4.
I was screwed.
My hand tightened around the note an aide handed me after my business communications class ended. I didn’t have to look at it. I knew what it would say. After several unsuccessful attempts to contact me by phone, Professor Nelson obviously decided to take matters into his own hands.
Hence, why I was screwed.
I could no longer avoid him. My stomach felt like it was full of bricks as I detoured from my apartment, where I had been heading, to the science building, where Professor Nelson was expecting me. If only I would have done some schoolwork this previous weekend like I intended to, I wouldn’t be in this situation.
I swear on Sunday I’d woken up with every intention of studying the entire day, but Derek and Cameo dangled consignment store shopping and Starbucks in front of me. How could I pass that up? I told them I couldn’t be gone all day, but one shop had turned into two shops and then two turned into three. My attempts to protest proved futile as Cameo and Derek dragged me along. Before I knew it, the day was gone, and I’m definitely not a “study all night” kind of person.
Now, in hindsight, I was mentally kicking myself in the head for my utter foolishness. The term was officially four weeks in, and I was failing three of my four classes. Even in the fourth class, I was barely maintaining a low-C average, and that was only because we had yet to take an exam. Rest assured when we did, my grade would match my other classes.
The science building was like a mausoleum when I pulled open the heavy door. During my walk of shame, I could hear muffled voices behind closed doors with lectures and classes going on. I looked at them longingly as I passed. I never thought I would wish to be in class, but right about now, I’d take anything over what I was about to face.
Professor Nelson’s door was closed when I reached it. It wasn’t too late to flee. That’s if I was a runner, which I wasn’t. My boobs would give me a concussion and a black eye.
Ripping off the Band-Aid before I could change my mind, I rapped my knuckles against the door before walking inside.
I breathed in deeply as I stepped into the office. The welcoming smell of rich leather, sweet spice, and pipe smoke assaulted my senses in a good way and reminded me of Woodfalls. For a brief second, I almost forgot about the trouble I was in.
I met the eyes of my mentor, who was sitting behind an imposing cherrywood desk that matched the floor-to-ceiling bookcases that bracketed the window. “Tressa,” Professor Nelson greeted me. “Have a seat.”
“Professor N,” I mumbled, sitting on the edge of the leather club chair that sat on the other side of the desk. I crossed my ankles and folded my hands demurely in my lap. He was the lone person who extracted this reaction out of me. I’d known him my entire life. His first name was Warren, but even as a child I had always referred to him as “Professor.” He was a close friend of my father. They were old fraternity brothers who kept in contact after graduation. When the professor’s wife die
d in a skiing accident, Dad talked him into coming to Woodfalls to grieve. What was supposed to be a one-year hiatus from his job at Princeton turned out to be a career move. Professor Nelson had a well-respected reputation and needless to say, Maine State College had been thrilled to offer him a tenured position. For as long as I could remember, he’d been around, and my brother and I always considered him a surrogate uncle.
He was the one I’d always turned to for advice, the one who sat with me when I broke the news to my parents that I would be taking a year off before going to college. He was the sole reason I’d gotten into MSC, which was why I was currently squirming sitting across from him.
I winced at his silence, unable to return his stare. His normally warm molasses eyes behind his glasses weren’t angry or filled with judgment. That I could have handled. As a matter of fact, I wanted him to yell at me. Call me a screwup. Tell me I deserved a kick in the ass. But his reaction was like a knife in the gut. Anything would have been better than his disappointment, which was so tangible I felt like I would choke on it if I inhaled.
“Are you done?” he asked, breaking the silence in the room.
His direct question made it obvious he didn’t summon me here to beat around the bush.
I looked up, trying not to flinch. “No, sir.”
“Are your courses too overwhelming?” He leaned back in his leather chair that creaked as it redistributed his weight.
I weighed his question. Either he was giving me an out or he was trying to trick me. I could claim my classes were too hard. I’m sure he would believe me. After all, it was common knowledge that I struggled academically. I had the perfect excuse. Statistics was totally making me its bitch, but deep down I knew that was my fault. All the partying I’d been doing since term started was the real reason I was feeling the pinch in all my classes. I knew if I applied myself, my grades would be different—maybe not stellar, but at least more respectable.
I shook my head, not taking the excuse he’d offered. “I’m just not focusing as much as I could be,” I answered without looking away. “I just need to find my rhythm.”
“Are you certain? You know, if you need help, it is up to you to ask for it. We have excellent tutors who would willingly step in if I asked. All you have to do is say the word.” His chair creaked again as he reached for a sticky note on the corner of his desk. He picked up his pen and started scrawling on the small yellow piece of paper.
I balked at his words. No way did I want a tutor. The idea of having someone leaning over my shoulder while I muddled my way through assignments was not my idea of a good time. I was a solo kind of student. It might take me twice as long with a fair measure of aggravation, but in the end, I was always able to figure things out. “No, I got this,” I interrupted him as he continued writing. I tried sneaking a peek at his note, but he finished up before I could get a good look. I suspected it had something to do with me.
He set down his pen, stroking the beard on his chin that was more white than brown. “A tutor could be vital in helping you get back on track. At the moment, you’re facing academic probation. Getting expelled in your senior year would be a great shame.”
“I won’t get expelled, I promise. I almost have all the assignments done that I need to catch up,” I lied.
He didn’t answer, but instead stared at me with unwavering eyes.
“I’ll catch up. I know I’ve let things get out of hand.”
I could tell he had his doubts, but he finally nodded his head. “See that you do. Don’t squander this opportunity, Tressa. The hard work will pay off in the future. I can promise you that. Now, tell me, will you be returning to Woodfalls to cause your usual ruckus during the Halloween festivities?”
My eyes narrowed at the sudden redirection of our conversation. “Did Dad put you up to asking?”