Now, I realized, that was just a childish dream.

There was no getting ‘back to normal’. There was no magical solution, no pill that would wipe the slate clean. Any recovery would be hard-fought, day by day, with relapse and breakdowns and a dozen other awful failures along the way.

It could take her years like this. Years of my life, right here.

The longer I saw staring at my blank notepad, the teacher’s voice drifting just out of reach, the more I felt something harden inside me, an angry resignation. Part of me wanted to just follow through on my threat: hand her over to be somebody else’s problem, wash my hands of her for good . . . but what would that make me? I tried to tell myself I owed her more than that, but I knew that obligation was wearing thinner by the day, strained to breaking point after months of her helpless collapse.

I was her daughter, I told myself, over and over, even as I dreamed of escape. That had to mean something.

I was no closer to a solution when the chairs scraped back around me. Class was ending in a bustle and rush. I packed my things away, untouched, and followed the crowd towards the exit.

‘I know this stuff isn’t exactly riveting, but could you try and pretend like you’re listening?’

I turned. Ashton was wiping down the board. He gave me a wry look from behind his square-rimmed glasses.

‘I’m sorry.’ I swallowed. ‘Was it that obvious?’

‘Not as much as the guy snoring beside you, but yes. It’s OK,’ he added, sighing. ‘I’d zone out too. God, this place is depressing.’ He finished cleaning up, looking around the windowless room with an expression I recognized as pure resentment.

I felt a surge of empathy. He’d had other plans too, I remembered: tenure in a city somewhere, another life away from here.

‘I thought you were supposed to give us inspirational speeches,’ I replied lightly. ‘About how this is the first step in the great adventure of our lives.’

He snorted. ‘Please. We both know, you don’t make it out of a place like this.’

‘I can see it on the prospectus now,’ I joked darkly. ‘Rossmore, where dreams go to die.’

Ashton laughed. ‘Walk you out?’ he offered.

‘Sure.’ I hitched my bag up. He shut off the lights and we walked down the empty hallways, our footsteps echoing on the scuffed floor.

‘I read your paper,’ he said. ‘I’ll have it back with the rest of them next week.’

‘What did you think?’ I asked, nervous. I’d taken a shot at one of the assignments for Ashton’s American Lit class; I hadn’t been in the classes, but I’d done the reading, and tried to follow the outlines he’d suggested.

‘You’re getting there,’ he started, sounding encouraging. ‘It had some good arguments, but you need to watch your structure. You go off on tangents sometimes and it dilutes the central thesis. Believe it or not, less is sometimes more.’

His criticism stung a little. ‘I’ll remember that.’ I said quickly.

‘But don’t be discouraged.’ Ashton had clearly seen the disappointment on my face, because he stopped, turning to me with a reassuring look. ‘You have a nice style, clean, unsentimental. You’ve got potential, you’re just starting to get the hang of this.’

I nodded. ‘OK. Thanks.’

We got outside. Ashton looked around. ‘Any wild plans?’ he asked, joking.

‘Sure.’ I gave a wry laugh. ‘This place is Party Central.’

Ashton made a face. ‘Tell me about it. They say it’s so great out of the city, less pollution, all this nature. But I can’t sleep at night, it’s so f**king quiet.’

There was an edge to his voice, I recognized it well: a discontented hum, vibrating under the surface. I’d noticed the change in him in class too – he’d been buoyant at the start of semester, full of enthusiasm, but it had been draining away in the face of the general apathy of the students, who seemed to doze their way through the session.

‘Still, it’s just the year, right?’ I said, reminding myself, as much as him.

He nodded, giving me a brief smile. ‘I can make it if you can.’

‘Deal.’

I said my goodbyes and headed over to my car, sending up my usual prayer that she would keep going just a few miles more. But when I turned the ignition, the engine started, spluttered briefly, and then died.

Again.

I sank back in the freezing seat, too worn out to even be mad. Another trip to the mechanic to fix the engine that was already past its use. Another three hundred dollars we didn’t have, another call for Ethan to come rescue me, because that’s all he ever did these days.

Goddamn.

I saw a pair of headlights light up on the other side of the parking lot. Ashton.

My spirits lifted. I quickly grabbed my bag and got out of the car.

‘Hey!’ I waved him down as he slowly drove towards the exit. He pulled up alongside me, rolling the window down. ‘I’m sorry,’ I apologized. ‘But my stupid car died again. I’m totally stranded.’

I waited hopefully. Sure enough, Ashton waved me around. ‘I can give you a ride.’

‘Are you sure?’ I checked. ‘I don’t want to be any trouble.’

‘It’s no problem, get on in.’

I went around and slid into the passenger seat. It was warm inside, the radio playing some talk show about politics. ‘You’re a regular knight in shining armour,’ I told him, relieved to be out of the cold. ‘I swear, I’ll pay more attention in class next week. I’ll even ask questions.’

Ashton laughed, putting the car back in drive. ‘Hey, no need to go overboard.’

He drove away from the college, making the turns towards the highway. I watched the darkness blur outside the window.

‘So, tell me, how am I stacking up?’

I turned. Ashton was looking at me expectantly. ‘School gossip, behind the scenes. C’mon, I want to know.’

‘That’s confidential, sir,’ I joked, as if I was party to any of the gossip around college.

‘Aww, I told you, it’s Ashton. And I’m serious, what are my feedback sheets going to look like at the end of the semester? Do I need to brace myself for zeros?’

‘You know you don’t.’ I stretched, getting comfortable. ‘Now, Mr Yi might be giving you a run for the money in the “hottest teacher” department . . . ’