My classes ran two nights a week, and I’d managed to get a financial aid package that dulled the cost. Still, it hurt. While my old classmates posted photos of freshman parties and excited status updates about lectures and trips, I would be driving an hour on the freeway after work, to go and sit in a cramped room in an anonymous concrete block and take notes from an ancient projectioner; the other students dozing, bored, around me.

Still, I told myself, I was lucky to be there.

Lucky to be alive at all.

‘Excuse me.’ I lingered at the front of the room as it emptied. The professor, Ashton, turned. He was young, early thirties maybe, with neatly-gelled black hair and wire-rimmed glasses.

‘What can I do for you?’ He smiled at me.

I shifted my books in my arms. ‘I was wondering, if you had any more reading lists, ones that were, um . . . ’ I tried to think of a way to phrase it without seeming rude. ‘More advanced?’

His eyes swept over me a split-second. ‘Sure, I can dig something out. You are . . . ?’

‘Chloe. Chloe Bennett.’

He paused a moment, then brightened. ‘Oh, right, I saw your transcripts. You know, we don’t usually let people start mid-semester, but I figured someone like you would be able to catch up.’

‘Oh, thanks.’ I blushed.

‘If you hang on a minute, I could grab you something now?’ he checked.

I nodded. ‘I’m not in a hurry.’

‘Great.’ Ashton finished tidying his papers into a leather messenger bag, which he slung across his body. ‘I can print you some of the next-level assignment lists. I figured I should start these guys off easy,’ he added with a rueful look. ‘You wouldn’t believe how many of them drop out after just a few weeks of study.’

He ushered me out of the room and turned off the lights behind us. ‘Teacher lounge is – that way,’ he decided after a moment, pointing down the empty, after-hours hallway. ‘Sorry, I’m still figuring my way around. It’s kind of a maze here. You deferred for a year, right?’ he asked.

‘Yes. I have . . . family commitments,’ I answered carefully. ‘I’m needed at home right now.’

‘Tough break,’ he said, sympathetic. ‘I’m kind of in the same boat. I was all lined up for an adjunct position in Philadelphia, but it fell through. My girlfriend’s got family here, so . . . ’

He opened the door to the lounge, set with a few faded armchairs and bookcases. He went over to the huge printer in the corner and pulled a laptop from his bag, clicking through until the printer whirred to life.

‘You know, I can email, if it’s easier,’ he offered.

I shook my head. ‘Our internet’s been acting up,’ I lied. The truth was, we didn’t have internet any more – it was an unnecessary expense when I could check email at the sherriff’s office.

‘No problem.’ Ashton drummed his fingers against the table as the printer sounded in fits and starts. ‘Jesus, when was this thing made – the eighties?’ He met my eyes. ‘Not exactly the Ivy League, huh?’

‘Not exactly,’ I agreed.

‘So are you planning on an English major?’ Ashton asked, bending to click some more files on his computer. ‘Because I teach a Wednesday morning American Lit class – you might like it. More discussion, a lot of the classics, but new stuff too. Franzen, Lorrie Moore, Updike.’

‘Sounds great,’ I replied, with a pang of regret. ‘But, I have a full-time job. Night school is the only way I could make this work.’

‘Too bad,’ Ashton said. ‘Well, I’ll throw in the syllabus for that one too, in case you change your mind. And if you feel like tackling any of the assignments, just send them my way and I’ll take a look.’

‘Thanks,’ I replied, surprised. ‘You don’t have to do that.’

‘Hey, it’s my job, isn’t it? Instilling a love of literature in the youth of America,’ Ashton joked. ‘Besides, between you and me, you’ve shown more interest in the last five minutes than ninety percent of my students here. Community college isn’t really a hive of academic ambition.’

He finished printing the reading lists for me then walked me out. It was dark and the parking lot was empty – everyone else long gone. Ashton looked around and frowned. ‘Do you have a ride coming? This is a pretty sketchy neighbourhood after dark.’

‘No, I drove. Thanks for this though.’ I stuffed the papers in my bag. ‘I really appreciate it.’

‘Anytime. See you next week!’

I hurried to my car and threw my books inside. Ashton tooted his horn and waved as he drove past, turning out of the lot towards the highway.

I got inside and slammed the door, shivering but upbeat. I hadn’t known whether Rossmore would be worth it, if I was just kidding myself that I could stay on track for college; but today had been a pleasant surprise. Ashton seemed like a good teacher: engaged, and willing to help me out.

Maybe it wasn’t such a loss after all.

I turned the ignition.

Nothing.

I tried again. There was a sputtering sound, the faint hope of life, and then it faded away – along with all happy traces of my brief good mood.

‘Fuck!’ I slammed the steering wheel. The parking lot was deserted, empty in the dark. Anger suddenly welled up in my chest, sharp and hopeless. ‘Fucking piece of shit!’

It had been on the brink of quitting on me for weeks, but I didn’t want to take it in to a mechanic, we didn’t have the money. And now I was stuck, way too late for the bus, or any way home.

I fumbled in my bag for my cellphone, and hit redial on the only number I ever used these days.

‘Hello?’

‘The car gave out on me,’ I sighed, slumping back in the driver’s seat. ‘I’m stuck at Rossmore. Can you come get me?’

‘Sure thing, sweetheart.’

I sat up. It wasn’t Ethan’s voice on the other end of the line.

‘Oliver?’ I asked slowly.

‘That’s right.’ His amused drawl came, clear. ‘You’ve got yourself in quite a pickle, haven’t you?’

I caught my breath. ‘Where’s Ethan?’

‘He had to overnight with Dad, they’re looking at land down south. Didn’t he call you? Oh, that’s right, he left his phone behind.’

I clenched my jaw. ‘Fine. Sorry I bothered you.’