Chapter 7 Kaci
seven
Kaci
“Alright, baby.” I exhale in uneven bursts as we climb the stairs to the second-floor classroom.
Struggling to feel my fingers, I curl them into tight fists.
That jog to campus was a little too cold and a little too far.
“I can’t afford to take you to the drop-in day care today.
Not to mention I don’t have the time or a car.
I need you to be the quietest you’ve ever been.
” I hand her my phone, which is open to her favorite YouTube channel and point to the wall outside my classroom.
I hate leaving her here, but there’s no way I can bring her inside the classroom.
“Do not go anywhere,” I give her the sternest warning.
“Don’t talk to anyone, and I’ll be as fast as I can.
” Guilt floods my chest, tightly cinching my lungs.
What am I doing?
I can’t even think clearly, as my heart is pounding so fast.
I can’t miss this test.
She’s going to be fine.
Mapleton is safe, and I’m right inside the classroom door that’s open.
I’ve got this.
I release a breath and smile at her. She’s already scrolling for a video with Little B tucked safely to her side.
I slip inside the classroom door. Thankfully, everyone who gets here early fills the back rows first, and I take the corner seat in the front row.
If I lean to the left, I can see Bella’s shoes peeking from around the edge of the doorframe.
Tapping my foot against my desk leg, I stare ahead at Bella’s foot while the professor walks around the room, handing out the tests. A quick glance at my desk sends me into a jolt of panic—it’s completely bare. I don’t even have a pencil to write with.
What a nightmare.
I peek at the woman sitting next to me. Dressed in head-to-toe lounge wear, and she slouches down in her seat, as if she doesn’t have a care in the world.
For the briefest of moments, I envy how relaxed she appears on this test day.
Meanwhile, I’m perched on the edge of my seat, my heart refusing to slow.
Leaning over, I hiss, “Hey, I’m sorry to bug you, but I lost my purse. Can I borrow a pencil?”
Her gaze slides over to me, and her lips remained pressed in an unengaged line. After a beat of silence, I whisper a little louder, “Hey, can I borrow a pencil?”
“Ladies,” the professor’s stern warning slices through the air. “Tests are out. There is no talking.”
My bottom jaw drops open in helplessness.
With no other options, I’m forced to speak directly to the professor.
“I’m sorry, but my car broke this morning.
I grabbed an Uber. In the bustle of trying to get my daughter to school, I forgot my bag in the Uber.
I don’t have a pencil. Is there any way I can borrow one? ”
My white-haired professor stares over the rims of her glasses with an angled glare, one that has the power to make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up straight. “Are you saying you came to class unprepared?”
“Uh, yes.” I gulp. While still making eye contact with my professor, a woman sitting behind me taps my shoulder with a pen. My heart literally does a backflip. I grab the pen and hold onto it with a death grip, wishing I could make myself smaller. I hate this feeling of inferiority.
It’s not just this test.
Every day, I walk through life, and I feel like I’m one of those people stuck on the bottom rung of society.
It’s in the way people look at me when I pull into the parking lot with a car that has a mismatched door, or when I pay at the grocery store, counting out the single dollars I earned from tips.
If I’m honest, that’s the reason I’m in this seat. I’m doing my best to level up this life. In my daydreams, I imagine graduation, and how it will feel to quit my job at the restaurant. My goal is to come back someday as a customer and leave the staff the biggest tips of their lives—
My daydream is cut short by the professor handing me the test. It’s thick—easily eight to ten pages—and my heart sinks.
This is going to take all day.
I flip through the pages, finding most of them are multiple choice, and sit back, waiting for the professor to begin the listening portion of the test. As a music major, we always start each test with an exercise where a random part of a composition we studied is played.
We have about ten seconds to identify the song and composer and write it down.
I hate this part.
I’m not one of those gifted people who can play by ear or identify things quickly.
I ready my pen, and focus my attention as the professor starts the first composition.
It’s quiet, and I can barely hear it, even when I strain my ear in that direction.
I have no idea what it is, but I write something down.
The next song plays, and it’s loud, with thundering drums that rumble the floor of the classroom.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Bella on her feet, doing ballet leaps through the hall to the pounding beat.
My face scrunches into a wince as I lean over, trying to get her attention.
Her face is lit up with the brightest smile.
I get that she's happy, but she needs to sit still and not draw attention to herself. “Bella,” I whisper-shout.
“Miss Roberts.” My professor turns on her heel with a pointed glare. “I’m not going to tell you again that the tests are out. No talking. Another peep from you, and your test will be removed from your hands, and you’ll receive a zero.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I mutter under my breath and drop my gaze to my test. She starts another recording, and I almost gasp because I know this one. I quickly jot down the title, and in the background, I hear Bella say, “Hello?”
My ears perk as my attention floats back to the door. She goes on to say, “Nope. I’m with my mom at school, because she’s too poor to take me to day care.”
My jaw drops, and my cheeks fire. She must have answered my phone.
I wonder who called? It doesn’t sound like she’s talking to my mom.
What if it’s the school!? I didn’t even think to call in her absence because everything was crazy.
I struggle not to shout toward the door for her to be quiet.
I don’t want to get my test taken away, but she goes on.
“Aw, I’m not sure when she’s going to be done.
Her teacher’s an old hag with a miserable life, and she hates my mom. ”
I can feel them. Everyone’s eyes are on me. I dare to glance at my professor, and she’s glaring, her nostrils flaring.
That’s it. I’m totally cooked.
I drop my borrowed pen to my desk, stand, and take my walk of shame toward the door.
There’s no point in trying to finish this test, my hag-of-a-teacher is going to fail me after she hears that.
As I flee, my shoes click against the tile floor, drawing more attention than I can handle.
Once outside the door, tears prick the backs of my eyes.
I hold my palm out, signaling for Bella to give me the phone. “Hang up the phone,” I whisper harshly.
A group of students meander past, all their eyes seeming to linger on me. Suddenly, I’m aware of how this looks. I force a toothy smile on my face and repeat in a softer tone, “Baby, give me the phone.”
“One moment, she wants to talk to you,” Bella states as she hands the phone over.
“Is it the school?” I mouth, but she just pushes the phone toward me.
Taking it, I check over my shoulder, walk a few steps from the open classroom door, and whisper into the phone, “Hello.”
“Kaci,” a deep voice flows into my ear. “It’s Jackson.”
My head springs back, and I stand up straight, “Uh, okay. I’m taking a test. Is this an emergency?”
“I went to the bank to get our things, but Mrs. Wagner had left work early. I just missed her.”
“She did?” My breath blows out in one long even exhale. The tears I’ve been holding back get heavier, weighing on the backs of my eyes. This nightmare is just getting worse. “Did they say where she went?”
“Yeah, she went to lunch at Red Barn. One of her coworkers called her cell phone, and I got to talk to her. She said she hadn’t even noticed her bag was different.”
“Oh, really.” I feel my face scrunch in total disbelief as I can’t fathom how someone could not notice that.
“She’s waiting for me. I’ll take Rigsby over there for food, and then exchange the bags. Did you want to meet me there?”
“Well, I don’t have my car yet, and it will take a while for us to walk down there.” I blink, pushing back my tears. This entire day has left me feeling so vulnerable.
“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “I don’t want to miss her. I’ll just run down there and take care of it. If you can make it before we leave, that’s fine. If not, I’ll give you a call.”
“Okay.” I force the tears out of my voice and agree since that sounds like a reasonable plan. Afterall, I must finish my test—Oh no! I drop my phone to my side and pivot toward the door. My professor is standing directly in front of it with one hand on her hip, glaring over her nose at me.
“Are you done, Miss Roberts?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m s-sorry,” I stutter, and click my heels together as if I’m in some weird military establishment. It’s an odd reaction, but she gives me that vibe.
“You left the room during an exam to talk on the phone. I have to assume the worst, and that you were looking up answers.” She holds up a bundle of papers, which I quickly recognize as my test, and proceeds to slowly rip it in half from top to bottom.
I have no words.
I get it.
I can’t resume my test after being in the hall on the phone. It looks shady, but if only I could make her understand how important this is to me. I didn’t choose for my morning to implode. “I’m sorry,” I mouth, my voice cracking into an audible sound at the end. “Any chance I can get a retake?”
“Not a chance.” She points down the hall toward the staircase that leads to the exit.
“You’re done here, and this is a final warning.
You are welcome back to class but let this be a lesson.
I have thirty other students in this class, all of whom paid thousands of dollars to be here.
It’s not fair to them if you are disruptive during this time. ”
“I’m sorry.” It comes out sounding more like a question. By some miracle I manage to hold my tears until she’s disappeared inside the room.
“Mama,” Bella says, her glistening eyes staring up at me. “You’re crying.”
I try my best to blink the tears away so I can blame it on an eyelash, but they only fall harder.
I’m forced to let her see me fail.
This isn’t the role model I wanted to be for her.
“I, uh, just have something in my eye,” I finally manage to say. “But the good news is I’m done with class.” I force a small smile, the only one I have left. “And that man on the phone was Jackson. He said to meet him downtown at Red Barn for my bag.”
“Oh.” Her eyes immediately widen. “Are we eating there?”
It’s not a place I frequent because it’s expensive. Frankly, on my budget, we never eat out anywhere. After the morning we’ve had, it feels right to make an exception to bring a little light into our day. “If I get my purse back, and the money is still in it, we can share a burger.”
“Yay, Mom.” She rushes toward the steps, leading the way back down. “I get the bigger half.”
I doubt I can even eat. My stomach is one giant ball of knots, and I force my feet to carry me from my classroom. I just started my semester off with a big fat zero, and I resist the urge to hang my head.
I did the best I could.
I have three more exams this semester. I’ll have to get As on the rest to raise my average, or I’ll fail.
Sure, I can retake the class, but this is supposed to be my last semester, which means more money for the class and another semester of living in a dump, driving a car whose only reliability is breaking down.
I’m tired of being broke.
I’m ready for a new life.