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The rest of my day passes in a fog, and when I get back home at three o’clock, I don’t even remember what classes I went to. What a waste. I toss my backpack on the floor in the corner of the kitchen and slump down next to it, my back against the kitchen counter. Pulling my knees up to my chest, I pull my phone out of my backpack and scroll through my contacts.
Should I call Cole? Tyson? It’s all too complicated. Even after telling Cole the truth about Tyson, my relationship with him still feels precarious. Cole’s dire warnings about Tyson’s personality and the damage he’s destined to wreak on my life stop me from calling him. I know Cole would never say ‘I told you so,’ but he did warn me. Didn’t he? And I had just proven him right. I invited Tyson over and now it’s screwed up my entire life. And I can’t call Tyson, either. I practically dragged him out the door by his ear this morning and I wouldn’t blame him for being furious.
Better face it now than let it build. I click his text message thread.
Me:I’m sorry about this morning, I was a brute. It was my screw up and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.
I click on Cole’s message next. I’ve been ignoring it all day, unsure of what to say to him.
Cole:How’d that exam go, Anders? Bet you crushed it! On to the next one. See you at Cupitol tomorrow, right?
Me:It didn’t go. I overslept and missed it.?I’m an idiot.
It doesn’t take more than a minute for Cole to respond. He must be on break, drinking coffee in one of those uncomfortable, plastic hospital chairs.
Cole:Oh shit! That’s what happens when you stay up too late studying. That professor is pretty chill though. I bet if you ask her she’ll let you make it up, especially with how good your grades are.
I gnaw on the inside of my cheek. It would be easy to let Cole believe that’s what happened, that I’d fallen asleep on a pile of books instead of on his brother’s chest, but I made a promise to be honest with him. I should own it.
Me:Actually… I invited Tyson over last night.
Cole:Jesus, Anders. Look, I’m not trying to lecture you or anything but do you see what I mean? He’s going to mess up your life one way or another. You gotta be done with him. I know I am.
It takes me a few minutes to figure out what I want to say. The situation is complex, and I can see the hurt on both sides. If only I weren’t caught in the middle, too attached to both of them to let go.
Me:Yeah, yeah, I know. But it wasn’t his fault, it was mine. So don’t blame him. He offered to drive me and everything. Maybe you’re right about the professor, though. I’ll send her an email.
Cole:Somehow, it’s still his fault. I know it. And yeah, reach out and let me know how it goes. I gotta run, break’s over.
Me:Back to work, doctor!
I’m not ready to get up yet. My body still feels hollowed out by all the crying this morning, worn out by the rollercoaster of emotions from the past twenty-four hours. When I think of Tyson, the way he makes me feel so protected, so special, warmth floods me. I wish he’d let the rest of the world see the compassionate, caring man that he lets me see. His name lights up my phone and I cross my fingers before I read his message, hoping he’ll forgive me.
Tyson:Hey, I’ve had a bigger blowup over much smaller stuff. Don’t sweat it, everyone has a bad day. I sent you something to cheer you up.
Me:You didn’t need to do that!
Tyson:I wanted to. Let me spoil you sometimes, Jordan, it makes me happy. Did you talk to the professor?
Me:I’m about to. Wish me luck.
Tyson:Good luck. And if she doesn’t give you a chance to retake it, let me know.
Me:Tyson, you’re not allowed to bribe my professors.
Tyson:It’s called motivation. I can give them the proper motivation.
Me:No.
Tyson:Fine. But the offer is here if you change your mind. I only want to help.
I can’t fight my smile, even as I’m rolling my eyes. Leave it to Tyson to try to fix it with money. Or maybe he’d march into the professor’s office and smooth talk her into letting me retake the exam. I have no doubt that Tyson is good at getting his way, after all, he managed a private suite for his parents at the hospital, and without so much as an argument from anybody. But this ismymess, and I need to fix it on my own.
I pull my laptop from my backpack and open it up on my legs. It takes me three tries to draft the e-mail to professor Sellers, trying to find a version that strikes the balance between desperate and apologetic. When I’m finally happy with it, I send it before I can overthink it. Inside, I’m cringing at the thought of her reading it.
Before all of this drama with Tyson and Cole, I used to look down at people who let their personal lives interfere with their academic goals. But now I only feel like a hypocrite.
My stomach rumbles to let me know it’s dinner time, and that I didn’t even eat breakfast. But I need to use this time for homework, so I grab a can of seltzer from the fridge and settle down on the couch. As I pop the can open, there’s a knock at the door.
