Page 1 of Trick Play

Chapter 1

Kennedy

The beige walls, covered in bland, mass-produced abstract monstrosities, were closing in on me.

I’d never been claustrophobic before, nor had I ever had an anxiety attack, but apparently, there was a first time for everything.

“Did you hear me, Ms. Thompson?” Ms. Olivo, the department head of the art school, watched me over her tortoiseshell glasses.

I shook my head. Then nodded. I heard her. I just wished I hadn’t.

“One class? Three credits?” I repeated.

“Yes, you can take it next semester.” She smiled as if that was even an option.

“No.” I wasn’t deliberately trying to be rude, but she dropped a bomb on my head and expected me to be cheerful about it? Sorry. No.

“Excuse me?” Her smile wavered.

I blinked.

“What do you mean ‘no’?” she asked again.

“I can’t wait until next semester to take it. I’m supposed to graduate in December.” I didn’t take classes through the summer terms to not get out of here early.

Her overplucked brows rose up her forehead. “My, well. I see how this could be a problem.”

Finally, we were on the same page.

“I can’t excuse you from this. The changes were made last year. It was up to you and your counselor to adjust your courses to fulfill the requirements.”

Flashes of me standing up and throwing the chair across the room filled my head, but I stayed poised. You killed more bees with honey, or whatever that idiotic saying was.

“I did speak with my counselor. She realized she never notified me of the change since I was matriculated before the said change went into effect. She didn’t think it applied to me.”

Ms. Olivo gave a sympathetic smile. “If it had been your final year, then maybe, but the additional requirements to the major do apply to you.”

I took in a slow, deep breath. I could not lose my cool. I was a mature adult, and I would handle this as such.

“What can be done? Is there a class I can sign up for this semester?” If there was one thing my dad taught me, it was that there was always a solution, and if you couldn’t find it, make it.

She turned toward her computer and began clicking. I tried to distract myself while she worked away, but everything in the office was generic and tacky. Given her position, I expected more creativity. Maybe some student pieces or prints of her favorite works. Not something she likely bought on sale at a discount store. Did she even know anything about art, or was she someone the university gave a promotion to without double-checking her qualifications?

“There is a half-semester course you could take that would fulfill the requirement,” she said while still staring at the screen.

I scooted to the edge of my chair. “Really? What is it?”

“History of photography,” she read before meeting my eyes. “It starts next week.”

I kept my expression as neutral as possible. I had so much on my plate already, but I could fit in one more class. Most of my art history courses were easy As.

“I’ll do it.”

She pushed her glasses up her nose. “It looks like it’s full at the moment, but I’ll add you and email the professor to let him know it’s been approved by me.”

Great. Whatever needed to happen to keep my timeline in place.

“Thank you.”