Chapter 11 Study First
Quiz recovery.
Then she stared at the words. Recovery sounded dramatic. She crossed it out and wrote:
Quiz plan.
Better. Constance stood at the counter making coffee and pretending not to watch. She was watching.
Sophia wrote:
Email Dr. Miller about quiz review.
Go over missed questions, fix notes, study chapter 9 before work, library after shift, and no phone during the first hour. Her phone buzzed beside her elbow, probably Vinny, definitely tempting, but Sophia didn’t look.
Constance turned from the coffee maker. “That was very brave.”
Sophia kept writing. “What?”
“Not looking.”
“I am mature.”
“You are holding that pen like you’re trying to break it.”
Sophia loosened her hand. Constance brought her a mug and sat across from her. She was already dressed for work, hair smooth, blouse tucked in, glasses on top of her head where she would later insist they weren’t.
“You have a plan?” Constance asked.
“I am making one.”
“Good.”
“I emailed Dr. Miller.”
“You did?”
Sophia turned the laptop slightly so her mother could see the draft.
Dear Dr. Miller, I reviewed my quiz score and would like to go over what I missed so I can improve before the next assessment.
Do you have office hours this week, or would it be possible to review the quiz after class? Thank you, Sophia Rossi
Constance nodded. “Smart email.”
“It sounds too serious.”
“It is school. Serious is allowed.”
“I don’t want her to think I’m panicking.”
“Are you panicking?”
Sophia looked at the quiz score. Then at her list.
“No.”
Constance’s eyebrows lifted.
“Not fully,” Sophia corrected.
“That sounds more honest.”
Sophia sent the email before she could rewrite it twelve times. Her phone buzzed again. She didn’t look.
Constance took a sip of coffee. “Is the boy still waiting?”
“Probably.”
“The boy has a name.”
“You call him refrigerator boy.”
“That is his legal title until he meets me.”
Sophia sighed, but she was smiling.
Constance set her mug down. “Sophia.”
Sophia looked up. Her mother’s face had lost the teasing.
“Vinny can stay in your life.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Sophia’s stomach tightened.
Constance reached across the table and tapped the planner, not hard, just enough. “This stays too.”
“I know.”
“I like that he supports you. I like that he asked before kissing you. I like that he remembered minestrone. I even like the picnic, though I still don’t trust men in general.”
Sophia’s mouth twitched.
“But support doesn’t replace your work,” Constance said. “And liking him doesn’t make your assignments smaller.”
Sophia looked down at her list.
“I know.”
“This isn’t me telling you not to date him.”
“I know.”
“It is me telling you not to disappear into him.”
Sophia swallowed. It was what she had been afraid of, not Vinny doing something wrong. Her going soft around the edges because he smiled at her and brought soup and kissed her like she had all the time in the world to decide.
“I don’t want that either,” Sophia said.
Constance softened. “Then don’t.”
“That sounds simple.”
“It is simple. It isn’t easy.”
Sophia picked up her phone. Vinny had texted twice.
Vinny: Morning.
Vinny: I’m not asking about the quiz unless you want me to.
Sophia smiled. Simple. Careful. Constance noticed, but didn’t comment. Bless her.
Sophia typed:
Sophia: I made a quiz plan.
Vinny replied after a few seconds.
Vinny: Already proud.
Her chest warmed. Then another message came.
Vinny: Want to tell me the plan, or is this a school-only zone right now?
Sophia looked at the planner. She wanted to tell him everything. She wanted him to say the right thing again. That was exactly why she needed to be careful.
Sophia: School-only until after class. I’ll text you later?
Vinny: Later works.
Then:
Vinny: Go be scary with highlighters.
Sophia laughed softly. Constance raised an eyebrow.
Sophia turned the phone facedown. “He said highlighters.”
“Ah.”
“Don’t make that romantic.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
“I was making it organized.”
Sophia picked up her yellow highlighter. “I am going to study now.”
“Right.”
Constance stood and kissed the top of her head. “Eat the banana this time.”
Sophia looked at the banana beside her notebook.
“You keep buying bananas like they can fix my life.”
“They are portable and full of potassium.”
“That isn’t life-fixing.”
“It is close enough.”
After Constance left for work, Sophia studied for fifty minutes. Real studying. Phone in the bedroom. Textbook open. Notes corrected.
She read chapter nine and made flashcards from the terms she had confused on the quiz. She circled “scaffolding” and wrote an example beside it instead of just the definition.
That had been part of the problem. Definitions weren’t enough.
She knew the words. She had missed how to apply them.
That felt fixable. Fixable was better than panic.
By the time she left for campus, Dr. Miller had replied.
Sophia, You’re welcome to stop by after class today.
Bring your notes and the quiz reflection sheet from the portal.
The quiz corrections are optional, but they can help you recover a few points and prepare for the next one.
Best, Dr. Miller Sophia read the email twice.
Quiz corrections. Recover a few points. Prepare for the next one.
Good. Not solved, but fair. She texted Vinny from the train platform because school-only had lasted until after she made real progress, and that counted.
Sophia: Dr. Miller will review the quiz with me after class. There are corrections.
Vinny: That sounds like something a teacher would do.
Sophia: It sounds like work.
Vinny: Then go do the work. I’ll be silent.
Sophia stared at the message. She wanted to keep texting. She also wanted to keep liking him without resenting him later.
Sophia: Thank you.
Vinny: Anytime, teach.
She put the phone away. Didn’t take it out again until after class, mostly.
Dr. Miller’s office was short, crowded with books and children’s drawings from former students she had taught before moving into college instruction.
A tiny paper handprint turkey was taped to one shelf even though it was nowhere near Thanksgiving.
Sophia sat in the chair across from the desk with her quiz, notes, and reflection sheet stacked in her lap.
Dr. Miller was in her early forties, with curly hair pulled into a clip and reading glasses on a chain around her neck.
She didn’t look disappointed. Sophia hadn’t realized she expected disappointment until she didn’t see it.
“So,” Dr. Miller said, looking over the quiz. “Tell me what happened.”
Sophia folded her hands over the edge of her notebook. “I studied, but I think I studied the wrong way.”
“That’s a useful start.”
“I memorized terms. I didn’t practice examples enough. So when the questions asked about a situation instead of a definition, I second-guessed everything.”
Dr. Miller nodded. “That matches what I’m seeing. Your written response was strong. The multiple choice with scenario language is where you lost points.”
Sophia looked down at the quiz. Question six. Rude question six.
“I knew some of them after I turned it in,” Sophia said.
“That happens.”
“I hate that.”
Dr. Miller smiled. “Also happens.”
Sophia relaxed a little.
Dr. Miller turned the quiz toward her. “You’re not missing the big concepts. You’re rushing the transfer from definition to classroom example.”
Sophia wrote that down. Dr. Miller waited. That made Sophia like her more. Some professors talked through note-taking like students could absorb words through panic.
“You care about this,” Dr. Miller said.
Sophia looked up. “Yes.”
“That helps, but it can also make every missed question feel larger than it is.”
Sophia let out a narrow breath. That sounded familiar in too many areas.
“This quiz is a warning sign,” Dr. Miller said. “Not a verdict.”
Sophia wrote that down too. The quiz showed what she needed to fix. It didn’t decide everything.
“Do the corrections,” Dr. Miller said. “For each missed question, write the correct answer, why it’s correct, and a classroom example. Not more than three sentences per question. I don’t want you writing a novel to punish yourself.”
Sophia’s face warmed. Dr. Miller’s mouth curved.
“I’ve seen students turn corrections into punishment,” she said. “That isn’t the assignment.”
Sophia smiled despite herself. “All right.”
“And for the next quiz, study in examples. If the term is parallel play, write what it looks like. If the term is scaffolding, write what a teacher might say. Make your notes behave like a classroom, not a glossary.”
Sophia nodded. That made sense. More sense than staring at definitions until they blurred.
“Thank you,” she said.
“You’re welcome.” Dr. Miller handed back the quiz. “You’re doing fine, Sophia. Adjust early. That’s the point.”
Sophia left the office feeling lighter. Not fixed. Better. She texted Constance first.
Sophia: Dr. Miller said warning sign, not verdict. I have corrections to do.
Constance: I like this woman.
Sophia smiled. Then she texted Victoria.
Sophia: Quiz corrections. I need you to bully me into doing them after work.
Victoria: Finally. A task suited to my gifts.
Sophia hesitated before texting Vinny. Then she did.
Sophia: Office hours helped. I have corrections.
Vinny: Hell yes.
Then:
Vinny: Soft hell yes. Academic setting.
Sophia laughed in the hallway and got a look from a guy passing with headphones on. She didn’t care.
Sophia: I need to do them tonight.
Vinny: All right.
Sophia stared at the screen. Another message appeared.
Vinny: I wanted to ask if I could see you after work.
Her heart gave a little, stupid jump. Then the next text came.
Vinny: But corrections first. So I won’t ask.
Sophia stopped walking. People moved around her. She read the message twice. He wanted to ask. He wasn’t asking. Because she needed to study. That shouldn’t have felt romantic. It did.