Page 44 of Ladybirds

If it weren’t for Miles inviting her to his family’s Thanksgiving, she would have spent it alone. She’s already resigned herself to going home for Christmas, but she would have lied through her teeth to avoid spending Thanksgiving there too. Her father’s given her no apologies for the way he acted at her last visit and she knows better than to expect one. Sara has the sinking feeling that the holiday spirit won’t be enough to save her from a repeat performance.

Experience has taught her as much.

The sound of scraping chairs rips her from her thoughts. Somehow, class has ended. Sara looks down at her notebook, flinching when it confirms that the only thing she’s written is the date.

She’s not even sure which old British guy they were talking about today.

Discreetly, she glances around the room as she packs away her things. She’s almost disappointed to find Seth absent. Maybe he looked in long enough during the lecture to at least tell her what to google later.

Her professor stops her before she can follow her classmates out the door. “Sara, could you stay for a moment?”

“Oh.” Sara fidgets, adjusting the bag on her shoulders. “Um, sure Ms. Green.”

Sara likes her despite hating her class. She’s young, damn near close to being fresh out of college herself, and it shows. She’s easier on the homework load, more forgiving of tardiness and real life’s penchant for getting in the way.

Ms. Green waits until the last student files out, the door closing behind them. She sighs, removing her reading glasses and pinning Sara with a knowing (pitying) stare. “How are you?”

The answer is so ridiculously transparent, Sara has to smother the urge to laugh. Everything is so far away from being fine. “I’m ok.”

Ms. Green nods, a softness around the edges of her eyes that speaks of sympathy. “I know how hard it is to lose family, and I’m so, so sorry for your loss.”

Sara’s throat tightens. The sentiment is sweet, rife with good intentions, but it still makes her stomach churn. This is the last thing she wants to talk about, and certainly not with her professor. Still, she forces a strained “thank you” past her lips.

Another nod, and Ms. Green leans against her desk. “Sara, I want to be honest with you. It might be in your best interest to retake the class in the Spring.”

Sara stills, breath burning in her lungs. “What?”

“You’re struggling. And, at the rate you’re going, I’m worried you’re going to fail the class.” She folds her hands in front of her, face pinched in a way that suggests the conversation is painful for her, too. “We’re getting to the point where you need to start acing these tests if you want any hope of passing.”

Sara pales, her breathing weak. She’s pretty sure she thanks her professor (she hopes she does) but she’s so numb she can’t be sure. There’s a pressure on her chest, a burning in her lungs. Turning to leave and seeing Seth sitting in the back row—his eyes soft with knowing—only makes the pain sharper.

It’s raining, because of course it is.

Sara huddles under the metal awning of the bus stop around the corner from campus, waiting for the steady drizzle to stop and cursing her luck. She doesn’t dare try to walk home in this weather—not with her expensive textbooks and not without the umbrella she (conveniently) left at home.

She pulls the hoodie further over her head, sniffing and wiping at her eyes with the heel of her hand. The stores are already boasting Christmas decorations in the windows, their merry lights blinking tauntingly from across the street. Sara glares at the overly cheerful Santa grinning through the glass.

She really wishes they would at least wait until after Halloween.

Seth appears at her side, the way he always does. She doesn’t jump—she’s come to expect no warning. “Come now, it’s not so terrible.” His hands sink into his pockets, rocking back onto his heels as he stares up at the sky. “So you have to repeat a class? At worst, it’ll only delay your plans a handful of months.”

She sniffs, wiping her nose on the sleeve of her sweatshirt as discreetly as she can manage. “Can you not?” she says, forcing the words around the gravel in her throat. “I’m not in the mood.”

She can feel his stare, but she refuses to meet it—pulling her knees up to her chest a little tighter.

He hums, “Ah, I see. You’d rather sulk.”

“You know what?” she snaps, “Maybe I would.” Her arms cross over her chest, hands fisting in the fabric at her elbows. “Oma’s dead, my boy—my ex would rather die than remember me, my dad can’t look up from the bottle long enough to support me in anything I do. And now, just to top everything else off, I’m probably going to have to put my entire life on hold because of this stupid class.”

There’s no way she’ll be able to juggle four photography classes and literature next semester. There’s not. She missed three more months at her grandmother’s side, three more months of happy memories, all because Oma hadn’t wanted her to delay her graduation. Now, knowing that it doesn’t even matter is crippling. It hurts. It hurts so terribly and he can’t possibly understand. Couldn’t possibly care.

A bitter laugh escapes her. “But you don’t care about any of that, right? As long as you can say you own me, nothing else matters, right?”

He shakes his head. His skin is pale—ghostly—under the humming fluorescent light. “If you truly believe that nonsense, then you’re more foolish than I gave you credit for.”

“Nonsense?” she hisses. Inside her pocket, her fists clench—nails biting into her palms. “You remind me all the time. How—”

He cuts her off, voice sharp. “Never. I have never once claimed to own you.” His eyes close, facing skyward as if praying for patience. “People aren’t possessions, regardless of how many men throughout history have claimed otherwise.”

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