18
Mickey
I’m overdressed. That’s my first thought as I walk through the doors of the Academic Affairs office and take a seat over by the window. I smooth my sweaty palms over my khakis and straighten my tie. Jesus. I’m only a sports coat away from being ready for game day. I’m even more dressed up than the people who work here. I probably look like a try hard.
Or like I’m here for an interview.
“Mr. Mikalski,” a voice calls out from behind me and I nearly jump out of my chair. When I turn around, I realize the voice belongs to a woman half my size and at least three times my age. This lady could be my grandmother, but the look on her face tells me she means business, so when starts to walk down a hallway, I follow.
Two minutes later, I’m sitting in front of Ms. Barb Arnold trying to get my leg to stop shaking. She peers over her little reading glasses and stares me down.
Ok, she’s really just looking at me, but my anxiety level is off the fucking charts right now.
“Is that correct?”
“Yes,” I answer immediately, even though I have no idea what she asked. “I mean, no, not at all. I’m sorry, what was the question?” I ask, my voice cracking on the last word.
She smiles at me and I can’t decide if it’s kind or maniacal. “I was just confirming that you received the letter my office sent?”
“Oh, yes. Yeah, that’s why I’m here. But I didn’t bring the letter. Is that okay? Like, I figure you have a copy of it? Or, I can go get?—”
“I have a the letter right here, Mr. Mikalski, as well as a copy of your transcript,” she says. “As you know, you currently have an abundance of elective credits and a deficit of major credits. That will essentially require you to complete next year as a senior and then take an additional year to earn the rest of your required credits. Have you decided whether to continue with your degree in Communications or to officially switch over to Exercise Science?”
“Uh…” I stammer out a non-answer because even though I should know this, I don’t. I’m not sure what the hell I want to do. Or maybe I just know that neither option sounds great.
“It is a big decision,” she says diplomatically, “but it is one you’ll need to make before this semester ends, in case we need to make any changes to your schedule next year. Have you spoken with your adviser, Dr. Newcome?”
“Uh, not yet, no,” I say, feeling like a dumbass. Contacting my adviser is probably the first thing I should have done. But then a thought occurs to me. “Wait just a freaking minute. Shouldn’t Dr. Newcome have caught this? Like, no offense, but where was she when I was signing up for all these courses I didn’t really need?”
“She did contact you. You received multiple emails each semester, Mr. Mikalski. When you didn’t respond, my office had to become involved. And allow me to take this opportunityto explain that it is your responsibility to follow the course selection guide outlined in your program of studies.”
“Oh,” I say, swallowing audibly because Ms. Arnold clearly means business. And she obviously knows a hell of a lot more about this shit than I do. “Uh, sorry,” I say, because I don’t know if I necessarily did anything wrong, but I am definitely the asshole here.
The phone on her desk buzzes and a disembodied voice starts talking. “Your next appointment is here, Barb.”
Ms. Arnold presses a button and turns toward me. “Is there anything else you need?”
I shake my head because I don’t know what I need, but I’m pretty damn sure I can’t find it here.
“Then please make sure you schedule a meeting with Dr. Newcome and let my office know if you plan to make any changes with your major.”
I nod again before thanking her and walking out of her office. I’ve got more questions now than when our meeting started, but they’re not the kind of questions Barb Arnold can help me with.
I don’t even know if my coaches could help me now. I want a future that probably doesn’t exist. I could throw my hat in the ring as an undrafted free agent, but that seems like a long shot.
But what other choice do I have? I could stay at school for another year and pretend everything is fine. I could keep lying to my friends and my parents. And honestly, to myself.
Then again, what’s another lie? I’m already acting like Viv and I are just hooking up, when the truth is that it’s so much more for me, and it always has been.
After I leave the Academic Affairs office, or, as I like to call it, the Office of Doom, I wander around campus for a bit. I end up at Drip and I order myself the largest, sweetest thing on the menu because when your future takes a nosedive, the logical remedies are caffeine and sugar.
Since Viv’s teaching a yoga class right now, and JT’s got a stats test, I text my sister. I know chances are high that she’s either in the middle of cutting someone’s hair or about to start, but I could use some good advice right now, or at least a good listener. Bridgette’s the best sounding board there is. I definitely don’t want to tell her every detail of what’s going on, but we know each other so well that she’ll probably figure it out halfway through the conversation.
Mickey: You got a sec to talk to your favorite brother?
Bridgette: I wish. I’ve got thirty-eight seconds left on my timer, and then I’ve got to check my client’s color. What’s up?
Mickey: Nothing. I just miss you. Lmk know if you’re free for coffee this week.
