"I'm handing back your midterms. Overall they were very good. As soon as you get yours back, you're free to leave. Remember there's a quiz on Monday. Have a good weekend."
With that dismissal the math professor began returning test papers and students began packing up. The linear algebra class wasn't large, maybe 20 students, but Emma felt it took forever for the professor to return her paper. She nervously turned the test over so she could see her grade. She expected a good grade; after all, she was an excellent student, and math was one of her stronger subjects.
Emma was shocked to see a large red "B-" written at the top of her test. What the heck? B-? "No, that can't be right," she thought. "I simply don't get Bs." But there was no denying it. The bright crimson grade began to swim as her eyes filled with tears. She had to get out of there.
Emma quickly made her way to the restroom. Good, it was empty. Emma splashed some water on her face, dried her tears, and tried her best to look like someone who hadn't just cried. It worked – a little bit. She succeeded in looking like someone who had cried but didn't want anyone to know about it, which was true.
She glanced at her watch. She had literature class in 10 minutes on the other side of the quad. If she rushed she could still make it on time. She briefly considered skipping lit, but again, she simply wasn't the kind of student who skipped classes. So she put on her happy face and tried her best to put the bad grade out of her head.
"Number two. Give a one sentence description of Crusoe's shovel." That was what the English professor was saying as Emma, trying to draw no attention, sneaked into class. "Nice of you to join us, Ms. Chota. I trust you will partake in the remainder of the pop quiz."
"Crap," Emma thought to herself. Of all the days to be one or two measly minutes late, she had to do so on a pop quiz day. Perfect.
With lightning speed Emma pulled a pen and paper from her pack. Though flustered, she managed to answer the remaining questions. Being the diligent student she was, she had done all the required reading, plus a little extra (or course). She hoped missing one question wasn't enough to ruin her grade on the quiz.
Emma listened and took notes during the lecture on Robinson Crusoe, Friday, and cannibalism. Though not particularly interested in the topic (or the book for that matter), she did her best to follow along and digest the professor's lecture.
Next up was lunch. Emma walked to the cafeteria in the student union. She already knew what she was having for lunch because she ate the same thing almost every day, and lunch was a cup of chicken noodle soup with four baby carrots.
Emma swiftly dodged the hungry college students getting wraps, pizza, chicken nuggets, and fries. She was amazed they could eat such foods with utter capriciousness.
She arrived at the soup bar and stopped suddenly. There was no soup. There was no soup at the soup bar! What the heck? WHY WAS THERE NO SOUP AT THE SOUP BAR? Did they not understand how important it was for her to have her soup for lunch? Did they not understand how NOT HAVING SOUP screwed with her whole day? She tracked down a cafeteria worker and practically yelled, "Why is there no soup?"
The worker replied nonchalantly, "No soup? Oh, yeah, the soup warmer is broken. It'll be a few days before it's fixed."
This was UNACCEPTABLE. Emma stomped off. "A bad midterm, a surprise quiz I almost missed, and now no soup. Could this day get any worse?" She was feeling rattled and uneven from the day's events. She decided to find solace in one of her favorite places, the campus library. She nodded a greeting to the man behind the front desk. Though she didn't know his name, she saw him nearly every day and found him friendly.
Emma expertly navigated the stacks upon stacks of books to "her" table and gratefully sank into a chair. "What a day," she muttered. She felt like she was barely hanging on during a good day. Today was proving too much.
She had a little over an hour until Latin, her last class of the day. She decided to look over her lin alg midterm and figure out what she did wrong. It took a few minutes to decipher the professor's cryptic notes, but Emma figured out she had messed up one proof by neglecting to state that bases must be linearly independent, and the prof deducted several point on another problem because her spanning set was not linearly independent. Two relatively minor mistakes, but they were enough to give her pause. Maybe a minor in math wasn't for her after all. Doubt, her old friend, sensed an opening and slyly crawled in.
After Latin, which thankfully was nice and predictable, Emma headed back to her dorm room. On the way, her cell rang. Her mother. Great. She debated letting her voicemail pick up but knew her mother would persist until the call was answered. "Hey, Mom," Emma said.
"Hi, Sweetie. How are you? How were your classes today?"
"Fine," Emma said, wanting to avoid a long conversation.
"Good. Listen, your dad and I thought it would be fun to drive down with Finn and take you out to dinner tomorrow. Your roommate or another friend could come, too."
A family dinner? Just the thought of having to eat at a restaurant with her parents made her nervous. Emma didn't need additional torture after the day she'd had. "Oh, Mom, that's really kind of you to offer, but I have a bunch of studying to do this weekend, and I just don't have time to go out. I'm sorry. Maybe another weekend?" Emma hoped her mom wouldn't press the issue. She didn't want to make up lies, but she would if necessary.
"Honey, really? You can't spare a few hours for your family?"
Part of Emma wanted nothing more than to see and hug her family, to be taken care of for a bit, to put aside all the worry of school and life. But a bigger part of her didn't want her mom to see how thin she'd gotten again, how she didn't have a friend to invite to dinner, how small and sad her college world was. She vowed right there to start eating more, to make friends, and to be more social so seeing her family over Christmas wouldn't be excruciating.
"Really, Mom, I'm sorry. I just need to buckle down and study this weekend. I'll see you guys another time. Promise," Emma said convincingly.
"Okay, Sweetie. I love you. Be good."
"Bye, Mom." Emma hung up the phone and exhaled. A bad grade, a pop quiz, no soup, and a near-miss visit from her family. What next?
