It’s just past midday as I walk across the campus of the local community college. The place is nicer than I expected… no dingy hallways or outdated buildings. Some of the facilities look brand new, with wide glass windows letting in plenty of light and clean, modern paths winding between the buildings. I had to take three different buses to get here because I didn’t want to bother Slade for a ride, and it was cheaper than the train. I used some of the cash I’d stolen months ago and hidden in my room. Shame burns in my cheeks every time I think about it, but I push it down.One step at a time.
The admissions counsellor, a friendly guy named Mr. Ramirez in his late forties, has been showing me around for the last hour. We’re currently walking through the computer science labs… bright, well-equipped rooms with rows of newer computers and big monitors. It actually feels exciting instead of intimidating.
“So, what specifically are you interested in?” Mr. Ramirez asks as we pause near a cluster of workstations.
“Software development,” I answer without hesitation. “I was leaning toward it back in high school. Coding, building apps, that kind of thing.”
He nods, listening. I keep going, voice a little quieter. “I’ve had a difficult home life the past few years since then. I don’t really want to get into the details, but… things are better now. I want to get back into education so I can build a good career.”
Mr. Ramirez gives me a respectful look, no pity, just understanding. “That takes a lot of courage. I’m glad you’re here.”
We head back to his office, a small but tidy space with diplomas on the wall and a big window overlooking the quad. He pulls up the application on his computer and walks me through the process casually, no pressure,no deadlines breathing down my neck. He shows me the software development track: four to five classes per semester, covering programming languages, algorithms, web development, and project management. My potential timetable would be three or four days a week, mostly morning and early afternoon classes, nothing too brutal.
I nod along, asking questions when something isn’t clear… how the credits transfer if I ever want to move to a four-year school, what the workload is like, whether there are any internship opportunities. He answers everything patiently.
At the end, I lean forward a little. “How much would it cost me a year?”
Mr. Ramirez leans back in his chair. “For a full-time student taking the standard load, tuition and fees come out to about three thousand annually.”
He pauses, watching my reaction.
I blink, surprised. “Okay… that’s not bad at all.”
I’m already mentally calculating how many hours I’d need at a part-time job to cover that when he adds, “You can also apply for financial aid. Depending on your circumstances and household income, you might qualify for grants that cover most or even all of it. You wouldn’t have to pay out of pocket.”
I laugh in pure disbelief, the sound bubbling out before I can stop it. “Are you serious? No way.”
Mr. Ramirez chuckles warmly. “Very serious. Let me show you the forms and walk you through how to apply.It’s straightforward, and we have advisors who can help if you get stuck.”
He explains the process clearly… how to fill out the FAFSA, what documents I’ll need, how the college’s own aid application works alongside it. I ask how long it usually takes to hear back about financial aid.
“Usually, four to six weeks once everything is submitted and verified,” he says. “Sometimes a bit faster here since we’re not a huge school. The next semester starts in August, so you’ve got a few months to decide and get everything in order. But between you and me…” He smiles, genuine and encouraging. “I see real potential in you, Andrew. I hope I’ll be seeing you around campus when classes begin in August.”
The words settle warmly in my chest as I leave his office with a thick folder of leaflets, course catalogues, and application instructions tucked under my arm. I find a bench outside in the sunny quad and sit down, watching groups of students laugh and walk between buildings, some with backpacks, others carrying laptops and coffee cups. Campus life looks… normal and peaceful, like somewhere I could actually belong.
For the first time in years, the weight of the papers in my hands feels solid… like something real and possible instead of another mess I’ll screw up. I could make new friends here. Better ones than Jayden and the rest of that crowd. People who actually want to build something, who could help keep me on the right path.
A small, cautious smile pulls at my lips as I sit here, sunlight warm on my face, the future suddenly feeling a little less impossible.
…
The bus ride home feels longer than the trip there, the folder of college papers resting on my lap like a promise I’m scared to believe in. By the time I walk through the front door it’s late afternoon, the house quiet except for the low hum of the fridge. Slade isn’t back from the garage yet, and I’m grateful for the empty space.
I drop my bag on the kitchen table and pull out my phone, thumb hovering over Cici’s name. After Monday night, after Slade basically threw me out of his bed and chose the couch instead of dealing with me, the message felt loud and clear: he rejected me. Whatever twisted thing I thought was happening between us is wrong. He’s my stepdad. Wanting him like that is fucked up, and I have to respect the boundary he’s drawing, even if it stings.
Any decent girlfriend would be happy to hear I’m trying to get my shit together, right? I hit call before I can overthink it.
Cici picks up on the third ring, her voice bright but distracted. “Hey babe.”
“Hey,” I say, trying to sound steady. “So… I spent the day at the community college. They’ve got a solid software development program. I’m thinking about applying. Classes start in August, and if I get financial aid, itmight not even cost me much. I could actually do this… get a real career, stop messing around.”
There’s a short pause on her end. When she speaks again, the excitement I was hoping for isn’t there. “Oh. That’s… cool, I guess.”
I wait for more… it doesn’t come. “Yeah,” I push on anyway. “I’m gonna look for a part-time job too, something steady. Thought you’d be happy about it.”
She changes the subject so fast it gives me whiplash. “Have you talked to Jayden this week? You guys should really clear the air, he’s still your best friend, you know? Oh, and are we still doing that party by the creek this weekend? Everyone’s asking.”
I blink, staring at the kitchen wall like it might give me answers. The creek party. The same kind of dumb, risky shit I’ve been doing for years… drinking, fighting, probably stealing shit we don’t need. She doesn’t sound happy for me at all. She sounds… disappointed. The realization settles in slow and ugly.
