30. Becca
This is my chance. I can’t afford to get distracted.
I force myself to re-read the words on the page. ACE inhibitors, angiotensin receptor blockers… How does anyone remember which is which? I write out the drug names on a flashcard and their mechanism of action on the back.
I always knew I’d have to redo pharmacology after failing it last fall. But after my grade on the pathology final, I figured it would be during this coming fall, with the rest of the incoming second years.
I didn’t anticipate having to squeeze this class’s redo into these six weeks, a single test at the end deciding my fate.
The conversation plays in my head again. Reviewed the final… questions thrown out and grades adjusted… pass. When the dean told me they’d updated my grade to a pass for pathology, and that I could start my third year with the second rotation if I passed a pharmacology make-up by August, I thought he was joking.
And I knew I had to grab this chance.
I realize I’m underlining so hard I’m indenting the page and force myself to ease up.
I can do this. Failing and coming back to try again makes me stronger. That’s what Miller said. Right?
Miller. I wonder what he’s up to right now.
My stomach bottoms out when I think of him, because now I’m not only the crazy lady who was mean to him for the first two weeks of the summer, but now I’m the girl who ghosted him and left camp after we finally started… something.
I pull out my phone and look at his text message again, like I’ve been doing almost once an hour since I got it a few days ago.
Miller
Missing you since you left camp. How are you doing?
How do I even answer that? Doing well, how are you? would be the polite response. Stressed as fuck and missing camp and missing you would be more accurate. Second-guessing all my life choices, wondering if medicine is the right fit and panicking and also pretty sure you’ve moved on to someone less neurotic might be the full truth.
I can’t bring myself to type out that level of honesty, though, and I don’t know what else to say. So all I’ve managed to text back is, I had to leave. I’m sorry. I’ll tell you more when I can.
I turn the page to read about beta blockers. How many types of blood pressure medicine do we need? I write them down on four new flashcards. Atenolol, propranolol, metoprolol, labetalol. At least their names are vaguely consistent. I add a star to the vague differences as I write them out.
I finally talked to my parents and owned up to failing this class. Somehow it felt easier to tell them I’d failed one class rather than that I was planning to repeat the entire year.
And you know what? Miller was right, again.
They weren’t mad, they didn’t cut me off. My dad grumbled a comment about “stupid drug names” and how “no one needs to know that shit.”
I almost dropped the phone. I’d never heard my dad swear.
I focus on my book again, trying to memorize the nuances of the different types of medications. Ten more minutes before I take a break.
My watch beeps to signal it’s time for a break just as I move on to calcium channel blockers—you guessed it, more blood pressure medicine—and I stand up and stretch. The library is quieter than normal in the summer. During the school year, there are tons of first- and second-year students in here studying, and the stress emanates off them in waves.
But this year’s first year class hasn’t started yet, and the rising second years have the summer off. So it’s just me, as far as I’ve seen.
I glance down at my open book, scrunching my brows. I’m going to need a coffee to keep on focusing. There are only so many drug names you can memorize per gram of caffeine in your body, and I’ve hit my limit.
I type out a text message to Vivien while I wait in line at the cafe next door to the library.
Vivien
How are things at camp?
She’s the only one I’ve really been in contact with since I left. We talked on the phone last night after her campers were asleep. She told me about everything I missed—Lena leading a grilled cheese eating contest, Bayley opening up about her parents some more, Mollie talking nonstop about the goat.
It made my heart clench a little to think that I should have been there for that.
I felt guilty when I talked to Brett about what to do, that morning after I made the phone call. I wondered if I could abandon my campers to head back to school.
But Brett, being Brett, was unconditionally supportive.
“You have to do what’s right for you, Becca,” he said as we sat in his office that morning, less than an hour after the phone call that changed everything. “Camp will always be here for you. And we can cover your cabin. One of the department heads can fill in for a week if needed. But what happens if you don’t take this chance?”
“I’d have to repeat the entire year,” I muttered, grimly looking at my hands.
“And pay the tuition again?” Brett pressed.
I nodded, unable to meet his gaze, thinking he was about to guilt trip me for caring about money over the kids.
But when I finally looked up, his expression was gentle. “So, it seems like a no-brainer,” Brett said, shrugging his shoulders like it was the easiest decision of his life. “Go back to school, Becca. We’ll miss you. But this is your future.”
So, I did. And here I am, holed up in the library while fueling myself with enough caffeine to make myself actually vibrate.
My phone buzzes in my pocket as I step up to the counter. I order my usual—Americano, black, with an extra shot—and pull my phone out.
Good. Missing you. The campers this week are… special. All eight-year-olds. One of them peed the bed last night.
That’s the part I don’t miss.
Yeah, lugging a pee-soaked sleeping bag to the laundry room at six in the morning isn’t exactly the high point of being a camp counselor.
Are they at least fun?
Oh, they’re actually a blast. The littlest ones always are once you can look past the pee accidents and the late-night crying when they’re homesick. Want to hear a joke one of them told me?
Um, yes. Did she make it up herself?
Pretty sure.
What do you call a bat that is single?
Uhh…
A BATchelor.
I slide my phone in my pocket as the barista passes me my drink and look around the small cafe, considering whether I have time to sit and enjoy my drink or if I should get back to studying right away.
My mind wanders to my mornings on the swing back at camp. I miss that sense of freedom and being relaxed. I wonder if there’s a way to find some kind of feeling like that while I’m in school. Maybe I should try yoga.
I take a sip of the too-hot coffee. It jolts me back to reality with its bitter taste. No, there’s no time for yoga or meditation or any of that other new-age nonsense.
If I have time for that, I have time to study more.
* * *
At the end of six straight hours in the library, I’m the proud owner of over two hundred flash cards, each with the name of a medication on the front and how it works, what class it belongs to, and what it’s used for on the back of the card.
I’m feeling moderately accomplished, but making the cards is only the first step. Now, I have to memorize all of it.
That’s step two, which we’ll start on after dinner.
My only real downtime today is my dinner time. I let myself watch part of When Harry Met Sally while I eat my macaroni and cheese. Nothing but gourmet here.
I consider licking the bowl once the pasta is gone but realize I’m supposed to be an adult, so I eat an apple instead, to balance my diet out. I’ve always thought it was funny how med students have the worst diets ever while learning to take care of people. I wonder if it stays this way once we move on to residency and then to being a full-fledged doctor.
I turn the iPad off and rinse my dishes in the sink, then settle on the couch with my zillion flashcards. Okay, time to memorize.
I jolt awake when the flashcards hit the ground. How did I fall asleep? I pick up the mess of three-by-five index cards, sorting them back into a pile. The last one I remember looking at was Atenolol, which was right at the top of the pile.
I stretch my arms over my head. It’s too late for more caffeine if it’s after dinner. I peek at my watch. It’s only 9 p.m.? How am I so tired?
Maybe those weeks of 10 p.m. curfew forced me into early-bedtime mode.
I pull out my phone. 9 p.m. means campers are going to bed. It’s weird how my brain still hasn’t adjusted from the camp schedule. Every time I look at the time, I think about what’s going on up there. What would I be doing if I were still at Camp Winnie?
Right now, I’d be sneaking out of the cabin with Vivien to sit at the picnic table. One of us would be headed to hang out with the other staff at the dining hall.
Miller might be calling his mom. At the very least, he’s probably looking at his phone. I stare at his text again, the one I still don’t know how to answer. It’s been way too long for a polite response, hasn’t it? It’s been a week. We’re into ghosting territory at this point.
I chew on my lower lip while I think. I miss him. Or do I just miss camp?
I’m still not sure what Miller and I were starting, if we were starting something at all, or what would have happened if I’d stayed.
Either way, I’m here now, in upstate New York and back at school. He’s still in New Hampshire, and he’ll be heading back to Philadelphia in a few weeks. There’s really not a future there for us, even if I once thought that might be a possibility.
Plus, I need to focus on school.
But I still owe him an explanation. I don’t have to start a relationship or anything. We can be friends. Who text. I text Vivien, and I don’t want to sleep with her.
Miller
Sorry for the radio silence. Long story, but they recalculated, and I didn’t fail pathology, so I just have to retake pharmacology so I can start my third year just a couple months late. So that’s what I’m doing. Sorry I had to leave camp early, but I couldn’t pass this chance up.
I read it for a third time, nodding. Nothing about feelings. Just facts so hopefully Miller realizes me leaving camp had nothing to do with him.
My finger hovers while my stomach flips. Why does this make me so nervous?
I steel myself. If I can handle med school, I can handle sending one little text. I take a deep breath and hit Send.