Page 1 of Blood Red Woes

Chapter One

If murder was legal…

I wouldn’t go around killing anyone who gives me bad news, but let’s just say the thought is there as I sit in a cluttered office, listening to the university’s financial aid worker tell me that I never sent in the forms I was supposed to.

Two months ago.

For next year. Not even for this year. Literally, for the next school year I was already supposed to have these stupid forms turned in.

It’s fall, for fuck’s sake?

“I—” Even though I try to be calm, I end up sounding flustered. “I didn’t know I had to redo the forms every year.”

Silly me for thinking anything in America was simple and easy. Like, sure, I’m getting a free ride thanks to the state because my dad died when I was ten and I was in the system until I turned eighteen, but none of that matters because apparently the state needs verification each and every year that I am in fact choosing to continue my education.

And I’m late.

“For students with cases similar to yours, we do recommend visiting us more often, even if it’s just to make sure you’re on track,” the man sitting across from me says. A younger guy who can’t be that much older than me. He wears a sad smile, but that’s it.

I lean forward, as if getting closer to his desk will help the situation. “I don’t exactly have loads of free time to come visit you guys daily—”

“Well, not daily, but—”

“—I work, go to school full time, and actually do all my assignments—”

“It sounds like maybe you’re juggling a little too much,” he says, a hint of sadness in his tone.

I stare at him, and the thought about murder being legal again pops into my head. Not the best time to vividly imagine launching myself over this guy’s desk and strangling him while telling him how unhelpful he is. Not sure there will ever be a time for that.

What I want to say is that I wouldn’t have to work full time if I was getting enough money to cover a dorm room on campus, but I hold it in. Logically, I know it isn’t this guy’s fault that I screwed up.

Still, it’s a lot to expect someone to know, isn’t it? Like, I never got letters or even a damn call about redoing my papers for the state. Without a scholarship… I have no hope of affording next year’s loans.

No credit to my name. A job that, don’t tell the guy across from me, I lost two weeks ago because of my constant showing-up-ten-minutes-late thing. I really am digging myself into a hole I don’t know how I’ll get out of.

“Listen,” he says, “all we can do is wait until next semester starts and turn in your forms then. You’ll miss the fall semester next year, but if we stay on top of things, we should be able to get you back here in the spring.”

I focus on one word there: “Should?”

“Yeah. Since you… didn’t keep your file current, the money they gave you for this year might already be bookmarked for someone else. Still, if you’re hellbent on coming in the fall, why don’t we make an appointment to work on FAFSA together?”

“I don’t have any credit,” I whisper.

He laughs awkwardly. “Most kids your age don’t. Doesn’t stop the federal government from lending to them.” What’s meant to be a joke falls flat. He clearly wants to say more, but he stops when he watches me grab my bag and stand.

“I have to go,” I mutter, and I don’t even wait for him to respond. I just leave.

I walk out of that office with urgency, my heart pounding for no reason. I try to keep my life together, but some days it feels like it’s coming apart at the seams, and nothing I do will ever make it good again.I can’t fix it.

Down the elevator, out of the building, I walk with haste across campus. I keep my head down, silently cursing myself for being so stupid. No one on the sidewalks notice me; I’m just another nameless face to them, as they are to me. I forget how many students this university has. Twenty-thousand, maybe? Online and in-person. A lot.

I go to my afternoon classes, try to be present in them, take diligent notes by hand, but it’s hard. It’s hard to focus when it’s all slipping away.

After my classes, I swing by the campus library. What I planned on being a short stop actually ends up taking all afternoon because I fill out a dozen job applications. Nothing like redundancy in applications to make you feel like you’re losing your mind.

Is it just me, or does it feel like there are no decently-paying entry-level jobs anymore? It’s either dirt pay or they expect you to know everything.

It’s days like this when I feel like the world isn’t cut out for people like me.

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