Every day, I walk through life, and I feel like I’m one of those people stuck on the bottom rung of society. It’s in the way people look at me when I pull into the parking lot with a car that has a mismatched door, or when I pay at the grocery store, counting out the single dollars I earned from tips.
If I’m honest, that’s the reason I’m in this seat. I’m doing my best to level up this life. In my daydreams, I imagine graduation, and how it will feel to quit my job at the restaurant. My goal is to come back someday as a customer and leave the staff the biggest tips of their lives—
My daydream is cut short by the professor handing me the test. It’s thick—easily eight to ten pages—and my heart sinks.
This is going to take all day.
I flip through the pages, finding most of them are multiple choice, and sit back, waiting for the professor to begin the listening portion of the test. As a music major, we always start each test with an exercise where a random part of a composition we studied is played. We have about ten seconds to identify the song and composer and write it down.
I hate this part.
I’m not one of those gifted people who can play by ear or identify things quickly. I ready my pen, and focus my attention as the professor starts the first composition. It’s quiet, and I can barely hear it, even when I strain my ear in that direction. I have no idea what it is, but I write something down.
The next song plays, and it’s loud, with thundering drums that rumble the floor of the classroom. Out of the corner of my eye,I catch Bella on her feet, doing ballet leaps through the hall to the pounding beat. My face scrunches into a wince as I lean over, trying to get her attention. Her face is lit up with the brightest smile. I get that she's happy, but she needs to sit still and not draw attention to herself. “Bella,” I whisper-shout.
“Miss Roberts.” My professor turns on her heel with a pointed glare. “I’m not going to tell you again that the tests are out. No talking. Another peep from you, and your test will be removed from your hands, and you’ll receive a zero.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I mutter under my breath and drop my gaze to my test. She starts another recording, and I almost gasp because I know this one. I quickly jot down the title, and in the background, I hear Bella say, “Hello?”
My ears perk as my attention floats back to the door. She goes on to say, “Nope. I’m with my mom at school, because she’s too poor to take me to day care.”
My jaw drops, and my cheeks fire. She must have answered my phone. I wonder who called? It doesn’t sound like she’s talking to my mom. What if it’s the school!? I didn’t even think to call in her absence because everything was crazy. I struggle not to shout toward the door for her to be quiet. I don’t want to get my test taken away, but she goes on. “Aw, I’m not sure when she’s going to be done. Her teacher’s an old hag with a miserable life, and she hates my mom.”
I can feel them. Everyone’s eyes are on me. I dare to glance at my professor, and she’s glaring, her nostrils flaring.
That’s it. I’m totally cooked.
I drop my borrowed pen to my desk, stand, and take my walk of shame toward the door.
There’s no point in trying to finish this test, my hag-of-a-teacher is going to fail me after she hears that. As I flee, my shoes click against the tile floor, drawing more attention than I can handle. Once outside the door, tears prick the backs of my eyes.I hold my palm out, signaling for Bella to give me the phone. “Hang up the phone,” I whisper harshly.
A group of students meander past, all their eyes seeming to linger on me. Suddenly, I’m aware of how this looks. I force a toothy smile on my face and repeat in a softer tone, “Baby, give me the phone.”
“One moment, she wants to talk to you,” Bella states as she hands the phone over.
“Is it the school?” I mouth, but she just pushes the phone toward me.
Taking it, I check over my shoulder, walk a few steps from the open classroom door, and whisper into the phone, “Hello.”
“Kaci,” a deep voice flows into my ear. “It’s Jackson.”
My head springs back, and I stand up straight, “Uh, okay. I’m taking a test. Is this an emergency?”
“I went to the bank to get our things, but Mrs. Wagner had left work early. I just missed her.”
“She did?” My breath blows out in one long even exhale. The tears I’ve been holding back get heavier, weighing on the backs of my eyes. This nightmare is just getting worse. “Did they say where she went?”
“Yeah, she went to lunch at Red Barn. One of her coworkers called her cell phone, and I got to talk to her. She said she hadn’t even noticed her bag was different.”
“Oh, really.” I feel my face scrunch in total disbelief as I can’t fathom how someone could not notice that.
“She’s waiting for me. I’ll take Rigsby over there for food, and then exchange the bags. Did you want to meet me there?”
“Well, I don’t have my car yet, and it will take a while for us to walk down there.” I blink, pushing back my tears. This entire day has left me feeling so vulnerable.
“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “I don’t want to miss her. I’ll just run down there and take care of it. If you can make it before we leave, that’s fine. If not, I’ll give you a call.”
“Okay.” I force the tears out of my voice and agree since that sounds like a reasonable plan. Afterall, I must finish my test—Oh no! I drop my phone to my side and pivot toward the door. My professor is standing directly in front of it with one hand on her hip, glaring over her nose at me.
