Chapter 13
COLTON
FOURTEEN YEARS AGO
“You’re failing.”
I blink up at my academic advisor, an accounting professor I’ve only met once when I started at Chadoin a few months ago.
He’s set up behind his massive wood desk in his massive leather chair, while I’m in a chair barely big enough to fit me.
Did he consciously set up his office to be an overbearing prick, or was it a subconscious decision to compensate for something?
“I’m sorry, what?” I ask.
“I don’t know how much clearer I can be. You’re failing. I received your midterm grades, and you’re failing every class except your general education class.” He flicks his eyes to a paper on his desk with a sigh. The guy doesn’t even know what I’m taking. “Roman history.”
Dr. Christensen’s eyes burn into me from across the desk, challenging and judgmental.
They say you’re not worth the time it takes to explain this, and the part of me that has always believed people’s comments about not being good enough to get out of my small town shrinks in on itself.
My eyes drop closed, but my mom’s face floats behind my lids.
Her belief in me and my duty to succeed.
“Okay. What do I do?” I ask, letting that determination to provide for her swallow up every self conscious fear.
He has no idea what that question costs me. My whole life, I’ve been the one who doesn’t need help. My grades were the best. I read—and enjoyed—the assigned books. My teachers held up my work as examples of what to do.
I knew I wasn’t doing as well this semester as I did in high school.
My classes are boring and I can’t seem to keep up with the constant stream of assignments shouted at me like stock floor traders.
But saying those words out loud, admitting I need some guidance, feels like giving up my identity. The only thing that makes me special.
“Don’t fail,” Dr. Christensen says blandly.
“You don’t say. The thought never occurred to me.”
He doesn’t take kindly to my sarcasm, face going all pinched. It doesn’t make me less worried, but I feel a certain satisfaction at his anger. He’s sitting there acting like he hung the moon, and I’m nothing but shit on his boot.
Then I remember this man controls my future, and I need to check myself before I get kicked out of school.
“Forgive me, sir. What happens now?”
“With grades like these, I don’t see you bringing them up, so your scholarship will be forfeited.
You can stay another semester to see if you can get off academic probation on your own dime, but we won’t be wasting ours.
Not everybody is cut out for college, and I’d suggest you think about that long and hard before you make your decision about next semester. ”
His words wash over me like a bucket of cold water. He isn’t telling me what to do to improve. I’m a lost cause. Maybe there’s a reason no other Miller has made it out of Grand Creek in five generations.
“Thank you for informing me, sir.” I nod to him, gather my backpack, and leave without a backward glance.
The rest of the morning passes in a daze.
I sit in class, but don’t hear a word that’s said.
Something about metrics and data and sales.
In Roman History, Quinn sits beside me, blabbing on like usual.
Dr. Cassia says something that includes the words forum and column, but I can’t tell you more than that with a gun to my head.
I shuffle out of the classroom with Quinn in tow, the words still pouring from her mouth. My mind isn’t here, but I nod along.
Silence, which has been lacking in my life since I met this girl, finally makes me stop and look up. Quinn’s studying me with a worried face.
“What's wrong?” she asks.
I shrug. “Nothin’.”
“Liar. What’s wrong?”
“I told you, nothing’s wrong.”
“I know me talking and you grunting is kinda our thing, but you haven’t even been doing that today. So I’ll ask again: What’s wrong?”
“Leave it, Chaos.”
“No. What’s wrong?”
“Leave it the fuck alone, Quinn!”
She pauses, her eyes wide. I’ve never yelled at her, but the questions are too much. I can’t tell this perfect girl with her perfect grades and perfect life plan that my own has gone to shit in the span of one meeting.
“Well, now I’m definitely not leavin’ it.” Her pathetic imitation of my drawl comes out in some exaggerated Forrest Gump-type accent. She looks up at me stubbornly, refusing to let me push her away. “Stop being a closed-off dick and talk to me.”
“Why?” I ask, exhausted and overwhelmed.
She steps closer, craning her neck to keep eye contact, and I let my eyes follow the curve to the place where her pulse beats. I want to gather her up in my arms and kiss her there. Want to fall into her and feel something besides this raging disappointment in myself.
“Because I’m your best friend. And if you can’t talk to your best friend about these things, they’ll eat you up inside. I won’t let that happen to you.”
Her eyes are pure steel, spine straight, hands clenched.
She’s 100 percent certain about her role in my life.
I’ve been over here analyzing every conversation, staring at her longingly, waiting for any sign that she wants me like I want her.
And she’s been over there thinking about what a good friend I am. Hurts like a bitch.
But I also realize she’s right. I may spend most of my days dreaming of her, but she is my best friend.
I sigh and drop onto the curb. She lowers herself down next to me and takes my hand between her small ones, leaning her head on my shoulder with her face tilted toward me.
“Please talk to me.”
I look down into her wide brown eyes. Her blond bangs fall in front of them, and I push them back.
She huffs. “I hate these bangs.”
“Yeah, I know.” She’s spent the better part of the past month bitching about them. Her eyes go serious again, settling in to wait me out.
“I’m going home. To West Virginia.”
“For Thanksgiving? I thought it was too expensive. I was going to surprise you and stay.”
My heart tightens in my chest. She really is the best person I know.
I steel myself before looking at her again. Time to rip off the Band-Aid. “No, Chaos. For good.”
She laughs nervously. “That’s not funny.”
“Good, cause it’s not a joke.”
Her eyes bounce between mine, like if she stares hard enough the joke will make sense. When I give her nothing, she jumps up. Her expression goes from confused to pissed in half a heartbeat.
“What the fuck, Colt? Why would you do that? You worked your ass off to be here.”
I take a breath, drumming my hands on my knees to work up the courage. Once I say it, it’s real.
“I’m flunking out. My advisor called me in this morning to tell me.”
She starts pacing. Other students split around her, grumbling as they go, but I don’t think she even notices them.
“Okay, it’s not going great right now, but you haven’t failed yet. The game’s not over until your grades are locked in. What did your advisor suggest?”
I laugh, a sound devoid of humor. “That I should consider if I’m meant to be here.”
The fire in her eyes could burn anyone in their path. I’ve seen her blush a couple times when someone annoys her, but now she was turning bright red in pure, unbridled fury.
She anchors her hands on her hips. “Tell me exactly what your advisor said.”
I walk through the meeting. How he said I’m gonna lose my scholarship. How I can pay my own way and try to bring up my grades, but I should consider if it was worth it.
It isn’t. Affording this school is so far out of my reach it may as well be on Saturn. I’d be stuck paying off those loans for the rest of my life, and my mom needs money sooner rather than later. I’ll have to get a job and hope one day I’ll get to try again.
“And he gave you no suggestions or action items to bring up your grades?”
“Nothin’.”
“Bullshit. I’ll come up with the plan myself. First, we’re going to schedule a meeting with the department chair. Your advisor was out of line and needs to be held accountable.”
I grab her hands, forcing her to stop her pacing.
“It’s done, Quinn. He said I wouldn’t be able to bring up my grades, and without my scholarship, you know I can’t stay here.”
Her eyes fill with tears. It’s breaking my heart that I’m causing her pain.
That I’m hurting everyone who matters in my life.
Momma’s going to be so disappointed in me.
She’ll still want me to go to school and take out loans to help.
It’ll take even longer for me to support her.
God, she’ll be working until she has one foot in the grave.
Quinn grabs the sides of my head, forcing my eyes back to hers and stopping my spiral.
“Don’t do that. Don’t give up on yourself because one douchebag doesn’t believe in you. I know how colleges work. I’ve lived on them my whole life. I’ll come up with a plan if you promise to fight like hell to stay here. You deserve to be here. Plus, life would suck without you.”
I don’t know what I did to be graced with this perfect little spitfire. I doubt she can change my situation, but if it gives me a few extra smiles before I have to leave her, I’ll do whatever she wants.
“Okay, Chaos. Lead the way.”