t tell me,” she said, shaking her head. She blew on her coffee and then took a sip.

For a moment the only sound was the whip of the March winds lashing sheets of rain against the window panes. It made me feel even more claustrophobic than I usually did in this house. “I definitely did,” I said, deliberately keeping my tone mild as I finished tying my shoes, and stood up. “It’s been this way since January.” I brushed my hands down the front of my scrubs, wordlessly pointing them out to her, if she’d only look at me. 

There was always that hope when I wore my scrubs around my mom like this. That she’d smile and say something about how she was proud of me. But my mom considered my nursing school uniform nothing more than some kind of delayed teenaged rebellion. Like at twenty-two I was still going through a stage and would wise up eventually.

So when she shook her head, I shouldn’t have been disappointed, but I was anyway. Disappointment was as natural to me as my broad, strong shoulders and the star-shaped birthmark under my right clavicle. It was part of me. “I would have remembered,” my mother said, and I could see by the obstinate jut of her chin that she was starting to get angry at me for pointing out that she’d screwed up. “You need to be better at communicating.”

I licked my lips, wondering just how invested I needed to be in this fight. “Sorry, Mom,” I said instead.

She nodded, victorious without even having to drag out the big guns. Then she glanced over to the counter and sighed at the pile of mail my dad had left before heading up for his nap. “Be home by curfew,” she said distractedly.

“Yup,” I said, unnatural irritation making my fingers itch. “Hey mom, I forgot to tell you,” I said as she tore open an envelope with her fingernail. “I met up with a couple of the God’s Chosen cult ladies yesterday. I’m joining up.”

“Sounds good,” she murmured, intently scouring a piece of junk mail.

I licked my lips. “Cool. Bye then.”

Those extra three minutes spent talking to her ended up snowballing. You give the Grim Reaper one inch and he takes a yard. The second my car thought it was acceptable to stall, it started doing it with gusto, with every stoplight between my house and the campus an exercise in extreme praying. When I finally found a spot half a mile from my building, I checked the clock on my phone.

Class was starting right now.

I broke out into a full-on sprint. The rain pelted me with icy needles, sizzling as it hit my overheated skin while I skidded through puddles.

Once inside the building, the hallways felt overwarm, and the rainwater on my skin mixed with the prickles of sweat. I was now six minutes late, and that was enough to make it so my entrance had everyone swiveling in their seats.

Our regular professor was out today. The substitute paused and gave me a pointed look as I sat down. I’d missed her introduction.

That turned out to be the only time she looked at me the entire period.

“Like I said,” she rehashed unnecessarily as I found my way to the back of the lecture hall. “Professor Dorrington just asked me to go over some common questions you’re going to see on the boards.” 

I straightened up in my seat. I’d been studying at least two hours a day for months now. This would be easy for me. I’d been studying. I knew the answers. 

But I seemed invisible. 

“First question!” she read off her index card. “When caring for a patient with a cardiac dysrhythmia, which laboratory value is a priority for the healthcare provider to monitor?”

“Sodium, potassium, and calcium,” I muttered just as the blonde down in the front flubbed it.

I pressed my lips together. The instructor asked for another answer. I raised my hand first, but she swept past me and called on Jamie-with-the-shiny-hair who didn’t even have her hand raised. Jamie haltingly gave the answer while I mouthed along with her. 

The next question was even easier. I remembered it word for word from my NCLEX practice quizzes online. “The healthcare provider is seeing four patients at the neighborhood clinic. Which of these patients should the healthcare provider identify to be most at risk for iron-deficiency anemia?” she called out. “Number one: The woman of childbearing age reporting a craving for ice. Number two: The obese patient with a history of gastric bypass surgery. Number three: The patient who follows a strict vegan diet. Or number four: The patient who has a diagnosis of chronic renal failure?”

I knew this one, and confidently threw up my hand.

“The vegan,” one of the few male nurses shouted. “Need to check them for b12 too, since they don’t eat meat.” He shook his head. “Stupid vegans.”

The sub grinned but shook her head. “Wrong. Anyone else?”

I was practically straining my shoulder trying to get her to call on me. The answer was the woman of childbearing age. I knew my periods were heavy enough to bring on anemia. I knew this question on a personal level. 

“Okay you guys, the answer is the woman of childbearing age!” the sub shouted. “Heavy menstrual flow can bring on anemia. Definitely need to go back and review that. All of you.” She flipped through her cards, wrinkling her nose as she did.

I felt a flush crawl across my face.

I wasn’t certain why today, of all days, it bothered me that I was being overlooked. I certainly should have expected it. Slipping by in the background, stepping aside for others to go into the spotlight, that was my specialty. It had never bothered me before. It didn’t even bother me that Gabe hadn’t remembered who I was when he had his arms around me. It didn’t. It definitely didn’t.

“I noticed you,” he’d said.

I shook my head and tried to drag my struggling brain back to the classroom. It had devolved into pandemonium now, with one older student outright crying that she was never going to pass, there was no way she was going to pass. 

I turned to smile at her, reassuringly, but someone else stepped in and gave her a hug. 

I turned back to my seat and fiddled with my pen.

The clock ticked as I sat in silence for the rest of the class. Not even trying to answer. If I thought that maybe not raising my hand would make her call on me, I was wrong. I may as well have just not shown up at all. When class was finally over, I slowly gathered my things as people gossiped and called to each other around me. I hadn’t gotten to know any of my classmates. It hadn’t seemed necessary, but today that same feeling of wanting to be noticed had me seeing them as if for the first time, as if I’d just woken up with the semester nearly over and realized I’d moved through it like a ghost. I looked around, hoping to make eye contact with someone, hoping to make that connection I’d been missing. 

I may not have met very many people in class, but I’d observed enough of it to understand the hierarchy. The guys and the continuing ed people, the older women who looked frazzled and left class with phones jammed in their ears as they raced to pick up Johnny from daycare, all sat behind me. In the front row were the A-students, the girls who challenged the professor every chance they got, doing their best Hermione from Harry Potter impressions. 

It was the ones who sat in the middle, not so close as to be nerdy but not so far back as to be overlooked, that had the most social capital. In my head I called them the blondes. They all had different hair colors, of course, but they were all blonde in spirit. 

I sat in a row by myself. Not belonging to any of the groups.

I took a deep breath and looked down at the blondes as they packed their pretty purses, and I smiled at the one with the shiniest hair.

Her eyes slid right over me. Not even bothering to give me her contempt. Just flat out ignoring me.

I licked my lips, unsurprised.

I’d never known the code, the secret series of knocks that let you enter the world of friends and attention. There was something about me, a smell, a fault, that set me apart, marked me as an outsider. I was too blunt, too honest. I didn’t understand how to smooth things, how not to say exactly what it was that crossed my mind. Afraid of being awkward, I tended to stay silent, which in turn only made me more awkward when I opened my mouth. 

I sat back down again, grabbing for my phone like I’d just received a text. I smiled down at my blank screen, miming reading a message as all my classmates took off in clumps of twos and threes, calling to each other as they passed me while I mimed typing a reply. Maybe they knew I was faking but it felt better than letting them know I was alone. Better to stay silent than embarrass myself by opening my mouth. I rifled through my bag, arranging notes, my cheeks burning. I wouldn’t watch them. I was tired of always watching. 

I wanted someone to fucking notice me for once.

The classroom was quiet now, the heavy tick of the radiator the only sound. Outside, the everpresent rain pattered softly, like a whisper, against the window. I swallowed hard. I could see all my classmates with their brightly colored, ruffled umbrellas heading out for their cars. 

That was another thing wrong with me. I never remembered a fucking umbrella. 

The door swung back open again. I glanced up, moving my thumbs over the keyboard in case one of them was returning. But I saw the bright yellow of the janitor’s cart.

The regular cleaner didn’t usually come until night, which was why I glanced up again, wondering if it was Nilda and planning on asking about her dogs. She barely spoke English, but it felt nice to have her smile at me. 

But behind it was a girl about my age. She was pretty in a plain, forthright way, her hair back in French braid like a girl much younger than her would wear.

I smiled at her.

She stopped, looking panicked that I was still sitting there and backed out again rather than talk to me.

It appeared I was marked as an outsider even by the custodial staff.

Flushing, I gathered my books and headed out the back entrance and into the rain.