CHAPTER THIRTEEN
JORI
The first problem on the remediation worksheet involved an infant, two medications, and a dosage small enough to kill somebody if I misplaced one decimal.
I got it right.
The second one involved an IV drip rate.
Wrong.
By the fifth problem, sweat had gathered beneath my scrub top, even though the classroom was cold.
Professor Hargrove walked between the rows while twelve of us worked in silence. I had expected a room full of people barely passing.
Instead, two students were there because they wanted extra practice. One had missed class after her father died. Another had a newborn and looked like she hadn’t slept since delivery.
My struggle wasn’t special.
That helped and irritated me at the same time.
When we reviewed the worksheet, I asked a question out loud. The simple act made my face heat.
Professor Hargrove answered without making a big deal of it. No speech about bravery. No smile full of pity. She worked through the formula, then gave me another problem.
I got that one right too.
At eleven thirty, she handed back the practice quiz.
Eighty-two.
Not perfect.
Passing.
“You see the difference when you slow down?” she asked.
“I don’t usually have time to slow down.”
“You had time today.”
Because I had begged Tanya to cover me. Because my next check would be short. Because I had finally chosen the thing that mattered before it became an emergency.
“I’ll be here next week,” I said.
“Good.”
Outside the building, my phone showed nine missed messages. Three from my mother. Two from work, even though Tanya had my assignment.
Four from Nae.
Her last one said: Please don’t judge me before I explain.
I called her.
“Where are you?” she asked.
“Campus.”
“Can we meet?”
“I have to study.”
“I know. It won’t take long.”
People always said that before asking for something that would live in your head all day.
We met at a diner twenty minutes later. Amir sat beside Nae in a booster seat peeling the paper wrapper off a crayon. He wore a dinosaur shirt and light-up sneakers. Every few seconds, he kicked the table leg just to watch them flash.
“Hi, Aunt Jori,” Nae told him.
“Hi, Jori,” he repeated.
“Close enough.” I slid into the booth. “What happened?”
Nae looked around like the answer might embarrass her if it heard itself.
“I used some of the trip money.”
“How much?”
“Seven twenty.”
I sat back.
Amir kicked the table. Blue lights blinked beneath it.
“For what?”
“Daycare and rent.”
“Without asking anybody?”
“I didn’t have time to hold a meeting. Daycare was gonna stop taking him today.”
“So, you lied.”
“I was gonna replace it.”
“With what money?”
Her eyes sharpened. “You came to listen or talk down to me?”
“I came because you asked me not to judge you before you explained. You explained. It was still wrong.”
Amir looked between us.
Nae lowered her voice, “I know it was wrong.”
“Does Ari?”
“No.”
“Kye?”
“No.”
“How much are you short?”
She unlocked her phone and showed me the numbers. Seven forty left. Two eighty-five from the pawn shop. Seventy-five from Malik. A new ninety-five-dollar fee because the reservation had been canceled.
“Two forty-five,” she said. “I can get forty-five Sunday from a shift bonus if my supervisor puts it through early. I need two hundred.”
I looked at her wrist.
The graduation bracelet was gone.
“Where’s your TV?”
She looked away.
“You pawned them?”
“I sold the TV. Pawned the bracelet.”
“Brenae.”
“What was I supposed to do?”
“Tell us.”
“And say what? Hey y’all, I know we supposed to celebrate Ari, but my life falling apart again. Can everybody stop what they doing and save me?”
“Yes.”
She laughed bitterly. “Easy for you to say.”
“No, it isn’t.”
I took my phone from my bag and opened my bank account.
Six hundred nineteen dollars.
Two hundred sixty was for car insurance due Wednesday. One hundred fifty was my part of the gas bill. The rest had to stretch through payday.
I would have one hundred fifty-nine left and three bills still waiting.
“I can send two,” I said.
Relief broke across her face.
“But you tell Ari.”
“I will.”
“When?”
“After I fix it.”
“That’s how Kye talks.”
“What Kye got to do with this?”
“Everybody keeps deciding Ari can only handle the truth after we clean it up.”
Nae stared at me. “What does Kye need to tell her?”
I had said too much. “Ask Kye.”
“Jori.”
“No. I’m not collecting everybody’s confessions.”
“Does it have to do with Cam?”
Amir dropped a crayon. Nae bent to pick it up, eyes still on me.
I looked out the window.
Cars moved through the parking lot. A family walked toward the diner carrying a baby seat. The world kept handing people ordinary minutes while ours filled with things we wouldn’t say.
“Tell Ari about the money by Monday morning,” I said. “If you don’t, I will.”
Nae’s mouth tightened. “You love deadlines.”
“I love not lying.”
“That’s not true.”
I looked at her.
She folded Amir’s coloring page. “You hide stuff too. You just make it look responsible.”
My exam score burned in my bag.
I sent her two hundred dollars.
She looked at the notification, then pressed both hands over her face. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. My insurance might have something to say.”
“I’m gonna pay you back Thursday.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
I did.
Both could hurt Ari.
Only one made me want to help carry the weight.
My mother called before we left the diner.
“You at work?” she asked.
“No. I told you I had school.”
“You didn’t tell me you called out.”
“I didn’t call out. I switched.”
“Mrs. Green’s daughter needs you tomorrow at nine. I already confirmed.”
“I can’t do it.”
Silence.
“What you mean you can’t?”
“I need to study.”
“You always study.”
“Apparently, not enough.”
Nae looked at me.
My mother’s voice changed, “What happened?”
The word was ready.
“My grade dropped,” I said instead. “I’m at risk of not passing pharmacology.”
The confession made my skin hot all over.
“How low?”
“Low enough that I need tomorrow.”
“You should’ve told me.”
“I’m telling you now.”
“But I already gave my word.”
“Then, you have to call her back.”
My mother went quiet.
I had never handed one of her promises back to her before.
“All right,” she said finally. “We’ll talk when you get home.”
The call ended.
Nae stared at me. “You failing?”
“At risk.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
I gathered my bag. “Because I was handling it.”
The look she gave me made my own words sound stupid.
On the drive home, I started a voice note to Kye.
“I’m tired of everybody acting like their emergency is the only one in the room. Ari worried about pictures, Nae stole trip money, you got Cam’s whole secret sitting in your phone and, somehow, I’m supposed to be the one—”
I stopped recording.
Listened once.
Deleted it.
The message wasn’t completely false.
When I got home, the blank account had sent another message.
Kye ain’t the only friend lying to Ari.
I typed: Who are you talking about?
A typing bubble appeared, then disappeared.
No answer came.
I looked at my reflection in the dark phone screen.
For the first time, I wondered whether the person trying to expose all of us was standing closer than we thought.