Page 2 of Unsupervised
“Hard pass,” I laugh. “I’d love some help with a resume. Thanks.”
Hopefully, I’ll be able to find another job before Trey finds out I was fired. My brother is a good guy and he inspired me to take this leap away from my old life by doing it himself first. He worked his way through school while living in this apartment with his friends and he now has a great life with his own family. He did it on his own, and I want to show him that I can too. I also need to prove to myself that I can be successful without my parents’ money, or a man supporting me.
I’m terrified, but for the first time in my nineteen years, I’m also free.
One thing I did agree to let Trey help me with was tuition because otherwise, it would’ve meant taking out student loans. I may not know much about living without money at my fingertips, but I know half the kids my age are in over their heads with those high interest loans. No full time job I’m qualified for would pay enough to make tuition plus rent and food. When I argued with him about taking his money, we came to an agreement that I could pay him back once I graduate. A student loan with no interest or strict payment schedule. I couldn’t say no to that.
“How are you doing homework when classes don’t start until tomorrow?” I ask Remee.
“Just reading ahead. I finished my sociology text yesterday. It was much more interesting than this history one,” she says, turning her focus back to the page.
My stare must register on her skin because she peeks back up at me, one eyebrow cocked.
“Have you ever gotten a grade that wasn’t an A?”
“Yes, once, and I don’t plan to repeat the experience.” Looking back at her book, she grumbles, “It was a stupid gym class that shouldn’t have counted anyway. So I can’t climb a rope. How many ropes does the average person get asked to climb in a lifetime? Like what are the chances I’m going to be sitting in front of a board presenting my dissertation and one of them will go, ‘Oh, first climb this rope?’ It’s ridiculous.”
I’ve clearly touched a nerve. “I’m sure graduating high school without a 4.0 GPA isn’t going to cost you in the long run.” My attempt to reassure her seems to backfire.
“I was valedictorian of my high school. I was talking about sixth grade.” A loose tendril of hair gets shoved back behind her ear as she mumbles under her breath. “Stupid Mr. Miller.”
Okay then.
Leaving her to her studying, I wander into my room where my stack of textbooks wait on my desk, still in their shrink wrap. It probably would be a good idea to at least glance through them and see what I’ve gotten myself into.
* * *
My first day of college has gone smoothly so far, much to my relief. I was a ball of nerves walking into my morning class, though I’ve never struggled with English, and judging by the syllabus, I shouldn’t have a problem.
My second class today is Economics. Ugh, why did I let Trey talk me into this class? I’m only taking general education classes right now since I have no clue what career I want to have or what I want to be. It was never really offered as an option before and now that it is, I don’t have any idea what I want to do. Trey assured me that everyone should take an economics class and learn to manage money, no matter what career you end up pursuing, so here I am, settling into the last seat of the first row.
Math has never been my thing, and I took a peek at the chapters of investing and returns in my textbook last night. It looked boring as hell. I’ll probably need to start grabbing a coffee before this class to stay alert, as it looks like a few other students have done.
“Good morning!” a deep voice rings out, and a man walks in with a portfolio and laptop under his arm. I think I hear all the jaws of the women around me slap the desk in unison with mine. This can’t be the professor.
This is not what an economics professor looks like. They’re supposed to be old and crotchety, wrapped in tweed, with a stern demeanor. They are absolutely not supposed to be that young, move with that kind of grace, or have a smile that makes me want to jump on the desk and throw my panties at him.
“I’m Professor Layton Aldrich, but we aren’t going to stand on ceremony.” He leans against his desk and smiles out at the class. “You can call me Mr. Aldrich. I’ll call each of you by your last names, and if you have another preference, you can let me know. Sound good? Great.” He continues, not giving anyone a chance to answer. “First, let’s see who’s here.”
He reaches onto the desk and grabs a tablet, tapping it a few times as he talks. “You know how teachers sometimes have you stand and go around the room to introduce yourself? Don’t you hate that? I’d never do that to you. You absolutely don’t have to stand.”
The classroom titters, but I feel my muscles tense. I hate talking in front of a large group. It makes me anxious, and when I get anxious, I make an idiot of myself because I seem to forget certain words exist. My mind blanks, and I’ll stumble over the easiest stuff which just makes it worse. I need to rehearse what I’m going to say. I need to think, so hopefully he’ll start at the other end of the room.
Introduce myself? Exactly how much information am I supposed to provide? I’ll just say my name and age and that I’m…what? What can I say?
My internal panic is interrupted as I realize the room has fallen silent except for the teacher’s voice. Too silent. All eyes are on me, including those bright blue ones belonging to Mr…ugh I can’t even remember his name.
“Miss? Are you with us?” One side of his mouth curls into a small smile.
“Oh! Yes!” Well, that was fucking loud. Tone it down, girl.
“What’s your name?”
Oh God. Forget remembering his name, I’m not sure I can recall my own. When did it get so hot in here? Can they see I’m sweating like a fat kid playing dodgeball? It finally comes to me. “Kelly. Um…Kelly Bryant.”
“It’s good to meet you, Ms. Bryant. So, three questions, just for an icebreaker. I’m not grading your answers.” The class chuckles, but all I can do is swallow hard. All the moisture in my mouth has disappeared. “First, tell us what you like to do.”
I would but I’ve forgotten everything. I’m a complete stranger to my own brain right now and I know whatever comes out is going to be stupid. Too bad it doesn’t keep me from talking. “Oh…um…I don’t know. I guess I like to read…” What are they called? Don’t do this to me brain! “Um…you know…pages and stuff.”
