CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
JORI
Professor Hargrove offered me a paid peer-tutor position because apparently, surviving pharmacology qualified me to watch other people panic over it.
“I did not get an A,” I reminded her.
She closed the folder on her desk. “Students do not need a tutor who never struggled. They need one who understands the material and can explain what changed.”
“What changed was I stopped working myself into stupidity.”
“Phrase it differently on the application.”
I smiled.
The position paid fifteen dollars an hour for two evening sessions a week. Less than my CNA rate, but it happened on campus between classes and did not require lifting anybody, changing briefs, or being called Joanie.
It also looked like another way for people to need me.
That made me hesitate.
Professor Hargrove noticed. “You can say no.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
I looked at the application.
The old version of me would have accepted immediately, then worked extra facility shifts to replace the pay difference, then resented every student who asked a question after I exhausted myself becoming available.
“I want to do it,” I said. “But I need set hours. No personal number. No answering messages after the session.”
“That is how the program already works.”
“Good.”
“You are not inventing boundaries, Jordyn. You are joining policies other people have used for years.”
Rude.
True.
My first session had six students and one Tessa. She sat in the back wearing the expression of somebody hoping our history would earn extra access.
At the beginning, I wrote three things on the board.
ASK BEFORE YOU GUESS.
SHOW YOUR WORK.
SLEEP IS PART OF STUDYING.
A student near the window laughed. “That last one on the test?”
“It was on mine.”
I told them I had nearly failed the course.
Tessa looked up fast.
“You?” somebody asked.
“Yes. I got behind, worked too much, and kept pretending understanding things in class meant I did not need practice.”
I did not tell the story like a motivational speech.
No dramatic pause.
No claim that failure had been necessary.
I would have preferred learning the lesson without risking my cohort.
We spent ninety minutes on dosage calculations. When the session ended, Tessa stayed behind.
“I did not know you were struggling,” she said.
“I did not tell anybody.”
“You always looked like you had it.”
“Looking like it was part of the problem.”
She shifted her backpack. “Can I text you if I get stuck tonight?”
“The tutoring portal opens questions until eight. I answer during my hours Thursday.”
Her face changed slightly. Not angry. Surprised that knowing me did not move the line.
“My exam is tomorrow.”
“I can stay ten more minutes now.”
She pulled out the packet.
We worked one problem.
At the end, she thanked me and left.
I did not feel guilty.
I noticed that.
At seven forty, my phone lit with Nae’s name.
I checked the time.
My tutoring session was over, but I had a care-plan assignment due by midnight.
The group had agreed to ask before unloading.
Nae’s first message did.
NAE: You got room for a call? Amir got a fever. I already called nurse line. I am waiting.
My instinct said yes before I checked myself. I opened my assignment.
Three empty sections.
I had class at eight.
ME: I have ten minutes now or I can call after I submit around 10:30. Is he having trouble breathing or hard to wake?
NAE: No. He drinking. 101.8. I just hate waiting by myself.
ME: Ten minutes now. Then call your mom to sit with you until nurse calls back.
She called. Amir laid against her chest wearing one sock and no shirt.
“Tell Jori sick,” he said.
“I see.”
Nae looked tired. “Malik supposed to get him tomorrow. I do not know if I should cancel.”
“What did the nurse say?”
“Still waiting.”
“What does the schedule say about illness?”
“We inform each other and decide based on symptoms. He has medicine over there now.”
“Then, you do not have to decide before you get medical advice.”
She nodded.
I almost continued with instructions.
Stopped.
“You want me to distract you for the rest of the ten minutes?”
“Yes.”
I told her about Tessa trying to turn tomorrow’s exam into my emergency.
Nae laughed quietly. “Look at you saying no.”
“Look at you asking if I had room.”
“We sick and growing.”
At nine minutes, her mother knocked on the apartment door.
Nae looked relieved.
“I am going,” I said.
“Thank you.”
“Text the group what the nurse says. I will read it after my assignment.”
She did not act hurt.
I submitted the care plan at 10:14.
The nurse line had told Nae to monitor Amir, continue fluids, and arrange an appointment if the fever lasted or new symptoms appeared. Malik agreed in writing to delay pickup until the following afternoon and bring him back early if he worsened.
No crisis became bigger because I had not stayed on the phone for three hours.
*****
Friday, my mother called while I was leaving clinical.
“Mrs. Green needs somebody Sunday again.”
“No.”
“She paying twenty-eight an hour.”
I stopped walking.
Twenty-eight was hard to say no to. My car insurance was due. Tuition had increased. I wanted new shoes that did not have cafeteria applesauce stains.
“What time?” I asked.
“Seven to seven.”
Twelve hours.
Sunday was the only day I had no class, facility shift, tutoring, or clinical.
“I cannot.”
“You just asked the time.”
“I was tempted.”
My mother went quiet. Then, she said, “Okay.”
No guilt.
No reminder about money.
“Do you need me to help you call somebody else?” I asked.
“No. Mrs. Green has a list.”
We ended the call.
I stood in the campus parking lot feeling like I had left money on the ground.
Boundaries were not always peaceful.
Sometimes, they felt expensive.
*****
Sunday morning, I slept until ten.
At eleven, the girls appeared at my house with breakfast.
I opened the door in a bonnet and old college shirt. “What are y’all doing?”
Ari held up a bag. “Celebration brunch.”
“For what?”
“Your tutoring job.”
“I have had it one week.”
Kye walked past me. “Exactly. Catch success early before it develops attitude.”
Nae carried Amir and a sketchbook under one arm. “Also, your mother said you turned down twenty-eight dollars an hour, so we checking for fever.”
“My mother talks too much.”
“She learning,” Ari said. “Slow.”
We ate at the kitchen table while my mother went to church.
Kye asked whether tutoring made me a professor.
Nae showed us drawings she had started making during Amir’s overnights. Rooms, furniture, clothes.
Ari looked through them carefully.
“These are good.”
Nae shrugged too fast. “They old-lady hobby good.”
“They are good good,” Kye said. “Draw my salon how it should look when I get rich.”
“You paying?”
“I will give exposure.”
Nae threw a biscuit at her.
The conversation shifted to Ari’s campaign pilot. Northline had approved the first five participants. She needed a production assistant for one Saturday shoot and had a budget to pay somebody.
“I can help,” I said automatically.
Ari looked at me. “Do you have room?”
I checked my schedule instead of my instinct. The shoot was the same Saturday as a review session before midterms.
“No.”
“Okay.”
She turned to Kye. “Do you?”
Kye checked her booking app. “After two.”
“Shoot ends at four. I can pay for two hours.”
“Look at payroll and boundaries.”
Nae leaned toward me. “You okay not being the helper?”
I answered honestly. “A little uncomfortable.”
“Good,” Kye said. “Sit in it.”
Everybody laughed.
I did too.
Later, after they left, Professor Hargrove emailed the progression list for the next semester.
My name sat in the middle.
Not first.
Not special.
There.
I printed the page and pinned it beside the eighty-six and eighty-eight. Then, I took the almost-failing exam from the folder and pinned that too.
Seventy-two.
Eighty-six.
Eighty-eight.
The whole truth looked better together.