Page 12 of Fortunate Misfortune
I shake off my annoyance, excited to finally use my perfectly crafted elevator pitch. “I chose health administration and policy because of the endless career choices. Nutrition started off as a selfish choice. Then I was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes and found a way to tie my degrees together.”
“Sometimes those selfish choices end up being the most beneficial.” He laughs heartily. “I remember the paper you wrote for epidemiology about the diabetes camp in your hometown. You did a lot of work with their donation letters, right?”
“Yes sir.” I can’t believe he remembers that. I did get a perfect grade, but still.
“I’d love to chat with you sometime about your experiences and the camp.” His gaze drops to my chest, and for a second, I’m incredibly offended. Then I remember my CLU Soccer long-sleeve. “And you’re a student-athlete! Do you have some time next week?”
I anchor my heels into the ground to keep from bouncing. “Of course!”
We stand silently as Dr. Martin gives us one last encouraging word about how teamwork makes the dream work before exiting the room, leaving my new partner and I standing side by side.
Heat fills me when his shoulder brushes mine. “We should talk, Ed—”
I jump when my back pocket starts to screech, wincing when I pull out my phone. Even though the name that flashes across the screen makes me feel more uneasy than this new partnership does, I use the excuse to get away.
“Later. Bye,” I say, heading for the stairs before he can respond. The moment I’m a safe distance away, I click the green button and pull it to my ear. “Good morning, Mama.”
Blaring car horns assault my eardrums, which lets me know she stepped out of her classroom for this call. The first sign this won’t be a good conversation.
“Did you eat breakfast this morning?” she asks.
“Good morning to you too,” I mumble. Stepping into the sun, the breeze whips around me as I head across campus for biochemistry. “Yes.”
“What did you eat?”
I stitch my lips together to keep from snapping. This isn’t what I need today. I was looking for an escape from Kenneth and ran smack dab into another problem.
“Can we do this later? It’s been a rough morning, and I need to get going for—”
She cuts me off. “I get it. You’re busy. I am too, which is why it’s absurd that I had to walk out of class to make sure you’re taking care of business like you’re supposed to.”
“You didn’t need to do that,” I remind her as I open the app and scroll through my blood sugar data from the past hour. “I’ve been in range all morning, so what’s the problem?”
“In range doesn’t mean good. Again, what did you eat?”
“Please stop,” I whisper, taking a seat on a bench. “I know you’re worried and I appreciate it—”
“Someone has to care, Mallory, and I’m sorry, but it doesn’t seem like you do.”
I feel like I’ve been slapped across the face, shame making my cheeks hot. Is she kidding? All I do is care. Too much, all the time. School, soccer, my future, my health. It’s not like I can flip a switch and turn off my ability to care. If I could, things would be a whole lot easier.
Her sharp words wrap themselves around my throat, pricking my skin as my chest tightens. I’ve lived with anxiety long enough to identify when an anxiety attack is on the horizon. With the flat tire, my new partnership with Kenneth, and now my mom, I feel it hovering.
Which is why my tingling fingers press the red button without a goodbye. I power my phone off and shove it back into my pocket.
These are the days I could use a hug from my dad.
“Breathe,” I say to myself. “You’re doing your best.” I continue this mantra on my way to class, forcing myself to not say what I’m really thinking.
You’re a failure, Mallory.
Chapter Five
“Your bad juju isgetting worse,” Shay huffs from the grass, struggling to catch her breath. “It’s barely Thursday of week one and you’ve already had a flat tire, struggled to fix said tire, got partnered with Kenneth, and slipped on ice on the way to practice. Maybe you should change your name.”
“How do you guys feel about Melanie?” I ask, rubbing my sore elbow. “Seems a little less unlucky.”
“No way. I went to high school with a girl named Melanie, and she was the worst,” Adri, our center forward says. “If you know one bad Melanie, you know them all.”
