On Thursday, she has her first Calc class. It's not in the main building, but in the J building, which is on the other side of the campus. She snagged a map from the help desk in the main building after World Civ the other day, so she peers at it while walking in what she's pretty certain is the right direction. In the end, it turns out to be, which is good, because she gets into room 216 with only a few minutes to spare.
It's a bit on the smaller side, especially in comparison to the Physics classroom, which was practically an auditorium, though that's kind of necessitated by the class sizes. Apparently, her eighty-odd person class is on the smaller side.
There's only a smattering of empty seats, and Wynonna sighs, muttering half-hearted apologies as she bumps into various legs and bags to get to the closest one.
She pulls out her green notebook, poised to start taking notes, only to freeze when the professor starts talking about one-sided limits and unbounded limits. She vaguely remembers learning something about limits in Algebra II, but she can't remember any of it, and the professor is continuing like she expects everyone to already know what she's talking about. Wynonna drops her pencil into her lap and slumps down in the chair, shoulders hunching up to her ears as embarrassment and panic pool in her veins, hot tears stinging at her eyes. For the rest of the class, she remains like that, trying to drown out the roaring in her head with the shitty earbuds attached to her shitty phone playing shitty music.
Why did she ever think this was a good idea? Monday and Wednesday were obviously flukes—she should just quit and go back to full time high school. At least there she was a big trapped in a container, not one desperately struggling to escape the fan.
When the class is over, she makes to leave, when a gentle, "Hey," stops her.
" What, " she snaps, turning around, ready to lay into whoever's decided to interrupt her frankly well-deserved pity wallow.
The girl raises her hands, taking a step back. "Easy," she says. "I was just going to say, if you're having trouble with the material, you can try the student resources centre—they have tutors available. It's better to deal with the problem now than wait until you're in over your head."
"Oh." Wynonna swallows, feeling suddenly shitty for lashing out. "Thanks..." she trails off, realising the other hasn't offered her name. The stinging tears in her eyes have settled down a bit, and she can see better now—enough to admire the girl before her. She's probably a year older than Wynonna, but she has a runner's build, lithe and graceful even when at rest. The olive green of her jacket complements her dark skin, and Wynonna wants to peel her out of it, nice and slow.
She shakes herself mentally. Not the time.
"Dolls," the other offers, "and it's no problem—I work at the student resources centre, so promotion is kind of part of the job."
"Still," Wynonna says, "thanks a lot, Dolls. Really, I mean it."
The other nods, and Wynonna takes that as her cue to leave, making her way to the door as quickly as she can.
She doesn't have any other classes in the rest of the day—Thursdays she has English first and then Calc, so she's free for the rest of the day. She finds a bench on the lawn near the main building, and takes out the snack bar and the small sandwich she made with the remainder of the bread. Mentally, she makes a note to go shopping. She hasn't been paid for the month yet, but she should have just enough to get the bare essentials.
Finishing her meal, she makes her way into the main building, heading straight for the student resources centre. When she gets to the desk, the gray-haired woman behind the glass looks up. "Hi," Wynonna says, nervousness coiling in her gut, "a friend said you guys offer tutoring?"
The woman nods. "What's your name, and the subject?" she asks, hands poised over the keyboard, peering at Wynonna over the gunmetal grey rims of her glasses, the hazel of her eyes feeling too heavy. Wynonna drops her own gaze in an attempt to soothe the sensation.
"Wynonna. And Calculus," she says, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt, the well-worn fabric comforting. "I was wondering if there was someone who could start today?"
The woman—Wynonna finally notices the nametag with a washed-out Grace on it—hums, keyboard clacking beneath her fingers. A few moments later, she says, "There we are. Xenia should be in in about half an hour, so you can take a seat while you wait."
"Thanks," Wynonna mumbles, and takes one of the seats on the far wall, knee bouncing against her attempts to still it. Sighing, she pulls out her phone, checking to see if Waverly has left her any texts. There's none, so she shoves it back in her pocket, taking her wallet out of her messenger bag and recounting the bills in it to make sure there's enough for the grocery shopping she needs to do when she gets back to the house.
She lets out a soft sigh of relief when she finishes—she's got just enough, with a few dollars extra to buy a little something for Waverly. A piece of cake, maybe—the kind that comes with the fancy frosting.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, but the scratched face of her watch tells her is about twenty-five minutes, a familiar figure comes down the hallway, stopping in front of the desk. "Hi Grace," Dolls says, "you got anyone new for me today?"
Grace nods towards Wynonna. "She's been waiting for you," she informs her.
Dolls looks over to her, recognition sparking in her gaze, and then gestures for her to follow after her into the room off to the side. There's a large table, with multiple chairs around it, probably for when multiple students come in at a time. "When you said you worked at the student resources centre, I didn't realise you were a tutor, " Wynonna says.
"Sorry for misleading you," Dolls says, not sounding particularly apologetic. "I got the impression that you'd be less likely to come if I had said I'd probably be tutoring you."
Fair enough. The thought of being tutored by someone she's possibly got a new crush on isn't one that would have put her at ease. She sighs, settling into the chair, and taking out her notebook and pen.
"Okay," Dolls says, "I noticed you were looking kind of spaced out from the start of the class, so I guess you want to start from the beginning?"
Wynonna nods. "Yeah," she says, feeling slightly embarrassed. "I know I should probably know these things, but—"
"Hey, hey," Dolls interrupts, "no judgement. You're here to learn, and I'm here to help you. You don't need to justify yourself to me."
"...alright," Wynonna says.
"Great. Now, let's start with boundaries..."
By the time she leaves the student resources centre, she actually feels like she knows the information she learnt in class. She wouldn't say she's going to get an A in the class or anything, but she can probably get a B, which is really good in comparison to what her math grades have been since middle school. Dolls lets her go with a reminder to look over her notes, and Wynonna finds herself promising to do so.
When she gets back to the house, Waverly's already there, looking through the fridge. "Hey babygirl," Wynonna greets. "I was just about to go shopping."
Waverly closes the fridge, expression stony. "Great," she huffs, "first Champ forbids me from talking to Nicole, and now there's nothing to eat in the house."
"There's some snack bars in the pantry," Wynonna says, doing her best to modulate her tone. "That should keep you from being hungry while I go to the store."
The other sighs. "God, today sucks. "
Wynonna puts her bag down, grabbing the snack bars from the pantry and holding them out to Waverly. Her sister hesitates for a moment before taking them, and devours them in short order. "Okay," she says, grudgingly, "I feel a little better. I'm still pissed at Champ, though."
"Champ's kind of a dick," Wynonna says, not for the first time.
Usually Waverly protests, but for once, she nods. "I wish he'd go away," she says, sighing deeply. "I don't know...all my friends talk about how funny and handsome he is and how great he is at football and how nice he is to me, but most of the time I spend together with him I feel...bored, I guess."
Wynonna pats her shoulder. "That sucks," she says. "You could always just break up with him, you know."
"Yeah, I know," Waverly says. "I don't want to, though. Dating him makes me feel...I don't know, normal, maybe. And anyway," she adds, "he's not that bad."
"Whatever you say, Waves," Wynonn says, fishing her wallet out of her bag. "Okay, I'm going to the store."
"Bye," Waverly calls after her. "And don't forget the eggs!"
"You forget one time and it's all anyone can remember," Wynonna grumbles, grabbing the grocery trolley and pulling her boots on, and steps out onto the sidewalk.
The store's a fifteen minute walk away, and she enters with a single-minded dedication, making her way through the building in a now-familiar path—vegetables and a few fruits first, and then canned and packaged goods, and then grabs a pair of glittery shoes for Waverly. Right before she gets to the checkout lines, she detours to the bakery and grabs a pre-sliced square of cake, decorated with delicate frosting flowers in blues and purples.
The total cost leaves her with only a few quarters, but it's enough food to last until mid-October, when she gets her paycheck, and she finds some of the tension coiled in her shoulders loosening.
When she gets back to the house, both cats are in the driveway, so she makes her way inside as quietly as she can. The tv is blaring Fox News, and Cathy's in the kitchen, a bottle of wine out and a full glass in hand. She doesn't acknowledge Wynonna, just stares off into the distance between sips. Wynonna puts the groceries away, keeping out a couple cans of cream of mushroom soup, as well as spinach, potatoes, and mushrooms, and takes out the rice, onion, and some spices from the pantry as well, setting to work on dinner, checking the recipe on the tiny screen of her phone every so often to make sure she's not messing anything up.
After the rice cooks and all of the things for the stew are put together and the soup is set to warm up, she grabs her messenger bag and retreats upstairs to her room.
Waverly's already there, reading a book, posture tense. "You're back," she says, sounding relieved, when Wynonna opens the door. "I was afraid Sam was going to lay into you for being gone. I tried to text you, but—" she grimaces—"he took my phone. Sorry."
"It's fine," Wynonna assures. "I don't think he even noticed, honestly—it sounded like he was pretty focussed on, uh, the news. " She punctuates the words with an eye roll and the heaviest sarcasm she can summon. That gets a giggle out of Waverly. "Oh, also, I got you this," Wynonna says, taking the piece of cake out from where she hid it in her bag to get it upstairs. "I know your birthday was a while ago, but I didn't have time to get you anything—"
Waverly cuts her off by throwing herself up from the desk and wrapping her arms around Wynonna. " Thank you, " she says, fiercely. "I love it."
Wynonna smiles. "Good," she says, wrapping her arms around Waverly. "I love you so much, Waves."
Waverly pulls back, taking the box from her. "I love you too, Wynonna."
For the next half hour or so, Wynonna works on some of the practice problems in her Calc textbook, on Dolls' recommendation—there aren't any actual homework assignments for the class, just suggested practice sheets, with there being a mini quiz every other class, and quarter exams. She struggles with a number of them, but the notes she took while Dolls tutored her help a lot, and she actually manages to get a majority of them right when she checks them against the answer key.
After that, she ventures back downstairs to check on dinner, and finds it done. Cathy's left the kitchen, which eases the prickling sense of being watched somewhat, and Wynonna turns off the stove, getting dishes out.
"What the hell's that?" Sam's voice demands as she's halfway through serving the stew. She looks up to find him glowering at her from the doorway, and winces.
"Just some stew I made for dinner," she says, quietly. "There's cream of mushroom soup and rice, too—"
"Get rid of it," he demands. "We're going to have normal food. I'm going to go pick up McDonald's, and that muck had better be gone by the time I get back."
Why the fuck do you always have to do shit like this? Wynonna bites back. There's no point in arguing with him. It only makes things worse. Instead, she nods, and waits for him to leave, before she takes out the thermoses from the cupboard, quickly filling two of them with soup and two of them with rice and stew for her and Waverly's lunches tomorrow. It doesn't save a lot of it, but at least this way it isn't all getting wasted. She hurries upstairs, stashing them underneath her bed while Waverly makes her way downstairs—it's a routine they've done before, engineered so that if Sam comes back and searches the room, he'll only blame Wynonna.
Making her way back downstairs, Wynonna gazes longingly at the remainder of the food before throwing it in the trash.
Sam gets home not long after, and demands they all sit in the living room in front of the tv to eat as usual. Wynonna picks at the limp hamburger, doing her best to seem like she's eating it so that she doesn't get yelled at. The meat tastes stale in her mouth, like a washed-out version of what it should be.
"How was your day, dear?" Cathy asks, beginning the script. "Did Victor finally come to his senses and promote you?"
Sam shakes his head. "Not yet," he says, taking a large bite of his own double burger, "but it's going to be soon. I can feel it in my bones."
"That's great, Dad," Wynonna says, with a pasted-on smile. "You really deserve it." It being a kick in the ass, she adds mentally.
Sam smiles widely, the expression looking malevolent on him. "Yes," he says, "I really do."
They go through the rest of the routine without any blips, mostly consisting of buttering Sam up while he occasionally makes derisive remarks about Wynonna and Waverly, with a few aimed at Cathy, and finally, she and Waverly are allowed to leave. As they make their way up the stairs, Waverly whispers, tears in her eyes, "I hate them. I hate living here so, so much."
"I know, babygirl," Wynonna replies softly, reaching out to squeeze her hand, helplessness making her sick to her stomach