“I’m not on the class roster?”
My calculus professor sighed, like mine was the most difficult question she’d been asked all day, which was unlikely, considering she taught the unbearable subject of differential equations. She rotated the piece of paper resting between us, her class roster, so I might take a look at the undeniable evidence.
While I scanned the alphabetical listing of the students in the class, hoping mine might somehow have been listed out of order, the professor kept the paper in the tense grip of her forefinger and thumb, like I might try to snatch it and run away.
What kind of students was she used to dealing with?
“As you can see,” she huffed, “there is no one on my list named Roxy Vandenberg.”
She said my name like it tasted bad.
Miserable woman. But I guess I’d hate my life too if I taught calculus and its more horrible offspring, differential equations.
“I don’t understand. I’ve got to be there,” I said as the rest of the class brushed past, stampeding out the door.
Further evidence that no one wanted to take her dreadful subject. I would bet my life that every last person enrolled was there only because they had to be. Like some sicko curriculum designer had decided that business majors, like me, needed calculus.
Sadists, all of them.
She snatched the class list from me, returning it to her folder of other Important Papers.
“I signed up for this class at the end of last semester,” I pressed. “I got a confirmation I was in. It must be some sort of mistake that I’m not listed.”
I needed this stupid class and, as much as she wanted to brush me off, I wasn’t going away before I was ready.
She looked at her watch, the universal sign for I’m done here, and shrugged. “I’d check with the registrar’s office if I were you,” she said, and turned on her heel.
Bitch.
I was tempted to inform her, in my best mocking tone, that while she might believe otherwise, no one—and I mean no one—wanted to take her class, ever. There was no world in which someone looked forward to calculus or its unfortunate little cousin adorably nicknamed ‘diffy-q’s.’
That would surely hit her where it hurt.
But I kept my big mouth shut for a change. If she didn’t know by now that calculus was voted the course from hell at Wellshire University, well, I’d be sure to clue her in another day.
But I had shit to take care of right now.
It was funny, though. On my way to class, just sixty minutes earlier, I’d been psyching myself up for the subject. Hell, if every other student in my department had managed to pass it, then of course I could, too. My optimism had even put a little spring in my step as I hustled through the campus’s freezing wind tunnel, wishing I had a warmer winter jacket.
Actually, I’d had a heavier jacket, but passed it on to my younger sister. I figured she needed it more than I did, and I’d told myself I’d be fine with the old cloth coat my mother handed down to me. But the mid-winter gale-force winds blustering through campus said otherwise.
How stupid was I? I’d been at Wellshire for three years now. I knew how cold the place got in the winter.
“Vandenberg. Roxy Vandenberg,” an officious voice called over the registrar’s office loudspeaker when my turn came.
I jumped to my feet and pushed through the crowd of students trying to get their schedules straightened out on the first day of spring semester.
Did they all have the same issue I did?
“Um, hi,” I said to the slack-faced clerk. “My name wasn’t on the roster of my first class today, so I thought I’d stop by to see what was up—”
“Name and social security number please,” she barked without looking at me.
Fuck, I hated being interrupted. But I was in no position to provide this stranger the lesson on manners I would have liked to. First things first.
“Here is my identification, Miss… um, what was your name?”
But she ignored my request, just typing my information into her computer at breakneck speed. After a minute, she looked back at me, frowning. “Your tuition bill is unpaid,” she said with a sigh, like she told people that all day long.
Maybe she did. Paying for college wasn’t easy. Unless you had well-off parents, which I did not. But that didn’t make me any less worthy of her respect. It wasn’t like I was some sort of freeloading slacker, trying to game my way through college without paying. I’d come up with my tuition money for the last six semesters. You’d think that counted for something.
I tapped my foot to bleed off frustration, but she backed away from the plexiglass window separating us, anyway. I’d never been too good at hiding my emotions. But I was trying that day. It wouldn’t pay to take my shit out on a paper-pusher.
I forced a lame smile. “Can you check again please? Because I think that’s a mistake,” I asked, politely but firmly gesturing at her computer, like it was the machine’s mistake and not hers. Because of course.
She clicked around her keyboard, read the screen for another minute or more, and looked back at me. “I can only tell you what the system is telling me. If your bill is unpaid, your name is not provided to any of the professors. You don’t show up on the class rosters. You need to see what’s up with your bill at the bursar’s office. They can tell you more. I only deal with class registration.”
She turned her computer screen so I could see it. Sure enough, next to my name was a big red onscreen ‘UNPAID’ glaring back at me, mocking all my academic and life ambitions, like the ugly word that it was.
Complete and total bullshit.
“Um, thanks,” I muttered, completely insincerely, shoulder-chucking my way through the crowd to get out of there.
I hiked two floors down to the bursar’s office, where I pulled a number for what looked to be another interminable wait. Just like in registration, the place was beyond crowded, so full there were at least twice as many students as there were chairs in the waiting area. In fact, there were so many people sitting on the floor a security guard had been called. Looked like there were a lot of students with scheduling and payment problems. I felt slightly better knowing I wasn’t alone and had to wonder, was the university making that many mistakes with their records, as they had in my case, or were there just that many student deadbeats behind on their bills?
Either way, I was certain my issue, when we got to the bottom of it, would be resolved quickly.
But when my turn finally came, the news I got wasn’t any better than what the registrar’s clerk had given me.
In fact, it was multitudes worse.
“Ms. Vandenberg,” my clerk shrilled with a gleeful and slightly elevated voice, I was pretty sure designed to attract attention, “your bill is unpaid. You must pay it before you can attend classes.”
For fuck’s sake.
I tried to swallow, but my throat was dry. “Right,” I said, pausing to make sure I had her undivided attention. “That’s what I was told at the registrar’s office. And, that’s why I’m here. The thing is, my bill is paid. There must be some sort of mix-up.”
I smiled like everything would be fine. I was a believer in positive thinking.
But the clerk wasn’t convinced. Instead, she just repeated herself, only more loudly.
Could I be kicked out of school for murdering a pencil-pushing bureaucrat?
But I knew to keep it together. This matter would be resolved simply. I needed to preserve my brain cells for the more challenging thinking that was going to be required for my calculus homework. There was clearly a simple mistake made somewhere, and I would get to the bottom of it.
“Well,” I explained to the clerk, “you see, each semester I pay half my tuition and my parents pay the other half. We’ve both paid. I should be good to go.”
After a couple clicks on her keyboard, she turned back to me. “Your balance is only half paid right now. That means one half is missing. And until you pay the other half, you can’t attend classes. You are not allowed. In fact, you shouldn’t even really be on campus.”
Smug fuck.
I clenched my fists until my nails cut my palms. “Are you sure there are not two payments?” I asked, trying to head off the shrill tone my voice was starting to take on.
She glared at me without a modicum of compassion. “One payment was made at the end of last semester. There haven’t been any others since.”
No fucking way. It was not possible. I grabbed my phone to access online banking. I could at least confirm the school had gotten my payment.
I’d have to call Mom and Dad about the rest.
“But I’m sure my parents—” I started to say.
“You need to talk to them, Ms. Vandenberg. Until your account is paid in full, you are not considered enrolled. Would you like a refund for what you’ve paid so far? Or would you rather keep it as a credit for another time?”
No. Fucking. Way.
This was not happening. It was just not happening.
“Miss, are you okay?” she asked like she really cared. Which she clearly did not.
“Wh… why wasn’t I informed? H… how did this happen?” I stuttered.
More keyboard clicks. “I see here a letter was sent to your home address a couple weeks back.”
A letter? Was sent to my home?
Where one of my parents must have intercepted it.
But why? Why wouldn’t they have told me about it?
While I stood there with rapid-fire questions shooting through my mind, the clerk looked past me, her face covered in impatience.
“Next,” she called, as if I weren’t there.
I wished I weren’t there, either.
