“Yes, and because your enrollment status changed during that semester, the university was required to recalculate portions of your institutional aid retroactively.”
“Retroactively?” I repeated. “So y’all can just go back and change aid that was already approved?”
“In certain situations... yes.”
That answer pissed me off immediately. I leaned back in the chair slowly while she continued talking like she wasn’t casually ruining my entire fucking life.
“In addition to the recalculated aid, your account now reflects upcoming tuition balances, clinical placement fees, and program-related expenses for this semester.”
She turned the monitor toward me, and the second my eyes landed on the number attached to my account, my stomach damn near dropped into my ass.
Current Outstanding Balance: $27,436.18
“There’s no way that shit is right,” I muttered before I could stop myself.
“The current balance due is twenty-seven thousand four hundred thirty-six dollars and eighteen cents,” she recited like I couldn’t read the screen.
I looked at the screen again, like maybe the number would magically change if I looked hard enough.
“You’re telling me I owe almost thirty thousand dollars because I dropped one class?”
“The dropped course triggered the review process,” she explained calmly, “but the balance itself includes reversed grants, tuition recalculations, program fees, and upcoming clinical expenses.”
I let out a quiet laugh under my breath because what the hell else was I supposed to do? Cry in this lady’s office?
“I can’t pay that,” I admitted finally.
“At this time, your account has been placed on an academic financial hold until the balance is resolved or reduced through an approved appeal.”
“And if it doesn’t get resolved?”
“You would not be eligible for future registration, clinical placement, transcript release, or graduation clearance.”
Graduation.
Everything I’d spent the last few years killing myself for suddenly felt like a waste of fucking time.
“I’m a senior,” I said. “I’ve already finished most of my clinical rotations.”
“I understand that Ms. Mitchell.”
“No offense, but I don’t think you do,” I replied, rubbing my hand across my forehead. “I work, go to school, do clinicals, and barely sleep as it is. I don’t have twenty-seven thousand dollars just lying around.”
The woman slid a folder across the desk toward me. “The university does offer payment plans, private lender resources, and formal appeal opportunities.”
I looked down at the folder, but every option she named sounded like another gah damn bill I couldn’t afford to create.
“What’s the deadline?” I finally asked.
“The hold becomes permanent for the semester at the end of the month.”
That’s twenty-four days.
I grabbed the folder before standing from the chair on legs that suddenly didn’t feel as steady as they did when I walked in. Because now instead of worrying about assignments, exams, and clinical hours, I had to figure out how the hell I was supposed to come up with twenty-seven thousand four hundred thirty-six dollars and eighteen cents before somebody at Cannon Hills State decided my future wasn’t worth waiting for anymore.
***
I didn’t even go to class today. What was the purpose? I didn’t have these people’s money, and I didn’t know how I was going to get it. I brought my ass right back home and got comfortable on my sofa, trying to figure out my next move. I didn’t know where I was going to start, but I had to figure it out and soon. It was too late to get a student loan, and I knew I didn’t have the credit to get one from the bank. At least not that much at once. Frustrated, I threw my laptop to the side of me just as my phone was ringing.
