Read Online Pascal's Wager by Nancy Rue - Free Book Online Page B

grades, and I’m not—so—”
    In my experience those had been the usual reasons for going to college, but I kept nodding. If I said anything else, the girl was likely to get hysterical.
    â€œSo, like, this whole weekend, I studied in my room and I ateall my meals by myself and everybody else was out doing—well, I don’t know what they were doing—and then yesterday in church I was praying about it and suddenly I just started crying and I couldn’t stop. I haven’t stopped since. I slept in the lounge last night so my roommate wouldn’t hear me.”
    â€œDon’t you have an R.A.?” I said.
    â€œIt’s a guy. I don’t think I can talk to him.”
    I could see her point. No guy would have sat through this much without telling the kid to get a life. That, of course, wasn’t an option for me. We were supposed to “be there” for our students.
    â€œI just thought maybe if I got it all out to somebody, I’d feel better, you know?”
    â€œAnd do you?” I said hopefully.
    â€œKinda, yeah. I don’t know. Maybe I just wasn’t cut out for a major university. I probably should have stayed home and gone to community college.”
    â€œNo, I taught at a community college. They’re nothing but high schools with ashtrays. Look, this is a big adjustment—”
    â€œDid you have a big adjustment when you went off to college?”
    â€œWell, I was—”
    â€œWhere did you go?”
    â€œPrinceton.”
    Her gray eyes widened. “Wow. You must have been nervous.”
    â€œNo more nervous than somebody coming here. This is a high-pressure place, too. But you’re smart—you’ll adjust.”
    â€œYou really think so? You don’t think I should just quit now and save my parents a lot of money?”
    The word
quit
was not in my vocabulary growing up. I couldn’t help making a face.
    â€œQuitting is not an option,” I said. “Look, the thing is that you’ve got to sort out your life.”
    â€œWhat do you mean? Like into piles?”
    â€œYeah, piles. You’ve got your classes pile, your social pile, your whatever-else pile—”
    â€œGod pile.”
    â€œOkay, whatever. And then you prioritize your piles and you deal with the most important things before you worry about the rest. You’re still struggling with the academic adjustment, so just don’t worry about the social thing. Trust me, it isn’t what it’s cracked up to be anyway.”
    She looked at me wistfully. “I bet you have a great social life. I mean, you’re, like, so gorgeous.”
    â€œThe best relationship I have is with my laptop,” I said. “I’m focusing on getting my degree…which isn’t going to happen if I don’t get to work.”
    She sagged a little, but I didn’t have time to pump her back up. I’d already spent ten minutes more than I had to spare. Besides, I’d run out of advice.
    â€œI’m sorry,” she said, jumping up with arms askew. “I didn’t mean to take up your whole morning, but, gee, thanks, you really helped me. I feel like I could maybe get through the day without bursting out crying in the middle of a class.”
    She stuck out the Kleenex package, but I shook my head.
    â€œKeep them,” I said. If she had an attack during
my
class, I wanted her equipped.
    I handed back first exams that day in Math 19, which meant the rest of the day was tied up with students coming in to complain, negotiate, and make appointments for help when I refused to participate in either the complaining or the negotiating.
    â€œIt’s the freshman freak-out,” Jacoboni said when one of them was barely out of earshot. “They were all valedictorians in their podunk high schools, then they come here and freak out when they find out they have to, oh, I don’t know,
open a book.”
    â€œThey