I step up to the attendance desk. It’s like a drive through window in the hallway, and the woman’s office connects into the main office. There’s another guy standing there talking to her so I slip up quickly and drop my excuse note into the tray, avoiding all eye contact. I’ve seen so much of the attendance lady this year that I’m pretty sure she hates me on principle.
When I get to first period, I slide into my desk in the back row and ignore the idiots who are currently drawing dirty images on the dry erase board. I have no idea why high school students are such children. Would I be the same way if I wasn’t so preoccupied with the store and keeping our bills paid? Maybe they’re luckier than I am because they don’t have to worry about those things. Or maybe I’m better off because I know how to handle real world life.
I swallow down the bitterness I feel every time I see students having more fun than me, and open up my notebook. First period is math class, and there’s a warm up on the board that makes absolutely no sense to me. It must be about what they covered yesterday. I flip open to where we are studying and find that Chapter 7 looks like hieroglyphics to me. Shit. I don’t understand any of this.
Mrs. Mafi begins her math lesson with a few formulas on the board that are supposed to build off of what everyone learned yesterday. Everyone but me. I take down notes and copy everything she says, but by the time class is over, I feel like I haven’t learned anything. I’ll have to find time to study my textbook and some YouTube videos tonight if I want any chance of doing my homework.
Second period chemistry is pretty much the same thing. Because of my horrible luck, they started a new lesson in class yesterday and I missed it. It’s even more ironic, because we’d been watching science videos the two days before that, so I figured I was fine for missing class yesterday.
Wrong.
In chemistry, I sit next to two jock assholes who spend their time looking up porn on their phones and talking sports with each other. They are of no help with our lesson today. As jocks, they slide by with solid C’s in every grade and it doesn’t matter. No one gives me a passing grade. I have to earn them.
I sigh and sink my head into my hand as I study the elemental chart on the worksheet in front of me. We’re making compounds. I can do this.
By third period, I actually do get a migraine. We’re reading Shakespeare’s Hamlet out loud in class and then taking a test over it. They started yesterday and are finishing up today, so I’ll only get to hear the last fifteen minutes before the test. Luckily, Mrs. Hardy tells me to read the play to myself and she’ll let me make up the test during lunch. I step outside the classroom, taking my textbook with me. I sit on the floor up against the wall and start reading the play. Our textbook has all these little footnotes that explain the language to us commoners who don’t understand Shakespeare. I’d like to be some smart poetic person who just gets it, but I don’t, so I use the footnotes a lot.
“You’re Natalie, right?”
I look up and see a thin girl with braids standing over me. She holds out a pink slip from the office. “This is for you.”
“Thanks,” I say, taking it. I’ve never seen a pink slip before. The yellow ones are early release slips for when your parents come to take you to the doctor or something. I glance at it and get a bad feeling in my stomach. So now I know what the pink slips are for.
The Assistant Principal’s office.
That’s all it says.Natalie Reese to AP’s office.
I chew on the inside of my lip as I make my way down to her office, the textbook still in my hand. I probably should have put it back in the classroom, maybe traded it out for my backpack, but I’m hoping that if I pretend this will be a short trip, it will be.
She probably wants to verify my emergency contacts or something.
I step into the office and show my paper to the lady behind the counter. She looks like she could be in high school herself, but she’s worked here all four years I’ve been here, so I guess she’s just blessed with younger looking skin. She tells me to wait in one of the three empty chairs outside of the AP’s office.
I sit, the chewing on my lip intensifying.
Forty-five minutes pass.
The bell rings, and students shuffle into the hallways. I cringe as I think about my backpack left in the English classroom. Mrs. Hardy is a nice teacher, so she probably packed it up for me and set it to the side. My phone is in my pocket, so it’s not like I have anything valuable in there to worry about.
I’m going crazy with anticipation when the door finally opens and a creepily thin woman with short brown hair steps out. She’s so thin she could be a supermodel, if you know, her face wasn’t in this pinched up severe looking pose all the time. I don’t know her name, but I’ve seen her around the school. She wears pencil skirts and button up blouses and her hair has been cut in that same bob forever.
“Ms. Reese, come in,” she says, motioning for me to enter her office. I wouldn’t exactly say she’s smiling, but her lips twist upwards a little.
I enter and sit down, my textbook flat across my lap. My heart is racing but I tell myself I’ve done nothing wrong. I don’t fight or steal or cheat on tests. She has no reason to bring me in here for disciplinary reasons. Maybe it’s just something stupid. Like in fifth grade when I was called into the principal’s office and given a birthday card and a candy bar.
“How can I help you?” I ask, cringing when I realize I’ve accidentally pulled out my customer service voice that I’d use at the store. But this is not The Magpie, and she is not a customer.
The AP sits behind her desk and places her hands on top of her computer keyboard.
“The question is more of what can you do to ensure you graduate, Ms. Reese.”
“I don’t understand,” I say, my brows pulling together.
“I would think you should understand quite clearly, Ms. Reese.” This time she does smile, but it’s a terrifying sight that’s all sarcasm and no kindness. “You have missed entirely too many days of school this yearandyou are failing three classes. How on earth could you not understand what that means?”
I swallow as a knot forms in my stomach. Shit. I knew I’d missed a lot of school, but I didn’t think was failing. “Listen…” I say, sitting a little straighter. This is one of those talks teachers have with students, trying to make them work harder so that the teacher can feel like they’ve accomplished something with today’s youth. All I have to do is promise to do better and I’ll be let off the hook and she can go on with her day, thinking she’s changing the world or something stupid like that.
“I know I’ve missed some school, and my grades aren’t that great, but I can assure you Mrs.…” I look around, hoping to find a nametag on her desk. I’ve never been summoned to the AP before and I have no idea what her name is.
