We Are Us

Chapter 16 Worthington University

Fall Semester, Freshman Year

Michael pokes his head through my door. “Hey, do you have a minute?”

I’m sitting cross-legged on my bed, re-reading an essay I finished at three in the morning last night. “Of course.” After I email it to my professor, I’ll pack a bag and catch the shuttle to the train station.

I’ve been counting down the days until I can get off campus for Thanksgiving break, and yet I’m terrified of going back to Sackett, too.

Will my mom and sister sense the change in me? I look exactly the same, physically. Mentally, though, it’s like I’m an entirely different person. And frankly, I don’t like this new Poppy. She’s a stranger living inside my skin.

She’s so afraid of saying the wrong thing, she doesn’t say much at all. She doesn’t like studying at the library or going for long walks on campus. Even fully clothed, she feels exposed and vulnerable. Rushing from Caldwell to class and then straight back again, she takes no comfort beneath the shade of a gnarled elm tree on the quad.

It’s driving Wren nuts, I know. Every time my roommate walks in the door she gives me a look like, You’re still here?

I am.

But not for much longer. Soon I will be back in the town I couldn’t wait to escape. Back in my old room, my bulletin board filled with pictures of things I’d torn from the pages of magazines. Things I wanted. Things I thought would make me happy.

They mean nothing now. They belong to the person I used to be. The person I will never be again.

I set the essay aside as Michael steps into my room. He’s holding a folder, and the expression on his face tells me I won’t like what is in it. “Mind if I close the door?”

Panic claws at my composure. I don’t want to be alone with Michael, or with any guy. But explaining why is impossible. “Yeah, sure.” At least no one from my dorm will overhear this conversation.

He pulls out the chair from my desk and sits down, nodding his head toward the other half of my room. “Wren left already?”

“She did. Last night.”

Michael exhales, then passes me the folder. It’s blue, with the WU emblem stamped in gold on the front.

I take it reluctantly. “Am I being expelled?”

Michael shakes his head. “No, no. Of course not.” With nothing left to hold, he wraps his hands over his knees, palms rubbing at his worn jeans. “They wanted me to give this to you personally, walk you through everything and then, you know, if you have any questions, direct you to the relevant person.”

I want to ask who they is, but the question shrivels on my tongue as I open the folder and pull out the papers inside with stiff fingers. The first is an invoice. My eyes are immediately drawn to the line item at the bottom of the page. Ambulatory medical services. The amount listed makes my breath catch in the back of my throat. Nearly a thousand dollars. Money I don’t have. “Michael, I, um, I don’t—” I take another breath, try again. “How am I going to…”

“I know. I’m really sorry. Apparently, insurance covered your hospital costs, but not the ambulance ride from campus.” He stands up, reaches in his pocket and opens a folded sheet of loose-leaf paper. “I wrote down the case officer assigned to you if you have any questions.”

This time, I make no effort to reach for it, so Michael places the creased paper on my bed and sits back down. My lungs feel like they’ve shrunk in the past two minutes, I can’t get a deep breath. “It’s not fair. How can they expect me to pay for…”

But I don’t finish the sentence. Won’t say the four-letter word that starts with r and ends in ape. That night is a mistake.

I don’t need Wren to tell me that I can’t point my finger at Tucker, levy an accusation that will affect me as much as him. Maybe more. He’s a Stockton and I’m a scholarship student. If I speak up, regardless of who is right and who is wrong, his family can easily buy another building or pay a team of lawyers to slant the facts to his advantage. No. Much better to keep my mouth shut and my head down.

If that makes me a coward, so be it.

Pushing out a breath heavy with desperation, I set the invoice aside. Next is an appointment confirmation with a WU Judicial Administrator. I look up at Michael. “What’s this?”

“Well, any time a student is found to have violated school alcohol policies, you have to go before the WUJA Board.”

I feel the blood draining from my face. “So, I am in trouble for what happened.”

“No. Of course not.”

“Then why do they want to see me?”

“I think it’s just policy, really.”

“Policy.” I let the word sink in. “Have you ever gone before the…”

“The WUJA Board,” he fills in. “No. But it’s not all that uncommon.”

“Has anyone from our floor had to?”

“Well, no.”

“The dorm?”

“Poppy, I really can’t say.”

“Can you at least tell me what I should expect? Will I have to tell them everything that happened?” I’m not telling anyone what happened. I just want to get my lies straight.

He gives a slow nod, the paper in his hands rustling. “Um, yeah. I think so. Tucker will talk to them, too, because there was alcohol in his room that night.”

I swallow. “Will we have to go together?”

“No, no. You each have your own appointment.”

Beyond my closed door, I hear the shouts of students as they celebrate coming back from an exam, or turning in a final paper. Suitcases are knocked into walls, there is yelling up and down the hall, music is playing, various songs clashing so that I can barely differentiate between them. Noise. But mostly what I hear is a buzzing in my ears, and the hurried thump-thump-thumping of my heartbeat.

I turn my attention back to the remaining piece of paper in the folder. Worthington University Counseling Services is printed at the top, with a date and time written in by hand below. “Another appointment?”

“Yeah. It’s a session with a counselor, so you can talk about what happened.”

I look into Michael’s face, imagining what he would say to me if he knew what actually happened. “Isn’t that what I have to do in front of the WUJ whatever people?”

His face reddens. “Yeah. Kind of. But they’re different. It’s mandatory for anyone caught with alcohol to see a counselor. I think they evaluate you to decide on the best course of action for moving forward.”

“The best course…” my voice trails off.

“Like, whether you need to take an alcohol abuse class. Or—”

I interrupt. “It’s fine. Forget it.” A tear drips onto the page in my hands and I let go of it, then press the heels of my palms against my eyes.

How can I pretend that night never happened if everyone else won’t let me?

After all, it was just a mistake.

“Was any of this sent to my mother?”

“No. You’re over eighteen so it’s up to you what, or how much…” Michael’s voice trails away and I sense him stand up. A moment later, he places a box of tissues in my lap. “I’m sorry, really.”

Something deep inside me breaks, cleaves completely away. I manage to grab a handful of tissues and hold them to my face. I need to be alone. “Please, just go.”

“Are you sure? We can talk about this. I can stay.”

He means well, I know that. But I’m falling apart and I don’t want any witnesses. My hands drop and I glare at him through a veil of tears. “Go,” I repeat in a strange kind of gurgling growl.