Chapter Six
Andrew
The past three days have been nothing but heavy, suffocating silence and shame that clings to me like smoke.
Monday night keeps replaying in my head every time I close my eyes…
crawling into Slade’s bed, grinding against him like an idiot, the way he flung himself out of the sheets and looked at me with that mix of shock and disappointment.
I’ve barely left my room since, tiptoeing around the house like I’m scared to breathe too loud.
I know I made him really uncomfortable. Part of me has even been thinking about moving out, finding some cheap place nearby so I stop being such a burden.
The thought sits in my gut like a stone, but right now it’s not the loudest thing in my head.
Today is Friday, and I’m determined to actually do something right for once. To prove to Slade, and to myself, that I can be better.
It’s just past midday as I walk across the campus of the local community college.
The place is nicer than I expected… no dingy hallways or outdated buildings.
Some of the facilities look brand new, with wide glass windows letting in plenty of light and clean, modern pa ths winding between the buildings.
I had to take three different buses to get here because I didn’t want to bother Slade for a ride, and it was cheaper than the train.
I used some of the cash I’d stolen months ago and hidden in my room.
Shame burns in my cheeks every time I think about it, but I push it down. One step at a time.
The admissions counsellor, a friendly guy named Mr. Ramirez in his late forties, has been showing me around for the last hour.
We’re currently walking through the computer science labs…
bright, well-equipped rooms with rows of newer computers and big monitors.
It actually feels exciting instead of intimidating.
“So, what specifically are you interested in?” Mr. Ramirez asks as we pause near a cluster of workstations.
“Software development,” I answer without hesitation. “I was leaning toward it back in high school. Coding, building apps, that kind of thing.”
He nods, listening. I keep going, voice a little quieter. “I’ve had a difficult home life the past few years since then. I don’t really want to get into the details, but… things are better now. I want to get back into education so I can build a good career.”
Mr. Ramirez gives me a respectful look, no pity, just understanding. “That takes a lot of courage. I’m glad you’re here.”
We head back to his office, a small but tidy space with diplomas on the wall and a big window overlooking the quad.
He pulls up the application on his computer and walks me through the process casually, no pressure, no deadlines breathing down my neck.
He shows me the software development track: four to five classes per semester, covering programming languages, algorithms, web development, and project management.
My potential timetable would be three or four days a week, mostly morning and early afternoon classes, nothing too brutal.
I nod along, asking questions when something isn’t clear… how the credits transfer if I ever want to move to a four-year school, what the workload is like, whether there are any internship opportunities. He answers everything patiently.
At the end, I lean forward a little. “How much would it cost me a year?”
Mr. Ramirez leans back in his chair. “For a full-time student taking the standard load, tuition and fees come out to about three thousand annually.”
He pauses, watching my reaction.
I blink, surprised. “Okay… that’s not bad at all.”
I’m already mentally calculating how many hours I’d need at a part-time job to cover that when he adds, “You can also apply for financial aid. Depending on your circumstances and household income, you might qualify for grants that cover most or even all of it. You wouldn’t have to pay out of pocket. ”
I laugh in pure disbelief, the sound bubbling out before I can stop it. “Are you serious? No way.”
Mr. Ramirez chuckles warmly. “Very serious. Let me show you the forms and walk you through how to apply. It’s straightforward, and we have advisors who can help if you get stuck.”
He explains the process clearly… how to fill out the FAFSA, what documents I’ll need, how the college’s own aid application works alongside it. I ask how long it usually takes to hear back about financial aid.
“Usually, four to six weeks once everything is submitted and verified,” he says.
“Sometimes a bit faster here since we’re not a huge school.
The next semester starts in August, so you’ve got a few months to decide and get everything in order.
But between you and me…” He smiles, genuine and encouraging.
“I see real potential in you, Andrew. I hope I’ll be seeing you around campus when classes begin in August.”
The words settle warmly in my chest as I leave his office with a thick folder of leaflets, course catalogues, and application instructions tucked under my arm.
I find a bench outside in the sunny quad and sit down, watching groups of students laugh and walk between buildings, some with backpacks, others carrying laptops and coffee cups.
Campus life looks… normal and peaceful, like somewhere I could actually belong.
For the first time in years, the weight of the papers in my hands feels solid…
like something real and possible instead of another mess I’ll screw up.
I could make new friends here. Better ones than Jayden and the rest of that crowd.
People who actually want to build something, who could help keep me on the right path .
A small, cautious smile pulls at my lips as I sit here, sunlight warm on my face, the future suddenly feeling a little less impossible.
…
The bus ride home feels longer than the trip there, the folder of college papers resting on my lap like a promise I’m scared to believe in.
By the time I walk through the front door it’s late afternoon, the house quiet except for the low hum of the fridge.
Slade isn’t back from the garage yet, and I’m grateful for the empty space.
I drop my bag on the kitchen table and pull out my phone, thumb hovering over Cici’s name.
After Monday night, after Slade basically threw me out of his bed and chose the couch instead of dealing with me, the message felt loud and clear: he rejected me.
Whatever twisted thing I thought was happening between us is wrong.
He’s my stepdad. Wanting him like that is fucked up, and I have to respect the boundary he’s drawing, even if it stings.
Any decent girlfriend would be happy to hear I’m trying to get my shit together, right? I hit call before I can overthink it.
Cici picks up on the third ring, her voice bright but distracted. “Hey babe.”
“Hey,” I say, trying to sound steady. “So… I spent the day at the community college. They’ve got a solid software development program.
I’m thinking about applying. Classes start in August, and if I get financial aid, it might not even cost me much.
I could actually do this… get a real career, stop messing around. ”
There’s a short pause on her end. When she speaks again, the excitement I was hoping for isn’t there. “Oh. That’s… cool, I guess.”
I wait for more… it doesn’t come. “Yeah,” I push on anyway. “I’m gonna look for a part-time job too, something steady. Thought you’d be happy about it.”
She changes the subject so fast it gives me whiplash. “Have you talked to Jayden this week? You guys should really clear the air, he’s still your best friend, you know? Oh, and are we still doing that party by the creek this weekend? Everyone’s asking.”
I blink, staring at the kitchen wall like it might give me answers.
The creek party. The same kind of dumb, risky shit I’ve been doing for years…
drinking, fighting, probably stealing shit we don’t need.
She doesn’t sound happy for me at all. She sounds…
disappointed. The realization settles in slow and ugly.
“You don’t actually want me to improve, do you?” I say quietly, the words tasting bitter. “You like the version of me that gets arrested and starts fights and drags you into stupid shit. The ‘bad boy’ thing. That’s what gets you off.”
She laughs, but it’s nervous, not warm. “What? No, that’s not…”
“Cici, stop .” I cut her off, my voice cracking with a mix of disbelief and anger. “You know what? I’m clearly not what you want. So, let’s not pretend this relationship is going anywhere. We’re done.”
I hang up before she can reply, the silence that follows ringing in my ears.
I stand here in the middle of the kitchen, phone still gripped tight in my hand, utterly stunned.
Is that really all she ever wanted from me?
The thrill of dating the troubled kid who keeps fucking up?
Why would anyone want that? Why wouldn’t you want the person you’re with to get better, to build something real?
The hurt doesn’t come from losing her… I didn’t even want her that much.
I was just trying to make it work, to be normal.
The real pain is deeper, sharper. No matter what I do, people don’t seem to want me.
Slade rejected me. My mom walked out when I was fourteen and never looked back.
And now Cici only liked me when I was the screw-up.
A shaky laugh bubbles out of me, wet and broken, as hot tears spill down my cheeks. I swipe at them angrily, but more keep coming. I take deep, ragged breaths, trying to steady myself.
Time to start living for yourself , Andrew, I tell myself, determined . Because that’s all you’ve got left.
…
The emotional crash hits harder than I expected.
After hanging up on Cici, I drift around the kitchen in a daze, the weight of everything pressing down until my legs feel like lead. I make myself a glass of iced tea just to have something to do with my hands, then sit at the table and open my laptop.
The community college website is still up from earlier.
I spread the leaflets out, flip through the course catalogue, and even pull out the local newspaper I grabbed on the way home…
the one with the property rental section circled in red.
Before I know it, the entire table is covered in my future: bright pamphlets about software development tracks, financial aid forms, campus maps, and columns of tiny rental ads that all look too expensive or too far away. I stare at it all until my eyes burn.
…
I don’t remember deciding to rest my head on the pile of leaflets. One second, I’m reading about intro to programming, the next my cheek is pressed against cool paper.
A sharp ping from my phone drags me awake.
I jolt upright, disoriented, the newspaper sheet that was stuck to the side of my face fluttering to the table.
My neck aches from the awkward angle, and my body feels heavy, like it’s made of wet concrete.
The laptop screen has gone dark in sleep mode, the cursor blinking lazily when I tap the trackpad.
I rub my eyes hard with the heels of my hands, clearing the fog, then pick up my phone.
Slade: Will be home late, kid. Me and the guys
ended up at an auction two hours away
today. Will be home around 9pm. Please eat
something .
I glance at the time. Just gone half past seven. No wonder I passed out… I’ve been running on pure adrenaline and crashing emotions all day. The excitement of the campus visit this morning feels like it happened weeks ago instead of hours. Then the phone call with Cici drained whatever was left.
I sit here for a long moment, staring at the mess I’ve made of the table.
Leaflets, forms, rental listings, my half-finished drink.
It’s all evidence of me actually trying, but right now I’m too exhausted to feel proud of it.
Still, I force myself to move. I close the laptop with a soft click and gather everything into a somewhat neat pile…
leaflets stacked on top of the newspaper, the catalogue tucked underneath.
It’s messy and uneven, but it takes up less space than it did. Good enough .
With heavy eyes and dragging steps, I push the chair back and head upstairs. Planning to crawl under the covers and let the darkness swallow me whole.