Page 99 of The Infiniteness of Yesterday
The glaring F on my paper stares up at me like a blinking red light. There’s a note from the professor telling me to see him after class.
Great.
I swallow thickly.
This isn’t good. Especially since it’s not the only paper I’ve gotten an F on this week. It’s safe to say I’m struggling and it’s not even the coursework that’s the problem. It’s my head—my state of mind. It’s not just missing T.J. I miss home. I miss Harlow. I don’t know what I would’ve done if I hadn’t chosen a college that’sinSanta Monica. I didn’t even need to live in the dorms after T.J. died, but I wanted the privacy. I couldn’t handle my mom’s hovering anymore. I’mfine. Not great, but fine, and that’s good enough for now.
The class empties out, and I head up to the front.
Professor Grant is glued to whatever he’s reading on his computer.
Clearing my throat, I say, “Professor? You asked me to see you after class.”
“Ah. Yes.” He shuts his laptop and scoots back. Plucking his reading glasses off his face he sets them on the desk. “This is two failed essays in a row. The writing is poor to say the least.”
I wince, but he plows on.
“I did some digging and your grades in high school were good. Great even.” He laces his fingers together and stares me down. “But toward the end of your senior year things started dipping. Why? Drinking? Drugs? Be honest, I’ve seen it all.”
I bite down on my tongue hard enough to taste blood.
I don’t want to tell him. I don’t want to make T.J. some sort of excuse for my failures.
Professor Grant arches a brow. “Mr. Shaw? An answer any day now would be great.”
I close my eyes. “My best friend died. Drunk driver.”
The way the professor rears back I can tell that’s not the answer he was expecting.
“Oh.” He laces his fingers together and rests them on the desk. “Have you spoken with a therapist? We have resources here that?—”
“I’m fine,” I cut him off, my words biting. “I don’t need a therapist. I’m … I’m getting through it.” And I am. I’m doing better. I’m just having trouble focusing is all.
He gives me a doubtful look. “Due to the nature of the situation, I’ll offer you the chance to redo the essay for a chance at a passing grade. This isn’t something I normally do and don’t expect the offer to come again.”
I nod, clutching my paper tightly in my fists. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
He slides his glasses back on. “I expect it next Friday.”
“Got it.”
He waves his fingers lazily toward the exit in the back and I book it out of there before he can change his mind.
I have enough time before my next class to pop into the cafeteria and grab a bite to eat. My phone rings just as I’m sitting down at an empty table in the cafeteria.
I answer the FaceTime call and prop my phone up on my bottle of soda.
“Hey, baby,” I greet, happy to see her smiling face.
“Hey,” she says back, the sun shining behind her. “Looks like you’re eating lunch too.” She points to the sandwich in my hand.
“Yep. Getting an F on a paper makes me shockingly hungry.”
“Spencer.” She frowns and her eyes fill with sympathy.
“It’s okay. The professor is giving me a chance to write a new one.”
“Do you need help? I mean, I know I’m still a high school student, but maybe I could?—”
