The bell rings, relieving me from a long lecture on Oliver Twist. As the class begins packing up, Mr. Gill, our English teacher, says something that makes my body jolt.
“… and remember, if you haven’t already—make sure you hand in your papers to me before you leave.”
Papers? A cold douse of shock pours over me as I remember the comparative assignment between Hamlet and Gatsby that I haven’t thought about in weeks. It was due last Wednesday, but Mr. Gill gave the class extra time to get it done because of what happened. Because of Sam. He sent us several email reminders about it, yet somehow I still forgot. To Mr. Gill, turning in late work is an offensive crime that could lead to failing the class.
As everybody files out, I don’t know what to do but approach his desk, even though I have no words prepared. So I cut out the small talk and jump to the point.
“Mr. Gill, I’m so sorry, I actually don’t have the paper right now,” I say.
“And why is that?”
“I don’t really have an excuse. I’ve just been distracted with everything.”
He picks up the stack of papers and evens it out on the desk in front of me. “You’re right. That isn’t an excuse.”
“I know, I’m really sorry. I’m behind on a lot of things.” I don’t know what else to say. “Is it possible for me to give it to you tomorrow or something?”
“Julie, I already gave you extra time on this.” Mr. Gill rises from his seat, carrying the stack of papers.
“I know … I’ve been having a real tough couple of weeks,” I say, following him around the desk. “I haven’t really been able to think straight.”
“And I understand. Which is why I gave everybody an extension,” he repeats as if that’s enough, as if I should be grateful or something. “I can’t simply give you an extra day, because that would be unfair to the rest of the class.”
“Please, Mr. Gill…” I say more desperately. “Can’t I just turn it in late and get marked down?”
“I’m sorry, Julie. I can’t accept a late paper. It’s in the syllabus.”
“But why not? Why can’t you mark me down or something?” We only have four papers for the semester. One zero could bring me close to failing, and I won’t be able to graduate. And if I can’t graduate, then I won’t be able to leave this stupid town and move to Portland to go to Reed College and get into their writing program, even though I haven’t heard back from them yet.
“Because I’m preparing you for the real world.” Mr. Gill points vaguely out the window. “And out there, life doesn’t give you extensions. Even during the hardest times. So let this be a valuable lesson for you. You’ll thank me later.”
He puts a hand up to end our conversation. This isn’t the first time he’s said something like this. He truly believes he’s doing me a great favor by being strict. But this isn’t the real world, I want to tell him. It’s high school. And as much as I don’t want to care about it, failing this stupid class might affect the rest of my life.
I don’t say anything else because there’s no point. I storm out of his class before I say something I’ll regret. As much as I hate to admit it, maybe he’s right. I should prepare myself for a world where nobody is on your side or willing to help you out even when it costs them nothing at all.
I need to go home and talk to Sam. He’ll understand me. I rush to my locker to grab a few things before I head out. But there’s someone waiting in front of it.
“Oh—Mika.”
She doesn’t say anything. She just looks at me. Her face is pale and there are dark rings under her eyes. I wonder if she’s sick.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“I haven’t seen you around. I texted you a few times.”
“I’ve been at home.”
Her hair is a bit of a mess. I move some of it out of her face. I whisper, “You seem tired.”
“I get it, I look terrible,” she says, leaning back against the lockers.
“I didn’t say that.”
“I’ve had a lot of stuff to deal with.” She looks around us. “And I don’t like being back here.”
“You mean, at school?”
She lowers her gaze.
“Is there anything I can do?”
Mika looks at me. “There’s a vigil tonight. It would be nice if you came, too.”
“There’s another one?”
“It’s a candlelight vigil,” she says. “The school asked my family to put it together. Everyone is supposed to meet in town later tonight. I could really use some help.”
Sam and I have another call planned tonight. I don’t want to keep him waiting on me, wondering where I am. But I can’t tell Mika this. What should I say to her? “I don’t know if I can yet…”
Mika gives me a look. “So you’re gonna miss this one, too?”
“Mika—” I start.
“I don’t know why I asked,” she says, picking her bag up from the floor. “I knew you wouldn’t go. I’ll see you later.”
A pang of guilt stabs me as I stand there, unsure of what to say. If only she knew my reasons. I can’t leave things like this between us. As Mika walks off, I grab her arm.
“I’ll come! I’ll come to the vigil.”
“You don’t have to,” she says, taking her arm back.