Solitude To Second Chances

Unwelcomed Confessions & Expectations

{College Years}

Robyn

I'm in my dorm room when Ellie walks in, looking tired as ever. Abruptly, I inquire, "Hey, what do you know about Liam Mancini?" Her sudden interest piques, prompting her to approach me and lay onto my lap.

"I just want to know if you know him," I say, her eyes fixed on mine. Suspecting an ulterior motive, she sits up, studying my expression. "You have a crush on him," she suggests playfully.

"What? No," I counter, attempting to dispel any notions of romantic interest. "I just want to understand what kind of person he is. You're popular, and I figured you might have a better insight into his character than I do."

She arches an eyebrow,  "You've never asked me about any guy or girl before, so this is a little shocking," she notes.

"It's not like I want to date him or anything; I just want to know what he's like," I clarify. As Ellie reclines on my lap, she begins sharing her observations about Liam. "He's not bad. At times, he can be very cool, and in the next moment, he's cold. I know he used to date Darcie, and they're sort of on and off. Other than that, I don't really know much."

My mind processes the information, and just as I'm lost in thought, she interjects, "We had a class with him, remember?"

"We did," I question. "Animal behavior and ethics class last year." Ellie replies.

"Oh," I recall. "He used to have blonde hair, then I guess he dyed it."

"He looks good with brown hair anyway," Ellie remarks, and I nod in agreement. Seizing the moment, she playfully accuses, "So you have been checking him out," initiating a teasing tickle session.

"You have a crush on him, girl," she declares amid laughter, continuing the playful attack.

The teasing banter with Ellie continues until the joyous moment is abruptly interrupted by the insistent ring of my phone. Glancing at the caller ID, I discover it's my mother—how perfectly timed to disrupt a happy moment. I reluctantly answer, "Hello, Mum."

"Come to my office," she commands, and without waiting for a response, she promptly hangs up. "Ugh," I mutter, unenthusiastically acknowledging the impending trip to her office.

Reluctantly, I peel myself off my bed, dress quickly, and head towards her office. Greeting her numerous staff members along the way, I finally reach Marley, one of her aides, who informs me, "She'll be with you in a minute." I nod in acknowledgment and take a seat, feeling a sense of discomfort settling in.

I loathe these visits. My mother's office exudes an unwelcoming atmosphere, and the walls seem to close in around me. All eyes in the room fixate on me, anticipating expectations that feel impossibly out of reach. The standards set here are unreasonably high, and with each visit, I'm reminded that the dream of a comfortable, normal college life is a distant fantasy, forever out of my grasp as long as I remain in this place.

Marley places a reassuring hand on my shoulder and utters, "You can go in now, hon." I nod, taking a deep breath to brace myself, and step into the office. There she is—the woman whose very presence makes me feel like my accomplishments are rendered insignificant.

"Sit," she commands, her gaze firmly fixed on her computer, not acknowledging me since I entered. "Have you signed up to tutor anyone?" she inquires, finally looking up.

"No," I reply, and her gaze sharpens. "I have a lot on my plate this semester. I can't fit tutoring into my schedule."

"When I told you to sign up for tutoring," her voice turns stern, "I wasn't asking. I was telling you." She pulls up my schedule on her computer. "You barely have much on your schedule," she observes.