THE STUDENT (His Dark Lessons, Part One)
Ava Claire
Copyright 2012 Ava Claire
****
I eased off the exit ramp for Hillsborough Street , trying, and failing, to quiet the bundle of nerves in the pit of my stomach. I still had a set of lights to go through before I turned onto campus, but I could already see the wrought iron gates that surro unded Thomas College and I practically broke out into hives.
I wish I could say my apprehension was due to the usual suspects —the customary steady flow of papers and assignments doled out by professors that forgot you were taking at least nine other credits, fall hookups with boys that would break your heart all over again, psycho roommates--but the truth was something that I still couldn't say out loud, even though it happened two and a half months ago.
I had proof of it everywhere-- a slew of unanswered texts, dozens of awkward voicemail messages and long dead floral arrangements that marked my dirty apartment like headstones. I even had cards from profes sors ranging f rom liberal arts to the science department . They all pretty much read the same. T hey were there if I needed to talk. How inspiring my dad’s life had been. And I didn’t hav e to come back in the fall if I was n’t ready.
If I was n’t ready--it was kind of i ronic c onsidering I was one of those weirdos that actu ally looked forward to August. Every summer, like clockwork, I bought my books early. I even read the first chapter and made notes .
I was pretty much r eady to go back to school as soon as I turned in my final exam. Always ready to learn and become a writer, just like my father. But when I pulled down the front drive of Thomas College, heading past the oak lined gra ss and the balloon remnants of Freshman Move-in D ay, I didn't feel the excitement of a new year. I felt terror.
My phone buzzed on the passenger seat beside me and I glanced at the screen as I put the car in park. I rolled my eyes when I saw the sender was my mother.
"Make it to school okay?" I read out loud incredulously. It shouldn’t have been that surprising consid ering she’d called at 6am then at 8 am offering to take me out to breakfast before my 10am class. If my mother was a helicopter parent before Dad , she was now officially a Siamese twin . Hell, she ’d even wanted me to move back home after it happened.
I knew moving home wouldn’t fix whatever was broken. Moving back home would have just made things infinitely more awkward; like taking the scream ing quiet of my apartment and multiplying it by a couple thousand square feet. M y mother and I had something else in common besides long, ink black hair and muddy brown eyes. Neither one of us talked about the elephant in the room. Neither one of us brought up t he person sized hole that had been carved out of our hearts.
The smell of fall wafted in wh en I threw open my car door. I s moothed down my stick thin hair before beginning the tre k throu gh the leaves toward the herd of students heading to class . I kept my eyes forward, blinders on and in full effect. I didn’t want to see someone I knew or have to deal with the pity in their eyes. It was hard enough knowing I had to walk into the building that had become a part of my father’s legacy. With every step I took, my chest got tighter. There’d be no escaping it once I saw the white letters above the front door. There’d be nowhere to hide.
I kept my head down, ignoring the ‘ Rhyder Woods English Building’ above the entrance and pushed inside. My British Lit class was in room 214 upstairs, but I’d have to pass Dr. Stark’s office to take the first stairwell. I glanced to the right and saw him, head bowed and chatting with some bright eyed student. I booked it in the other direction, knowing I was adding an extra few minutes that I didn’t have if I wanted to be on time for class, but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.
"Cass?"
I froze, the voice turning me to stone. I could pretend I
Ava Claire
Copyright 2012 Ava Claire
****
I eased off the exit ramp for Hillsborough Street , trying, and failing, to quiet the bundle of nerves in the pit of my stomach. I still had a set of lights to go through before I turned onto campus, but I could already see the wrought iron gates that surro unded Thomas College and I practically broke out into hives.
I wish I could say my apprehension was due to the usual suspects —the customary steady flow of papers and assignments doled out by professors that forgot you were taking at least nine other credits, fall hookups with boys that would break your heart all over again, psycho roommates--but the truth was something that I still couldn't say out loud, even though it happened two and a half months ago.
I had proof of it everywhere-- a slew of unanswered texts, dozens of awkward voicemail messages and long dead floral arrangements that marked my dirty apartment like headstones. I even had cards from profes sors ranging f rom liberal arts to the science department . They all pretty much read the same. T hey were there if I needed to talk. How inspiring my dad’s life had been. And I didn’t hav e to come back in the fall if I was n’t ready.
If I was n’t ready--it was kind of i ronic c onsidering I was one of those weirdos that actu ally looked forward to August. Every summer, like clockwork, I bought my books early. I even read the first chapter and made notes .
I was pretty much r eady to go back to school as soon as I turned in my final exam. Always ready to learn and become a writer, just like my father. But when I pulled down the front drive of Thomas College, heading past the oak lined gra ss and the balloon remnants of Freshman Move-in D ay, I didn't feel the excitement of a new year. I felt terror.
My phone buzzed on the passenger seat beside me and I glanced at the screen as I put the car in park. I rolled my eyes when I saw the sender was my mother.
"Make it to school okay?" I read out loud incredulously. It shouldn’t have been that surprising consid ering she’d called at 6am then at 8 am offering to take me out to breakfast before my 10am class. If my mother was a helicopter parent before Dad , she was now officially a Siamese twin . Hell, she ’d even wanted me to move back home after it happened.
I knew moving home wouldn’t fix whatever was broken. Moving back home would have just made things infinitely more awkward; like taking the scream ing quiet of my apartment and multiplying it by a couple thousand square feet. M y mother and I had something else in common besides long, ink black hair and muddy brown eyes. Neither one of us talked about the elephant in the room. Neither one of us brought up t he person sized hole that had been carved out of our hearts.
The smell of fall wafted in wh en I threw open my car door. I s moothed down my stick thin hair before beginning the tre k throu gh the leaves toward the herd of students heading to class . I kept my eyes forward, blinders on and in full effect. I didn’t want to see someone I knew or have to deal with the pity in their eyes. It was hard enough knowing I had to walk into the building that had become a part of my father’s legacy. With every step I took, my chest got tighter. There’d be no escaping it once I saw the white letters above the front door. There’d be nowhere to hide.
I kept my head down, ignoring the ‘ Rhyder Woods English Building’ above the entrance and pushed inside. My British Lit class was in room 214 upstairs, but I’d have to pass Dr. Stark’s office to take the first stairwell. I glanced to the right and saw him, head bowed and chatting with some bright eyed student. I booked it in the other direction, knowing I was adding an extra few minutes that I didn’t have if I wanted to be on time for class, but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.
"Cass?"
I froze, the voice turning me to stone. I could pretend I
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