"Okey, dokey, let me check your account. Can I get your student number?” Megs gave it, and then there was a pause filled only with the tapping of keyboard keys. "Well, it appears you've missed the drop date.”
“Right, like I said, I tried to drop it online, but the system kept spitting out error messages.” Megs’ palms began to sweat.
“Hmm, I hear what you’re saying. It looks like you barely enrolled in this class on Saturday night, is that correct?”
“Yes.” Megs didn’t know what else to say.It was a mistake? I was overly ambitious with my work schedule?None of that was true, and despite all her acting training, she wasn’t quick at lying on her feet in real life.
“I’m guessing there was a problem because the payment for the class hadn’t processed since you enrolled over the weekend. Let me see . . . can I put you on hold?” The woman didn’t wait for Megs’ answer.
Soft music filtered through the speaker, and Megs traced the lines of the tile on the floor with the top of her shoe. They had to let her drop, right? It was a problem withtheircomputer system. Why would it matter if the payment hadn’t come through yet? Sure, there probably weren’t hundreds of students enrolling in a class and then dropping it within twenty-four hours, but there had to be some.
“Alright, I’m back, thanks for waiting. So, unfortunately, I think there may have been a misunderstanding.”
Megs swallowed. “How so?”
“The drop date for the class was September fifteenth at midnight.”
Megs frowned. “I checked the website multiple times and—”
John poked his head into the room. “You good?”
Megs tipped her phone so the speaker wasn’t next to her mouth. “Can I use your phone for a second? Just to search something?”
He nodded and pushed through the door, then pulled his phone from his pocket. He unlocked it and handed it to her.
“Ma’am?”
“Yes, sorry, I’m just looking again at the website . . . ” Megs trailed off as she typed Champlain Community into the search bar, then navigated to the class enrollment information. “Yes, right here. There’s a link to a PDF, and it says September seventeenth is the add/drop deadline.”
“Could you take a look at the date at the top of that document? Under the title?”
Megs scrolled up and read the heading, then read it a second time. It felt as if someone had just doused her with a bucket of ice water.
“Do you see the date there?”
“Twenty-twenty-two,” Megs murmured.
“Correct. I don’t know why it’s not updated on the website, but that was the add/drop date for last fall semester. This semester it was the fifteenth, and it actually says that if you log in to your student . . . ”
The woman’s voice droned on, but Megs couldn’t process the words. How had she not noticed that date? Probably because she’d made the decision to enroll in approximately thirty seconds. But she’d tried to do her due diligence. She’d checked to make sure she could drop it, and she’d tried to do it Friday—
The thought died in Megs’ head. She’d tried Friday, but it had been in the parking lot of the burger place, where she didn’t have enough reception to get the site to load properly. Then, when she went home, she’d been too excited about that moment pressed up against her car with Gideon to think about it.Why hadn’t she dropped it the second she got home?
“ . . . if we remove you from the class now, you'll receive an 'E' on your transcript and won't be refunded, but I can still do that for you. Would you like me to remove you?”
Megs handed John’s phone back to him. He gave her a look that saidI’m sorryas he crept back toward the door.
Thank you,she mouthed.
“Would you like me to pull you from the class?"
Yes.That was the answer Megs wanted to give. She wanted this to be over. She didn’t want to be enrolled in a class at all, and especially not a class where Gideon was the professor. But all of her instincts were wrong—they were always wrong.
She never should’ve tried to audition. If she’d been satisfied with the certification class and ignored that bubbling excitement and fixation,she’d be working a normal shift right now. Probably finding an apartment and doing homework. Boring butsafe.
"Let me think about it,” was the answer she gave.
"Sure thing. Just give us a call back.”
