Chapter 61 Failed Exams & Lollipops
Failed Exams & Lollipops
Maisie
When Angie returned to our room on Sunday, she was pumped to hear how everything went. While it was fun to tell her about our absolutely outlandish date, I also told her that her leaving was a moot point.
“Why are you holding back?” she’d asked. “You obviously love him. He’s only guarding himself because he doesn’t want to get hurt either.”
“I know. There’s still this little fence around a part of my heart. She’s holding on for dear life even though a hurricane is raging around her.” I’d flopped back on my bed in frustration.
“Is the hurricane you loving Connor?”
“Yes! Keep up, Ang.”
“Sorry, sorry. I’d like to remind you that Connor is nothing like Karsen.
He has put you first almost every step of the way.
Karsen stole little pieces of you over time.
With Connor, you’re more yourself every day.
We don’t know what the future has in store, but I think you’re hurting yourself and him by prolonging this. ”
I knew she was right, but I hadn’t been in the state of mind to talk about it any further, still raw from the feeling of rejection, even though my brain knew logically that Connor wasn’t rejecting me. A girl still had emotions.
So instead of berating, Angie gave me a big hug, said she was sorry, then took me to our favorite ice cream shop, All Licked Up. It did a solid job of cheering me up. For a little while, at least.
Now it’s 9 AM Monday morning, and I’m staring at my organic chemistry test that the professor just handed back.
At the top is a big old “F” for failure.
I failed my first organic chemistry exam.
As if I weren’t already feeling like I’m not good enough, life has to take one more kick.
I scrub a hand down my face and thank god I had the good sense not to wear any makeup today.
Tears puddle in the corners of my eyes, but I can’t let them fall.
Not in front of all these people. I wipe at them and sniff, accidentally catching the attention of the girl beside me.
Her brows pinch in judgment. I don’t mean to, but I look over at her test. A bright, shiny “A” is stamped at the top.
Great. Maybe I’m the only one who failed.
While I don’t even like this class, I can’t be failing things.
Class progresses, and I find myself wishing I could learn through osmosis—that just by being in class, it would stick—but, alas, I barely understand half of what is discussed. Or, rather, I don’t care to.
When I pass the professor’s desk on my way out of class, he stops me. He discreetly waits as other students pass, but then in a lowered voice says, “Would you mind stopping by my office for a little? Assuming you don’t have a class next hour, that is.”
My shoulders tense. I hate feeling like I’ve done something wrong. I’m sure he only wants to talk about my test and make sure I’m doing okay, but still. I’d rather do anything else. Regardless, I nod my assent, and the two of us walk side by side until we reach his office a few doors down the hall.
I settle into a tweed wingback, its twin sitting empty next to me. His office is filled with Marvel Funko Pops and models of various chemical chains. At least we have one thing in common.
“Am I in trouble?” I ask as he situates himself in his own chair behind the desk across from me.
“Of course not,” he states matter-of-factly.
“I simply wanted to check in and see how you were doing with your other studies. How has the college experience been for you so far? Advising is one of my favorite parts of the job, and while I know I’m not your advisor, I have some say about how you should proceed with my class.
” He reaches into his desk, drawing out a bowl and offering it to me. “Lollipop?”
I shake my head. “No, thank you.”
“Suit yourself.” He shrugs and leans back, unwrapping one for himself. “So? How are your other studies going?”
“Fine, I suppose. I have calculus, which is going well because I’ve always been strong in math.
History of art, which isn’t particularly interesting to me, but isn’t overly difficult as far as I can tell.
Spanish too. This is the only course I’m struggling in.
” I roll my eyes, and he chuckles around his lollipop.
“A lot of students struggle in organic chemistry. It is not for the faint of heart. Those who endure either love it or have a strong enough reason to suffer through it, but I don’t sense you fall into either of those categories. Am I wrong?”
I huff in annoyance. “It’s a prerequisite for occupational therapy school.” I say it like he’s dumb, but then reel it back. He’s only trying to help. Apparently, my fight or flight response chose fight today.
He leans forward, loosely interlocked hands perched on his desk. “And is that what you want to do? Be an occupational therapist?” He raises an appraising eyebrow.
“Yes,” I rush out. “Maybe? I’m not really sure.”
“It’s okay not to know what you want to do. That’s what college is for.” His eyes soften, crinkling at the corners. He runs a hand through his lightly salted hair. He’s definitely on the younger side for a tenured professor, and I should be grateful he cares as much as he does.
“But all the classes I’m taking are geared toward getting into OT school. Wouldn’t that be a lot of wasted effort if I changed my mind?” I ask, worrying my bottom lip between my teeth at the prospect. Flutters take root in my chest—not the good kind.
“Hey,” he soothes, “you’re barely into your second semester of college.
Nothing is wasted. At worst, you took a few classes you didn’t like.
That’s good. Finding out what you don’t like is just as important as discovering what you do.
Now, do you like my class? Do you like any of your other pre-OT classes? ”
No. The word is like a foghorn in my head, glaringly obvious, but the actual response feels more complicated. “I struggled in chemistry last semester, too, and I wasn’t fond of biology. But it’s not like that’s what I’ll be using when I get to OT school, right?”
“Unfortunately, there will be more classes that align with these concepts. They build. That’s why they are pre-reqs. Not that they won’t be different, but it might not be the right path for you if you feel disconnected from the coursework now.”
A rock sinks in my stomach like an anchor from a ship. This is all too much. My head spins, and I close my eyes against the feeling.
“Are you all right?” he says. I hear the chair squeak and footsteps approaching.
“I’m fine, lightheaded for a minute. It’ll pass.” I do some of my breathing exercises.
“Well, this all might be a bit too much for today. And that’s all right.
In the meantime, I want you to think about dropping my class.
There’s still time, and there is a social psychology class you could pick up instead.
It would still be a prerequisite for occupational therapy if you’re worried about staying on track with that.
” He hovers over my chair, nose scrunched in worry.
With everything else on my plate—diving, Connor, my other classes—a psychology class sounds like a breath of fresh air. I could always take organic chemistry another semester, right? Maybe I just need more time to adjust.
“Okay. I can do that. Can you email me a link to the switch form?”
He releases a breath. “I’d be happy to. And I’ll reach out to Professor Larpe to give her a heads-up, too.”
“Thanks, that’s really kind of you,” I say.
“All part of the job,” he replies.
“If you don’t mind, I’ll take that lollipop now.”
He chuckles and retreats behind his desk so he can offer me the bowl once again.
I unwrap my selection as I stand. Popping it into my mouth, I bid the professor and organic chemistry farewell.
In the hall, I realize it’s like a weight has been lifted off my chest, and damn, does it feel good.
Maybe life isn’t dishing out only kicks after all.
That is, until I feel an ache in my stomach and pelvis and a gush enters my underwear. The tell-tale sign of my period. Great.