Page 6 of 4th Degree

“Okay, class, that’s it for today. Remember, midterm review starts next week!”

I hurry to type out one last note from the lesson before closing my iPad and packing up my bag. Since I always sit toward the front of the class, it’s easy to push my way to the professor before anyone else. He seems to be expecting me when I appear in front of his desk.

“Hi, Skylar. What can I help you with?”

I adjust the books in my arms. “I was hoping to ask you for a recommendation, sir.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “To medical school?”

I swallow roughly to clear my suddenly dry throat. If only. “No, for the university’s RN program.”

He hums a non-answer, the sound almost disappointed.

“You’ll make an incredible nurse, Skylar,” he says, thankfully saving me the painful moment of explaining—or lying about—why I chose the nursing path. “I’m always happy to write a recommendation for someone who I think will make the healthcare world a better place. Especially with your passion.”

I give him a grateful smile. “Thank you, sir. I really appreciate it.”

“When do you need it by?”

“Any time this month would be great.”

“I’ll have it for you by midterms,” he responds, straightening the papers on his desk. But then he looks up and meets my eyes. “By the way, have you decided what you’re going to write your research paper about?”

“I’m going to write about the specific effects that Parkinson’s disease has on younger brains, and the treatments that current studies are pursuing,” I answer automatically.

His eyes widen slightly. “That doesn’t seem like it took you long to decide.”

I don’t answer. Because it didn’t.

He studies me for another moment, and I start to wonder if he can see right through me. If he can read my truth between the lines. About medical school, about this assignment—about everything.

Instead, his attention drops back to his papers. “Well, I look forward to reading it. Who knows, maybe you could use parts of it for an admissions essay.”

My brow furrows. There is no essay for nursing programs, only for?—

I once again shove down the idea of medical school. I don’t have the time, and I can’t afford it, so even the thought of it doesn’t belong on the table.

“I really appreciate you writing a rec for me, Professor,” I say. “Just let me know if you have any questions about it. Otherwise, I’ll see you in class on Thursday?”

He doesn’t react to my abrupt change of tone, just nods his answer. “I’ll see you Thursday, Skylar.”

Despite the conversation with my professor being a positive one, I feel a little empty when I settle on a couch in the quad. It’s rare that I question the path I’ve chosen for my career, but I guess today is one of those days.

I wish Dad was still here to talk to. He would’ve helped me pick the right path.

When I hear a chuckle, I startle. “I thought that was you chatting with Teach. Let me guess, you were asking for an extra-credit assignment.”

Looking up, I see one of my classmates standing beside me. “Hey, Craig. No, I just wanted to pick his brain about something. Are you ready for midterms?”

He ignores my question and takes a seat beside me, stretching his arm along the back of the couch and making himself comfortable. As his fingers brush against my shoulder, I shift subtly so we’re not touching.

“I can’t wait for this semester to be over,” he groans. “I’m ready to move into the frat house and spend my mornings doing wake and bakes instead of taking shitty 8 a.m. English classes. I mean, I know we have to take all the bullshit GenEd courses, but God…when am I ever going to need to know why John Milton wrote Paradise Lost?”

I don’t answer him. I rarely see life the way that Craig does, which includes how he views college. Where he sees it as a chore, I see it as a privilege. Which I know isn’t his fault, or mine. It’s just another reason why I struggle to relate to my peers.

As a kid, my after-school hours were spent with nurses and doctors and sometimes our seventy-year-old neighbor lady. So even surrounded by kids in my grade, it never came with the option to deepen any of those friendships once the bell dismissed us for the day. And that only continued into my teenage years.

I just… I don’t know how to have conversations with people my own age now. It also explains why Craig is pretty much my only friend, despite these near-constant awkward moments.

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