Page 114 of Learning Curve

“I’ll do it,” I answer honestly and without hesitation. Even though Ty is our brother and the trust we have as a family unit is growing, I’d rather they hear this kind of news from me. I scoff. “No wonder he changed his name.”

“Yeah.” Ty lets out a deep sigh. “It’s a real kick to the balls, isn’t it? Knowing you share DNA with such a horrible human being.”

Having him voice my thoughts aloud is a comfort. I never imagined I’d feel this way, but knowing Ty makes me feel less alone.

“Yeah. I just… I hope…” I pause, and Ty reaches out to clap a hand on my shoulder.

“Listen carefully, Finn,” he says, holding my gaze carefully. “Just because he’s our father doesn’t mean we’re like him. Just because he’s our own flesh and blood doesn’t mean we need to claim him. His choices and the way he’s chosen to live his life don’t mean shit when it comes to us and our lives, okay?” I nod, trying to take his words to heart. “I’m a good person. You’re a good person,” he says and releases my shoulder. “Hell, the only time I’ve ever seen you fight is to protect another student. Even when it threatened to give you severe consequences. That’s not something our father would do. In fact, it’s the complete opposite. Okay?”

“Yeah,” I agree, and I even think I mean it. He nods and starts to pack up, but I pull him up short with a question on a different topic. “Is there any way you can get me a class schedule for another student?”

His brow furrows. “Who?”

“Scottie. She’s still having a hard time, and I don’t want her to fall behind for missing classes. Your stuff is easy to get, but I don’t even know what she’s supposed to be in other than this since it’s a new semester.”

He doesn’t hesitate to open his laptop and log in to the university database to get the info for me, and I jot it down in my notebook. Now, I can get a plan together to make sure she has notes for everything when she’s ready.

I want to do more for her, to be able to love her out loud and in person, but until she’s ready, this will have to do.

Scottie

My face feels swollen and my mind groggy as I sit up in bed and look around my room. My hair is still damp, my towel wrapped haphazardly around me, but from the fading light of dusk outside, I can tell quite a bit of time has passed.

My stomach growls, and I rub at the thinning part of my waist in an attempt to quell it. I don’t recommend the fucked-up parent diet, but it’s pretty goddamn effective.

Still, if I have any shot at keeping up my ability to function at a high level for cheerleading, I’m going to have to stop skipping meals at some point.

Newly determined, I drag myself off my bed to my dresser for clothes and pull on the first thing I touch. A silver lining of total emotional devastation, perhaps—I’m not really concerned with my outfits.

I slide on my comfiest pair of Uggs and head for the door, key and wallet in hand. A small breeze blows in as I open the door to the hall, and a ruffling stack of papers on the floor catches my attention. There’s also a cup of hot chocolate from the coffee cart outside of Brower and a brown bag of goodies, the steaming dragon logo on the side of both unmistakable.

I reach for the papers first, flipping through quickly. There are notes for all the classes I missed today and a white piece of paper at the back with a single quote printed across it.

What’s gone and what’s past help, should be past grief.

It’s from The Winter’s Tale, and I can’t think of a single person in our friend group whom I didn’t spam with it while reading it. I resonated with the powerful nature of how it reflects on how we encounter circumstances in life that are beyond our control and believed its notion that it’s more productive to acknowledge what’s happened and accept it so that we can heal and free ourselves from the burden of grief.

But the girl who loved that quote doesn’t even exist anymore.

She was naïve and hopeful and endlessly romantic in the worst way. She thought she knew hardship and grit, but she had no freaking clue.

Friday February 7th

Scottie

I zip up my coat and walk out the doors of Brower into the dark, frigid wind with my cheerleading duffel and a bag full of sustenance—snacks in every form—in hand.

As the second month of the semester starts up, I’m finally starting to find a rhythm. It’s clunky and well offbeat, but I don’t spend every second of my life locked away in my dorm either.

As the whispers have dulled, I’ve found the strength to go back to class, and my performance at cheerleading practice is getting back up to snuff. With NCA Nationals coming up and my alternate expelled out of the picture, Coach Jordan has been on the brink of a breakdown, waiting for the old, capable me to show back up.

Tonight’s practice was the first time she didn’t make herself hoarse from screaming at me to get it together.

But missing nearly three full weeks’ worth of classes has taken a toll. I have two quizzes to make up in calculus, an essay on abstract expressionism to write for art history, and about three hundred pages of reading in Anna Karenina for English Lit to catch up on—and not a whole hell of a lot of time in which to do it.

Julia and Kayla have been champs, though, checking in and getting notes from my classes without request or complaint. Considering we don’t have a lot of classes together, I know it took a serious amount of coordination, and it’s the one thing that’s been keeping me afloat.

Thankfully, we have this weekend off from cheerleading, so I’ll have a full two days to get as caught up on everything as I can.

---