1
IRIS
Today might be the worst day of my life.
“I’m sorry,” I say, my stomach sinking as I lower myself into the chair in the registrar’s office. “What did you say?”
The registrar, a stout woman in her late fifties with glasses perched on the end of her sharp nose, sighs with impatience. “I said you were academically dismissed due to probation violations.”
Probation violations.
A combine harvester churns in my gut. It’s so loud, I can’t think.
“What…” I try to swallow the sudden dryness in my throat. “What does that mean?”
“It means, Miss Prescott, that you’re no longer a student at Columbia University.”
I stare at her, blinking rapidly as the words sink in. When I showed up on campus this morning and anxiously checked my schedule for the room number of my first class, the last thing I expected was to find my schedule blank. Even in the fifteen minutes I had to wait outside the registrar’s office, I hadn’t letmyself considerthispossibility. I’d assumed it was a mistake. An oversight. A glitch in the system.
Apparently not.
“B-but…” I splutter, disbelief making my voice shake. This can’t be happening. “How? Why?”
She levels me with a withering look. “You failed the fall semester. We have high standards for our students, and can’t allow you to continue with a GPA of 1.8.”
Her words are a punch to the gut.
Failed? GPA of 1.8?God, I knew things were bad, but notthatbad.
The truth is, I’d been too afraid to even look at my grades at the end of last year. Too relieved to be done with the semester. I didn’t want to ruin the holidays with what I knew would be mediocre grades, so I just… didn’t think about it. Convinced myself, somehow, that everything would be fine. Like it usually is.
So how the hell did this happen?
Indignation rises hot inside me. “You can’t do that! You can’t kick me out with no warning!”
The woman’s eyes narrow. “We gave you plenty of warning.” She turns to shuffle papers on her desk, signaling she’s lost interest in the conversation. “Perhaps it would have been wise to turn up to the probation meeting we requested you attend.”
“I…” The words lodge in my throat as my thoughts crowd in too quickly to grasp.Probation meeting?What is she talking about?
“We sent you multiple emails, Miss Prescott.”
A cold trickle of dread washes over me, and I pull out my phone. Admittedly, there were a few emails I’d been meaning to get around to reading, but sometimes I have this habit of letting them build up in my inbox, promising myself I’ll get to themlater, and kind of… forgetting. I never mean to, but when life gets too overwhelming, my inbox is usually the first thing I let slide.
My heart thunders as I frantically scroll through the hundreds of unopened emails, sweat prickling along my brow. There are too many now, and the weight of them presses against me, making my scalp tighten. It would be easier to delete them and start over, but I force myself to push ahead, spotting one from school sent a few days ago:
FINAL NOTICE: You Have Been Dropped from Spring Courses
Shit. Fuck. Shit and fuck.
My pulse ricochets through me as I scroll further back, finding another:
ACTION REQUIRED: Academic Probation Meeting Required to Maintain Enrollment
And before that:
IMPORTANT: Your Academic Standing – Probation Notice
She’s right. They’re all there. How did I manage to ignore this for so long?
