CHAPTER FIVE
JORI
There were six points between passing pharmacology and having to repeat the course.
I had missed eight.
“Jordyn, can you stay a minute?” Professor Hargrove asked as the rest of the class packed up.
Three people looked at me before looking away too fast.
I slid the exam into my folder. “Sure.”
My lab partner, Tessa, touched my elbow on her way out. “I’ll text you.”
She wouldn’t. Tessa only texted when she needed notes or wanted to know if I thought an answer key was wrong.
When the classroom emptied, Professor Hargrove sat on the edge of the desk in front of me. She was one of those women who could wear sneakers with dress pants and still look like she chaired a committee.
“You understand the material when we discuss it,” she said. “Your dosage calculations are strong. But your exam performance has dropped for three weeks.”
“I’ll bring it up.”
“You said that after the last exam.”
My back stiffened.
She wasn’t being disrespectful. That almost made it harder to defend myself.
“I’ve been working more.”
“That explains it. It doesn’t change the requirement.”
“I know the requirement.”
Her expression softened, which I hated. “Do you?”
I looked at the clock over her shoulder. I had forty-five minutes to get from campus to my CNA shift. If traffic was bad, I would clock in late. Again.
“I need an eighty on the next exam and an eighty-five on the final,” I said. “I know.”
“And if you don’t get them?”
“I will.”
Professor Hargrove studied me for a moment, then reached for a paper on her desk. “There’s a remediation session Saturday morning.”
“I work Saturday.”
“Can you switch?”
No.
Maybe.
I didn’t know. Switching meant telling my mother I had to lose eight hours of pay because I was failing a class she told everybody I was acing.
“I’ll figure it out.”
“That’s what I’m asking you to do.” She handed me the paper. “Not alone, Jordyn. Figure out what support looks like.”
I folded the page once and put it in my folder without reading it.
People loved the word support when they weren’t the ones who had to admit they needed it.
By the time I reached the facility, I had six minutes to spare and a headache above my right eye. I changed into navy scrubs in the employee bathroom, pulled my hair into a tighter bun, and clocked in at 2:58.
My assignment included twelve residents, two showers, and Mr. Langford, who believed the year was 1987 and I was his younger sister.
Work didn’t care about my exam.
If somebody needed help to the bathroom, I helped them. If a call bell rang, I answered it. The work could be hard, nasty, exhausting, and unfair, but most of the time it had a clear problem and a clear next step.
People my age were harder.
At 4:11, my phone vibrated in my pocket while I was restocking gloves.