Chapter Three—Sophia
My jaw drops when I log in to my academic portal. No, there’s no way. After everything else that has been going on, this, too?
Heart sinking, I scan the words in bold red at the top of the screen announcing that I’ve failed to turn in an essay for one of my courses this semester, and I’m officially on academic probation. But there’s no way that’s true. I put the essay into the box myself, stamped it with the date and time, and turned it in with hours to spare. I made sure of that. What the hell is this about...?
I run a hand through my hair and take a long sip from my water bottle, trying to calm myself down. I’m starting to feel as though it’s some kind of conspiracy against me, the way things have been going the last few weeks, but paranoia isn’t going to get me anywhere.
I fire off an email to the head of the history department to try and plead my case, though I’m sure they’re just going to let it head straight to junk mail. That’s where the other emails from students who couldn’t be bothered to turn in their work on time go. Tears sting my eyes as I slump back in my chair. This dorm room suddenly feels way too small, even for just me, the walls closing in around me and pinning me to my seat.
Three weeks. Three weeks of this shit, and I don’t know what I have to do to change it up. I feel like I’m losing my mind. Every physical essay I’ve turned in has been rejected. The last couple, I’ve had time to rush back to the department and hand it over to the TA directly so they have no reason to pretend like they didn’t see it. But this? This is too much. I’ve been so busy with work, picking up extra shifts at the coffee shop to cover for everyone who’s been out sick with the same mysterious illness, I haven’t had time to follow up on this. And now, it’s too late.
And if this academic probation goes any further, then I’m going to lose my scholarship. My first year at Gregora University and I might not even make it through the whole thing. God, am I that useless?
I drag myself to my feet and go to take a shower, hoping that by the time I return, they’ll have emailed me back to assure me there’s nothing for me to worry about and the essay is sitting right there on their desks as we speak. Too good to be true, really, with everything that’s been going on, but I feel like I deserve a break.
It’s not just my studies, but work, too. Not only has the Blackened Bean been hellish, with everyone calling out sick except me, but the bodega I work at nearby has just come under new ownership, and they’re expecting all of us to undergo training as soon as we’re able to. So that’s another weekend down the drain, if I want to keep my job there. And now, I’m going to have to work double hard at this course to make sure they don’t fail me.
When I get out of the shower, there’s no email waiting for me, but Rachel has fired me a text to ask if I want to meet for a study date at the library. I agree at once. Anything to get me out of this room, out of my head for a little while. Throwing on some clothes and wrapping a heavy scarf around my neck, I toss my books into my bag and head across the main quad to the library. It’s a huge building with a stone arch at the doorway leading into dozens of bookcases stacked with reading on every topic imaginable.
I make my way up to the second floor, where the desks line the large picture windows looking out to the quad beyond. Usually, it’s a cheerful part of campus, but with the gloomy weather outside right now, it’s anything but.
Rachel lifts a hand and grins at me, waving me over, and I make my way to join her.
Slumping into the seat beside her, I pull out my books and start laying them on the table. She frowns at me, clearly concerned.
"Are you okay?" she asks softly. I nod, then shake my head.
"I just got a message in my academic portal saying that I didn’t turn in my essay for my Women’s Ancient History class."
Her eyes widen.
"But you turned that one in, right?" she presses, leaning forward, clearly confused. "I mean, I was there when you dropped it off..."
"Well, that’s what I thought. Seems like they didn’t get it somehow."
"Why does this keep happening?" she exclaims, earning a few annoyed looks from senior students trying to work on their thesis projects.
"I have no idea..."
"You need to talk to someone about this," she urges me. "You can’t keep just letting this happen. Something is going on. Maybe it’s a problem with your department..."
"Have you been having those issues?" I ask her pointedly. She hesitates for a moment, then shakes her head.
"No, I haven’t."
"It’s probably because I’m on a scholarship," I remark, shoulders slumping down. "They don’t want us poor people around, clogging the place up, when they could be making more money off the rich kids."
"Hey, as the resident spokesperson for the rich kids, I need you to know we’re not all that bad," she protests, and I manage a chuckle.
"I know, I know. I just... I feel like someone has had it out for me these last few weeks."
"When did it start?" she wonders aloud. "Maybe if we can figure it out, we can get to the bottom of why it’s been happening."
I screw my face up, trying to cast my mind back. The last time I turned in an essay and didn’t have to go chasing up on it, it was...
"The night I met Hanna Brown," I reply. Rachel taps her finger against her chin.
"Oh, okay," she murmurs. "Do you think it’s got something to do with her?"
"No, not her, we got on really well..."
"So, something else that happened that night, then?"
I keep thinking—and a cold shiver runs through my body when something pricks the back of my memories. There was something else that happened that evening. I ran into that guy, the guy who thought I was a waiter, who turned up at the coffee shop a couple of days later and left that ridiculous tip. I don’t know his name, but there’s something about him that has burned its way into my memory, like my brain is trying to warn me to keep an eye out for him.
Rachel leans forward with interest.
"There’s something, right?" she prompts me. "What happened, Soph?"
I shake my head.
"It’s nothing," I reply. There’s no way another student could have this much influence over everything that’s going on with me, there’s just not. I’m paranoid. Whatever’s going on, it’s just bad luck, a string of it, all appearing on top of each other. It doesn’t mean anything.
"Come on, I need to get some transcribing done for class," I tell her as I grab one of the old newspapers I’ve been studying from my backpack and lay it out on the table before us. "This text is so tiny, it’s going to take a lifetime..."
"Okay, well, I’m going to need another coffee if we’re going to do all that," she replies, flashing me a smile as she gets to her feet. I watch as she heads off and rest my chin in my hand, staring blankly at the pages in front of me.
Does all this have something to do with what happened that night? That guy? I don’t know. It can’t be, can it? I mean, no matter how irritated he might have been with the way I talked to him, it’s not like he would have been able to orchestrate all of this—not just with the school but with my work, as well.
I take a deep breath, yawn, and rub my face. I need to stay focused. All of this will ease up eventually, and when it does, I don’t want to have fallen behind on anything in the process. I need to keep going, and I will find my place here at the university.
Even if it feels like the whole world is working against me right now.