Page 84 of Unloved

“Whatever.” I shrug, leaning forward but bouncing my knee a little harder underneath the table to push the energy swirling in my bodysomewhere, because there’s nothing on this table I can fiddle with. “Let’s get this over with.”

Dr. Cipher clears his throat and carefully passes out the papers in his folder, photocopies of my last two failed tests. Carmen busies herself with picking at her nails, but out of the corner of my eye I clock her concerned gaze running over my test and then over my face.

It feels like nails scratching my skin there, and I close my eyes to heave a breath.

“As of now, Mr. Fredderic is going to fail again,” Dr. Cipher says plainly. He’s been an asshole all semester, and I’m pretty sure he’s never once bothered to glance at my file—considering I haven’t gotten a minute of extra time on anything.

Not that the extra time would help. Even with my mom and Archer’s help, I’d barely scraped by to graduate from high school. Now… I look around the room again.

Now that I’m alone, there’s no way I’m going to manage even that.

Someone knocks on the door, loud and impatient, interrupting whatever Dr. Cipher was in the middle of saying.

My adviser looks around and finally heads to open the door, seeming miffed at the interruption. Even more so when he opens it to reveal the odd couple in the doorway.

Coach Harris, stern-faced, arms crossed. And in front of him, dressed in an agglomeration of light green like it’s the first week of spring and not the middle of October, is Ro.

Ro with hair braided half up, her signature ribbon high on the top of her head, springy curls like a halo around her face—also stern, matching my coach like an intimidation tactic.

“We’re in the middle of a meeting—”

“I think we are supposed to be part of it, Mr. Hibberd.”Right—now I remember his name. She pushes lightly on the door, letting herself inside the room without his permission, missing the glare Coach Harris sends the man on her behalf.

“Ms. Shariff, I believe I told you in my email that your presence was unnecessary for today.”

Ms. Shariff. The name makes me smile, but pride bleeds in. Her sweatshirt has a little kitten playing with a ball of green yarn that matches the color of her linen pants that look a little like pajama bottoms. She’s dressed exactly like herself, andstillholding her own against a bunch of stuffy collegiate assholes.

A little absurdly, I want to take a picture. Maybe send it to Tyler with the wordsfuck you.

Ro surveys the room briefly, her composure only cracking for a quick wink my way as she settles at my side before placing a thick binder on the table.

Coach Harris pats and squeezes my shoulder as he comes to stand on my other side.

“You did. However, as per school policy, considering Mr. Fredderic is a student athlete here on an athletics scholarship, his coach isencouragedto attend, if not often required. I am also his school-assigned tutor for the semester, and therefore should also be in attendance.”

Mr. Hibberd seems frustrated, which nearly makes me smile.

Ro hands out the packets she’s got in her folder. They’re highlighted and tabbed, I realize as she hands me a copy as well.

Carmen gives her a smile, but it looks a little forced. Ro doesn’t seem to notice—or if she does, she doesn’t care. And somehow, that makes me feel even better.

I’m not spinning anymore. There’s a peace in knowing Coach has my back, in knowing Ro’s here indefenseof me.

“Matt Fredderic has documentation for his ADHD, dyslexia, and dyscalculia. I have been tutoring for four years now here at Waterfell, specifically with ADHD and dyslexia students, but this is my first student with dyscalculia.”

She flips the page and everyone in the room follows her direction.

“I have logs of his tutoring assistance dating back to freshman year. He has managed to stay within eligibility for three years now, failing only two classes, one of which he is in the midst of retaking—and succeeding in.” Ro gestures to Carmen Tinley quickly, who nods slightly and relaxes back in her chair, I’m sure admiring Ro in the way I am, too.

Mr. Hibberd gruffly cuts in. “We are aware of his success in biology, Ms. Shariff, but that isn’t the concern. Mr. Fredderic is failing his singular math credit.”

“He’s a communications major.”

Mr. Hibberd’s brow wrinkles. “So?”

“So? What are we torturing him for?” She flips through to another page, tabbed with purple sticky notes on everyone’s packets. “These are ten cases of comparable students who substituted a critical thinking course for mathematics in cases of dyscalculia. I think this is not only a viable option for Matt, but I believe it is theonlyoption this school can offer without bringing an internal investigation in the handling of learning differences and accommodations that have not been reported, nor offered, in this case.”

The entire room stretches in the silence, while my joy feels almost tangible.

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