But when I open the door, the movers have taken everything out of here too. All that greets me is the bare floor and pink walls where my dreams used to be.
Somehow, I drag myself out of the house and back into my car. Curly and Mustache are nowhere to be seen. I start the engine and my Lexus rumbles to life.They’re not gonna repossess this too, right?I didn’t ask because I didn’t want to know the answer.
The migraine holds back long enough for me to drive to my dorm room—a singleton because I’ve never shared a room with anyone else, not even the occasional stepsibling. I shut the lights off, shut the door, turn on my mister and set my alarm.You get eight hours of a breakdown and then you need to figure this out.
That’s the thing about being a princess: sometimes, you have to rescue yourself.
Chapter Two
Savannah
April
The next day,I wake up with a clear head and a renewed set of purpose. I’m going to pay for this degree—somehow. There are loans, probably. Victoria talks about those sometimes, then turns red like she’s embarrassed to need the money. Part of being a best friend is knowing when to drop the subject.Talking about money is for people who don’t have it,my father likes to say. Now we’re the people without it and I’m not sure where to start.
I google things likePell GrantsandFAFSAandstudent loan processing companies. Fall down a rabbit hole of confusing, mutually contradictory terms.How does anyone in this country figure this out?Frustrated, I give in and dial Morningside’s financial advising department, asking for a human representative until someone finally picks up.
After confirming my identity, the advisor asks why I’m calling today.I used to have money and now I don’t. No, thisis a negotiation. Money is available and I simply need to better understand how to obtain it.
“My financial situation has changed fairly dramatically,” I say, “and I need to know my options for financing tuition for next year.”
The advisor runs through options: loans, grants, scholarships. “Of course, we’ll need to know your family’s estimated contribution.” In the background, I can hear her typing, then she must bring up my records. “Oh.” A single syllable that contains a question.If you have this much money, why are you calling me?
“It’s not—”We’ve lost everything. I push down my tears, will my migraine hangover away. “That number isn’t accurate at present.”
The advisor seems to compose herself. “Then on next year’s tax filings, update the number and we’ll recalculate.”
“My program starts in August.”
“In that case, would you like me to connect you with someone about disenrolling?”
“No,” I say. “I’m not quitting.” Then I hang up before I can change my mind.
That afternoon,I drive over to my hospital volunteer shift. I grab a set of scrubs from the scrub vending machine—these have theater masks on them, one smiling, one tragic—and change in the locker room alongside all the other nurses. The scrubs are tight on my thighs and barely long enough to touch my ankles. I’m not the only plus-sized nurse or nursing student here or the only tall person on my shift. But whoever manufactures scrubsnever makes them the correct size to fit our bodies.I’m not the problem. This bunch of fabric is the problem. Finally, I manage to pull them on. The waistband digs into my stomach; the seams cut into my thighs. Still, in them I’m no longerSavannah the princesswho was born never to get her hands dirty.
I spend a while checking on various patients and acting as an observer during exams with the patients’ permission. I push a cart of supplies that Marlene, the head nurse, wants transferred between one closet and another. Hospitals have a smell—antiseptic and flowers and copper fittings to prevent infections—one that I’ve gone nose-blind to over the time I’ve spent here. Which only makes it sharper when that burning smell from yesterday returns.
Oh no. So not migraine gone, just migraine delayed. All the noises get louder. All the lights get brighter. My lunch—an Erewhon sandwich and smoothie—churns in my stomach. I swallow and swallow and try to think of calm, dark thoughts, of storms blowing themselves out on the ocean, but this headache won’t be denied.
“I’m gonna—” I say and practically shove the cart of supplies at one of the transfer techs, before I stumble my way into the hallway bathroom and heave into the toilet.
It doesn’t last long, but it lasts long enough. I sit back on my heels and wipe my mouth with my hand. Run the sink, toss back a palmful of water, and spit it out. When I emerge, Marlene is there. She’s only a little shorter than I am, with broad shoulders, a short practical haircut, and a no-nonsense expression that I sometimes try to emulate in the mirror.
“You good, Sav?” she asks, in that way where I know she knows I’m not.
“Migraine.”
She peers at me. “Again?” I haven’t mentioned them before, but last shift she found me in an unoccupied patient room,eyes shut against the hospital lighting that never quite achieves darkness.
“You know,” she says, “I can tell you like caring for patients.” I can hear abutcoming. She rocks on her heels slightly, a squeak of her practical nurse shoes against the recently sanitized floor. “But maybe it’s good you got into that Morningside program.”
“Yeah, about that…” I don’t want to disappoint Marlene, not when she wrote me a letter of recommendation. Above me, the hospital lights blink. If I take my migraine meds now, I can probably stave it off, only I need to go refill my prescription because I took my second-to-last pill sometime late last night. Still, I don’t want to just cut out early and leave Marlene short-handed. “I think I might need to duck down to the pharmacy.”
Marlene nods. “Why don’t you head home after that?”
“I could probably finish my shift…” But I don’t press the issue when Marlene raises an eyebrow as if to saycould you?So I thank her and change back into my civilian clothes, then make my way down to the hospital pharmacy.
One of the pharmacists pulls up my records. “Good news, we have this in stock.” She busies herself filling the bottle while I wait.Maybe my headache will just go away. What I wish for every time and what never actually happens.
