Page 7 of Conner's Luna

"I will. Love you."

"Love you too, Peanut-butter."

I pop some cold 'n' flu pills before I walk to my car. It's cold and my teeth are chattering before I even reach my door. I huddle deeper into the layers of t-shirts and sweatshirts I have on. I think it's four layers, five if you count the comfy sports bra I have on.

By the time I get to campus, I feel like I've been mowed down by a tractor. My chest is heavy, and my head is filled with an unpleasant fog. I should have listened to Dad. I won't be able to concentrate in class today anyway.

I take ibuprofen. Just one, to help clear my head enough to be able to concentrate in the lab. I've had a few... accidents... in this class and my grade has suffered as a result. Luckily, Professor Stansen has been understanding and given me chances to make up work that mysteriously vanishes and allowed me to re-do experiments when my samples have been mislabeled.

I work alone at the table. No one wants to be close to me on a good day and certainly not when my eyes are glassy and my nose is bright red. I breathe through my mouth under my mask and safety goggles and concentrate on adding the salt mixture to my beaker.

I check the heat for the umpteenth time. I can't afford to make any mistakes. Not at C State.

"Bailey? The Dean would like to speak with you outside in the hall," Professor Stansen gives me a small smile.

I swallow my discomfort. Dean Sancieo does not like me. She did, at first, for about a week. She is the one who selected me for the program, after all. Everything at State was going well for the first week of the semester. Then it all crumbled.

"Can you watch my station for me?" I feel like an idiot, asking my professor to watch my beaker, but I think Professor Stansen knows that I've got saboteurs in this class.

"Of course, Bailey. It looks like you're about finished anyway."

"Thank you!" I rush out into the hallway to get this over with. Dean Sancieo is standing just outside of the door, uncomfortably close to all the ears in the classroom. Her maroon-painted mouth is fixed in a grimace and her cornflower-blue eyes are narrowed on me. One foot, encased in a classic black pump, is tap-tapping away on the tile floor.

"Miss Washington," she says with a prim sneer my way.

"Dean Sancieo," I greet her warily. I keep my distance. There's something about this woman that makes me think she could lash out physically in an unprovoked attack. It's a ridiculous thought, but she reminds me of a sleek predator, waiting to pounce on the unaware little mouse; the mouse being me.

"I hear that you have an 86 average in Statistics," she says. There is a gleam of smug avarice in her eyes as she makes this announcement.

"Idid," I tell her carefully. "I did the extra credit and already took my midterm. I scored perfectly on it and it's worth twenty percent of my grade." Statistics is another class that I struggle with because of the curse that is C State. I have a zero in participation. I couldn't score an A average without my participation, but because of the extra credit, I'll pull it out.

Dean Sancieo's face tightens marginally. "You would have to score perfectly to pull your grade up to an A," she snaps.

I take a deep breath. "Right," I inform her. "My score will rise to a 91 when the midterm is entered."

Her frosty, virulent gaze pins me in place. "Your scholarship is in jeopardy, Miss Washington."

"I have an A average in all my classes, Dean Sancieo," I defend myself quietly.

"You don't have a single extracurricular," she says, her tone is downright nasty now. "The CH scholarship committee considers volunteering and participation outside of academics to be of great importance."

I feel tears prick my eyelashes. In high school, there wasn't a club that I didn't touch. I did everything. I also had friends. And, did I mention, I was never bullied? This place is quickly turning into a nightmare and this latest problem is... Problematic.

"I attempted to get into a dozen different clubs, Dean Sancieo. I was denied at all of them."

Her eyebrows quirked up. "That's impossible," she scoffs, but I see how hard she is trying to hide the smug quirk of her lips.

"I'll join something," I promise her. My mind goes into an immediate race. What could I try to join? It was so entirely bizarre to be shunned by practically the entire university. Students who don't know me from Eve act like I have the plague. Maybe the CH committee doesn't care if my volunteer hours are school-related? I put an application in at the closest hospital to volunteer and was denied there, too, but maybe one of the smaller local clinics would take me?

I'll think of something. I have to think of something. I’ll stick out this year, at least. Then, I can transfer, but I need a good transcript from C State to apply to other schools with.

"See that you do. I'll be checking in with your... progress... in the next couple of weeks, Miss Washington. Do better," she snarks at me before turning on her heels and click-clacking away down the hall on her high heels.

My throat feels as though it's on fire as I make my way back into the lab. I'm almost to my table when I see that my experiment is gone.

"An accident," Professor Stansen appears in front of me.

"Pardon?" I ask him, startled at his jerky, angry movements as he glares at two girls standing at one of the sinks across the room.

---