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“The only way you get kicked out of a test is when you try to close out of the program to open up another program,” I remind her.
She discovered this last week when she attempted to do it during a math test.
“Now you’ll have to start all over again.”
She sighs, her eyes darting back to the computer screen. I imagine she’s trying to determine if any of this is even worth it.
“Success will have to be your choice.”
She pulls in another deep breath, but instead of telling me to fuck off, something she’s also done a couple times in the last week, she logs back into the program and begins the test again.
“This one,” she says, pointing to her screen half an hour later. “I keep getting stuck right here. That’s why I need to log into that other website.”
“I’m certain you have notes for this type of problem. Check your formula sheet.” It’s the only help I offer. After a couple of minutes of her flipping through her notebook, she finds exactly what she’s looking for and the genuine smile on her face from handling it all on her own is exactly what I was hoping for. Each problem she manages to meet head-on is one more victory for her. Self-confidence, I learned in therapy—thank you, Dr. Miller—is the foundation for a healthy life.
Her smile fades the second she clicks complete and the auto-grading system showcases the eighty-seven.
“That’s a great grade,” I tell her.
“I thought I did better.”
“You only needed a seventy-two to pass the course,” I remind her.
“I guess,” she mutters.
We had agreed to only work on this class today, but she doesn’t seem in a rush to stand from her computer.
“I guess you leave now?”
She locks her eyes on me and it feels like a challenge. She wouldn’t be here alone. There are several other women who are here, but I doubt they’ll step foot out of their rooms. I know from the days I’ve spent here that they wouldn’t engage with Brielle even if they did.
Brielle is the type of woman everyone avoids, and maybe that’s why I relate so much to her. She’s not that approachable, and she’s like a scared cat, hissing and swiping her claws at anyone who attempts to get close. Her language is off-putting, but I cuss a lot in my head so that part doesn’t bother me despite me reminding her not to do it around the children.
“I don’t have to leave,” I tell her. “But I also don’t think you should keep working. Maybe give your brain a little time to rest?”
“You’ll stay even if I don’t keep working?”
She sounds more childlike than she ever has with this question. I know from experience in the traits I see in her that I have as well that she’s lonely, but at the same time, she’s afraid to get close to anyone. She’s taking a risk right now, and I could never break that trust she’s laid at my feet.
“I’ll stay on one condition.”
Her face falls, and I knew my wording was a risk.
“You have to help me make a snack because I skipped breakfast and I’m starving.”
A slow smile spreads across her face.
“I wasn’t going to mention your stomach growling, but it’s happened about as often as you’ve looked out the window. How does popcorn and M&M's sound?”
“Delicious actually.”
“That scrunch of your nose says you’re lying,” she says as she logs out of her school program and stands.
“Because I’ve never actually had that before but I can see how the salty sweet would work together.”
“Do you know how to work the air popper?” she asks as I follow her from the room toward the kitchen.
“I can use a microwave,” I counter.
“They don’t do bagged popcorn here. I think it’s cheaper for the machine than bags, and they do all they can to save money.”
“It may have to do with the chemicals in bagged popcorn,” I argue. “But show me the machine they use and we can look up the manual online.”
We end up burning the first batch of popcorn, but by the time the kernels started popping the second time around, we were experts.
“They’re supposed to melt,” Brielle complains when she grabs a handful of the popcorn and candy mix and shoves it into her mouth.
“We wouldn’t have wasted so much time if you would’ve just told me where the glasses were.”
“And if you would’ve let me wash those dishes later instead of insisting I do it right now, then I would’ve known you were looking for a glass.”
“What part of I’m going to get a soda confused you?”
“Why wouldn’t you just drink it out of the can?” she snaps, but there’s a smile playing on her lips.
“Why don’t you both stop fucking arguing?”
I turn in the direction of the new voice.
