Page 26 of Outspoken

I crinkle the edges of the paper in my hand. Then, shouldering my backpack, I walk down the stairs to the front of the classroom where Mr. Williams is packing up his stuff.

Without looking at me, he said in a monotone, “How can I help you, Miss Burgess?”

I relax my shoulders. I'm frustrated, but I'm not here to attack him and make the situation worse. “Um, I was just wondering if you had any feedback for my essay. I'd like to improve, but I'm not sure what's wrong with it.”

He stuffs his laptop into his black messenger bag, still not looking at me. The sleeve of his jacket shifts and I notice a tattoo on his inner wrist—a circular pattern that looks like brushstrokes of ink.

Looks familiar.Maybe it’s a famous piece of art I saw in Art History or something.

He notices me staring and tugs his sleeve down. His words are friendly but clipped. “Your argument that origami was used as a motif wasn't as persuasive or clear as it could have been. You rambled after your thesis statement and only reached a semblance of coherent thought in your conclusion. Your overuse of commas was also tiresome.”

My jaw drops.Rambling?But I had three clear supporting statements. Paige and Brody both read the essay and understood my analysis with no problem.

Mr. Williams waves and smiles at another student before giving me a frown. “You should consider the tutoring center. Before submitting your next essay, have a writing tutor review it so that it isn’t sloppy.”

Ouch.“Is there extra credit I can do to help my grade?”

He turns toward the exit. “Sorry, no. I’m late for an appointment. Have a good day, Miss Burgess.” With that, he leaves.

I stare at the crinkled essay in my hands, an endless void opening in my stomach. I absolutelycannotfail any classes this semester or I’ll lose my grant. Without financial aid, I won’t be able to afford more than one class at a time. At that pace, I won’t graduate until I’m 40.

Also, what would failing Writing 101 say about me?

My thoughts are useless.

I shove my apparently mind-numbing essay into my backpack before hurrying from the classroom to buy more coffee. If he wants me to get tutoring, fine. I’ll figure out how to fit that into my schedule, and then I’ll write the best damn essay he’s ever read. I’ll blow his fucking mind with my expert command of the English language.

The semester just started, so there's plenty of time to get my grades up.I can do this.

With a fresh, milky coffee in hand, I make my way to the library. I have a few hours before my temp job this afternoon, so I'll use them to study. Today’s job is filling in as a Store Brand Ambassador—which is a moronic way of saying cashier—so I’ll be working until the store closes at nine. Then hopefully insomnia won’t hit and I’ll get more than five hours of sleep.

Before I can reach the library, though, another pearly white button on my blouse pops off. I groan at the sky.Fuck, what is with this day?Finding a bench, I fling my backpack on the ground and whip out my phone. These rolls are out of control and I don’t have the money to buy a new wardrobe. This is one thing I have control over, so this shit endsnow. Time to diet.

My hands tremble—likely from the caffeine overload—as I bring up my digital calendar. I could try meal prepping on Sunday while catching up on reading for my history class, but when can I go grocery shopping? I don’t even know what to buy.

Brody’s voice in the back of my mind says, “A balanced plate includes one-fourth meat, one-fourth healthy carbs, and two-fourths vegetables.”

Okay, so I’ll buy a huge bag of rice, frozen vegetables, and chicken. I’ll eat that every meal for the rest of the year.

And then probably want to shoot myself.

Pass on the diet for now.Exercise first. I could squeeze in a few minutes of exercise here and there—take the stairs, do squats at work during downtime. It’s doable.

With my mind flooded with thoughts of exercise—and since I’m half out of it from lacking quality sleep—I navigate to the homepage for Brody’s work. His gym isn’t too far from campus, so I could pop in for a few minutes before or after classes. Better than nothing, right?

I grimace at the membership fees. Maybe they’d give me a family discount of half off? Or 100 percent off? I tap around the site hopelessly, ready to admit defeat, when a pop-up appears. The gym offers one complimentary session with a personal trainer, probably as a hard sell to get me to join. I scroll through the list of available trainers, stopping on Miguel.

I chew on my bottom lip, staring at his slight dimple.Is this weird?This is weird. But I can’t bring myself to close out the screen. I bet he wouldn't be as demanding as Brody, and I’d feel more comfortable with him rather than with a stranger. I also know Brody doesn’t work on Fridays—which is a good day for me to go—but Miguel does.

Also, I might miss him the tiniest bit, and maybe—maybe—I had looked at this site last month when I couldn’t sleep. Maybe I had gawked at Miguel’s professional photo and bio on the 'Meet Our Trainers' page a little too long, and then taken a screenshot of his boyish, 'heartbreaker' face and handsome smile. Then maybe I deleted it the next day because why did I do that?

Insomnia makes me do strange, irrational things.

We haven’t spoken in a year, but I still think about him—a little. He was too intense the last time I saw him, but maybe enough time has passed that his feelings have died down. I heard from Brody he’s been dating and doing his own thing, so he probably got past his little crush on me.

I know that’s all it was. It was a stressful, emotional time for both of us, and anyone can develop a superficial crush in a situation like that. He’s an intense guy, so he mistook his crush for something deeper. He’d be nuts to want to get involved with an emotional wreck like me.

I’m not interested in getting involved anyway, especially since I don’t know what the hell I’m doing with my sad little life.

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