28. TRAJECTORY
Ana and I sit at Starbucks, both wiggling pens between our fingers. She’s doing a crosswords with her Chihuahua leaning drowsily against her stomach. Me, I’ve got Princess, Dolly, and Ralph all snoozing around my feet. Dolly and Ralph are their actual names, I’ve learned. I finally asked Mr. Dakapoulous. There’ll be no more Daisy, Dixie, or Rough from now on.
My pen is poised over my class notes, ready to scribble and circle some more. In an hour and a half, I’ll be taking my final exam in Principles of Marketing. I don’t feel great about it, but I’m ready. I’m going to try.
My attention hasn’t been on class lately. Mom wasn’t collaborating in the beginning and spent days without taking the drugs they prescribed her at the hospital. Dr. Finley tried to convince her. Ciro and I did too, to no avail, and because she wasn’t a threat to herself or others, it took excruciatingly long before they had me sign off for her to get treatment against her will.
“Are you eating that?” Ana asks sweetly, a long bubblegum pink nail quivering over the cake-batter lollipop on my plate.
“Ew, no. The stuff’s gross. I don’t know what I was expecting.”
“I’ll relieve you of it.”
I bob my head, faking grateful, and she shoots me a flirty wink. I don’t think she knows how seductive she comes off to people.
“How was your mom this morning?” she asks while she nibbles on the glazing. Then she fans a handful of fingers in the air, adding, “Sorry, you can tell me later. Go ahead. Study.”
“It’s crazy,” I say. “They’ve only had her at Bliss Gardens for a month, but she’s already a version of my mother I don’t even remember. She’s calm. She literally asks questions about my day and listens when I answer. Best of all, she not spending every waking hour trying to leave the Valley anymore.”
“Nice. You think she’s cured?”
“No, that doesn’t actually happen.” I let out a puff. It hasn’t been easy to come to terms with her having a diagnosis. A big one too.
“Apparently, if you have schizoaffective disorder, it’s a lifelong thing. You have to take your pills every day. The doc says one of the side effects of her psych meds is that she sleeps well at night, which was always a big issue for Mom. He thinks she’s ready to be discharged.”
“Really?” She drops her lollipop and pets Bella on her apple head while she studies me. “You don’t look happy. Don’t you agree?”
“I guess? I’m just scared. I mean, what if I lost track of her again?”
“I’m sorry.”
Five minutes later, we stroll out to our cars. Ralph has decided he wants to go with Bella, so there’s a bit of a struggle before I have him muscled into my car between Princess and Dolly. He looks heartbroken, which makes Ana laugh.
“So, celebrating tonight?” she asks.
“Yep, even if I do horribly.” I flash her a toothy grin. “You’re both coming, right?”
She bobs her head, causing one of her bangs to loosen. Pigtails should be X-rated on my friend—Aaron isn’t the only guy who’s been beaming at her today.
“Yep, my man needs to learn how to cook. He still thinks Ciro creates those crazy meals himself at the funkis bunker. It works in my favor that he doesn’t know about the chef.” She flashes a devious grin.
“Housekeeper.”
“She’s more of an all-in-one, I’d say.”
I smile, because she’s right. Mrs. Brandt really is everything in Ciro’s house.
“Champagne, then?” she asks, hopeful.
“Champagne. A case of it, supposedly. You’ll be parking your car tonight. I think we already have a guestroom set up for you.”
Ana slaps a high-five to the palm I offer and pulls out of the driveway. She rolls the window down and calls out, “What time?”
“Whenever you want, but dinner at eight.”
“Hell yeah. Break a leg.”
So I break a leg. Hard. I swear the test is made for someone else. In the weeks it took me to get my head on straight after Mom was hospitalized, the professor must have gone through two-thirds of what the exam is about. Come on, now?
I linger on in there, struggling longer than my classmates. A dark-haired guy my age jerks his chin at me in greeting on his way out. Yeah, he’s nice. I should have asked to borrow his notes. Mine were seriously lacking.
Sweat trickles down my spine by the time I’m done. I groan to myself, rake my fingers through my hair, and stand slowly. Professor Hargrove stands too, taking my sad document with an outstretched hand.
“How was it?” he asks, friendly.
“Oh.” I shrug, because I don’t know what to say. I should be polite. I might end up in another class of his later.
“That bad, huh?” He chuckles good-naturedly, but then his smile fades. “You were gone for a while, there, weren’t you?”
“I was.” My stare strays to my feet.
“I’m not going to ask any details. It’s up to you if you want to tell me what’s going on, but you had a lot of potential. It seemed like you enjoyed the class?” His voice lifts in a question.
“I did. I mean, I still do. I love this stuff. It’s just… family.”
“Family emergency?”
I look up, and what is it with people looking understanding and you wanting to burst into tears?
I burst into tears. That’s exactly what I do. I’m so ashamed the moisture down my back magically transplants to my forehead too. “I’m sorry Professor. That’s not for you to worry about.”
“To the contrary. I do worry about my students. Did the family emergency interfere with classwork?”
“You can say that.” I try to laugh.
“Should you be applying for an ‘Incomplete,’ Miss Nichols?”
“An Incomplete?”
“Yes. We don’t track absences at this college, which makes it difficult to know if a student has problems outside of not putting in the work. But now that I know, I can extend the semester for you and give you time to finish your last projects. If your final exam doesn’t match the level of your former work in my class, I could give you an independent study and give you the chance to do it right.”
“You could do that?”
“I could. If you’re willing to reveal what has been going on, preferably adding a doctor’s note or other relevant documentation, then you can put in a request for an Incomplete, and I’ll be happy to sign off on it.”
My face must be brightening to an extreme extent, because so does my professor’s. I notice his ears first. They draw backward, softening the wrinkles on his forehead before his beard draws out and up in a smile.
“Let’s do this.” He waves my test at me. “I’ll look this over and let you know if you need an Incomplete. Then we’ll take it from there.”
“Thank you. Oh god, thank you. You have no idea,” I say although he probably does. “This was my first college class…”
His brows arch like he suddenly notices how much older I am than the other students.
“I was really hating the thought of crashing and burning on the first try.”
“We’ll get you back on track, Savannah.”
“Thank you, Professor,” I keep saying. “Thank you.”