by M. Billiter
I gently placed my note on top of her living will, carefully folded the document in thirds, and tucked it inside her purse. There was no need for Branson, Carson, or Jack to find it. Her wishes were mine to bear.
16
Branson
When you wore a badge, no one questioned anything. It was another reason I liked my university parking job—they gave me a badge. And when that shiny piece of silver was attached to the right clothes, like a nice shirt or jacket, it allowed me to roam wherever the fuck I wanted to on campus. And that was exactly what I intended to do.
I wouldn’t have to if Professor Nigel wasn’t such a douche and accepted late assignments. But he didn’t, so here I was in the health sciences building heading toward his biology classroom. It was where the good doctor kept his lecture notes and midterm exam.
Stupid bastard was so old-school he actually still had his tests copied at the college print shop—a little something I discovered when Carmen, who worked part-time at the copy shop, faced a $60 ticket for parking half the day in a two-hour lot. I helped her out of the ticket by not issuing her one, and she spilled the tea on which professors photocopied their exams versus posting them in the university’s secure online system.
Sure, it would’ve been easier for me if Carmen just ran an extra copy of the exam, but I knew she wasn’t the type. It was one thing to tell me which professors copied their exams but an entirely different thing to lift it. One amounted to nothing more than gossip while the other could get her expelled from the university.
No biggie. My badge gave me carte blanche to stroll the hallways and enter Nigel’s classroom virtually unnoticed, which was exactly what I was going to do.
Classrooms weren’t locked until after the last class ended for the night, which gave me about an hour to snap a picture of the midterm on my phone before campus security began their evening patrol. Even then, I doubted they actually checked each doorknob to make sure it was locked. Campus security was lazy. They weren’t incentivized—a fancy term for bribe—by a monthly raffle for the parking patrol officer who issued the most tickets. Yeah, I had all the time in the world.
For some reason, plant biology was housed in health sciences. The upside was all the dope student nurses in their tight-fitting scrubs. The downside was the north hallway that was tiled in a black-and-white checkerboard design. I think the tile was supposed to class up the joint and make a statement, but all it did was amp things up. There was enough stress in college without having to face a busy-patterned hallway. Shit, I half expected those creepy twins from The Shining to appear at the end of the hall.
I shuddered at the thought. My mind played enough tricks on me; I didn’t need any help.
The corridor was clear, but I still glanced in either direction before I entered room 104. A badge could only do so much. I didn’t need some male nurse with a fragile ego ratting me out.
With no one in sight, I slipped into his classroom. Nigel’s standing desk was tucked in a far corner at the front of the room. The location always seemed off until I realized the distance from the door gave Nigel a clear shot through its windowpane into the hallway. This, of course, gave the sadistic bastard a front row view of the students standing in the hallway because they were locked out. Nigel didn’t give two shits if a student was late because of another class running over, or if a student had to hump it across campus because of limited parking, or if their mom announced a second cancer. Late was late, full stop.
If a student was on time for class but their work wasn’t, they were still shit out of luck. Nigel wouldn’t accept late assignments any more than he’d open the door to late student arrivals. His fucked-up thinking created a real lose-lose dynamic. It wasn’t like I didn’t know that, of course. It was why when I left Cheyenne to return to Casper, I padded my time knowing I had Professor Douchebag’s class.
After a two-hour drive back to Casper, I’d hustled to the health sciences building with ten minutes to spare. But then Hope from Dr. Blaze’s office called, and since Nigel wouldn’t allow cell phones during class, I stepped out of the room. Only she wasn’t calling about a medication refill or to schedule my lab appointment for a blood draw. Nope, Hope called because I’d struck up a conversation with her on Snapchat over the weekend. She called to see what my week looked like and when I’d be back in Cheyenne.
As I watched the minutes tick past too quickly on the clock in the hallway, I made a choice—talk to the redheaded hottie I’d been scoping out for months or be on time for Nigel.
I was sure those in academia would say I made the wrong choice, but I wasn’t pursuing a degree in education. Fuck that. My degree was in forest management. I had to pass Nigel’s class to fulfill a stupid requirement in plant biology. It was lame. One of the most basic forestry rules was clear: if you’re not sure, don’t eat it. Duh. I didn’t need some blowhard telling me which plants were dangerous and why. So when Hope called, I followed my heart—something I hadn’t done in years.
Following my heart also meant breaking the rules. Since I wasn’t on time for his class, I couldn’t hand in my assignment. Now, maintaining a passing grade in Nigel’s class depended on how well I did on his midterm. And I wasn’t about to take any chances.
The room was darker than I’d expected. Fall forward. The stupid time change always made it darker earlier. Sure, I liked the longer nights, but when it looked like midnight when it was only six, something wasn’t right.
I left the door slightly ajar. I didn’t think I could get locked in, but if I didn’t have bad luck, I’d have no luck at all.
I activated my cell phone’s flashlight and carefully rummaged through Nigel’s considerably tall stack of neatly organized, color-coordinated papers. A plants and human health handout was copied on blue paper. I skimmed to the purple section only to find a titillating paper on plant ecology and pathology. Yawn. The green pile was, ironically, focused on the topic of green conservation. I moved toward an orange-colored slice of papers when I spotted a hint of pink.
What do we have here?
I glanced at the sheet. “Midterm Exam” was centered across the top, followed by thirty questions that lined the page.
What is double fertilization?
While the first question would normally make me laugh, I knew the answer.
“Double fertilization’s a complex but common evolution with flowering plants,” I said softly, as if the sound of my own voice would be my downfall.
It was actually one of Nigel’s more interesting lectures and slides. I thought about his lecture and the one I’d give.
“I bet you didn’t know that after pollination occurs, a second fertilization can occur. So in plants, it produces a seeded plant, like corn or peas. But”—I held my finger up as if I were teaching a class in the dark—“when double fertilization occurs in humans, the embryo usually doesn’t survive.”
I slowly nodded as if empathizing with the empty seats. “I know, sucks.”
I leaned my elbow against Nigel’s standing desk. “Bet you didn’t know I was an identical twin.” Again, I nodded toward my imaginary class. I knew time was against me, but in that moment, it felt like the most natural place to be.
“Yup.” I surveyed my nonexistent class. “My brother and I started as one fertilized egg that split into two genetically identical embryos. We share the same face, blood type, and DNA. Although, it makes you wonder how my brother sidestepped the genetic landmine of schizoaffective. Ironically, I have Professor Douchebag to thank for answering that question.”
I patted his mile-high stack of papers. “I think the handout was copied on tan? Anyway….”
I thought about the research sheet Nigel gave us. It was somewhere in my apartment. I’d kept it to share with Aaron.
“These scientists in the US, Sweden, and I think the Netherlands?” I shrugged as if accuracy mattered in research. “Anyway, this group of science guys studied something like ten pairs of identical twins, including some where one twin showed s
igns of dementia or Parkinson’s but the other didn’t. The takeaway was actually really fascinating and something I wish we had discussed in class.” My smile began to fade. “Basically, while my identical twin and I share the same DNA, some of the coding in our DNA could be different, which totally makes sense.”
I stared into the nothingness and realized my fear of public speaking dissipated. I actually spoke better if no one watched me. I should give all my presentations in the dark.
“You know, it’s actually a relief,” I said. “My identical twin and I aren’t 100 percent similar.” I swallowed before concluding my impromptu lecture. “That means my brother, Aaron, will never have to know what it’s like to be the divided twin.”
The truth was a sobering reality. The divided twin.
“And just so you know,” I added, trying to lighten the mood for the students I’d never teach, “I’m glad. I wouldn’t wish mental illness on anyone—not even Professor Douchebag.”
I clapped my hands together. “Anyway, thank you for indulging me.” I slightly bowed as if an encore was imminent, then sighed, realizing I’d never be in front of any class. Nope, my classroom was the great outdoors, and that suited me just fine.
I returned my focus to the stack of papers and the next question on the handout, which thankfully was less personal than the first.
What varieties of succulents have water storage leaves?
“I know this. Jade or ice plants.” I shrugged. “This can’t be the midterm.” I flicked the cell light toward the header of the paper, but I hadn’t misread it. “Midterm Exam” was in bold, front and center.
Damn. This is it.
I skimmed the rest of the questions. No surprises.
“Shit. I actually know this.”
“That’s the intent.”
I jumped and dropped my phone. Fuck! I quickly grabbed it and in the process hit the edge of the standing desk. The tower of colorful papers scattered to the floor like confetti. A row of overhead lights flickered, highlighting the ginormous mess. I knelt beside the fragmented rainbow and lowered my head, but the damage was done.
“Mr. Kovak.”
I glanced up. He loomed above me with his hands on the hips of his black slacks. His tie swung like a noose around his neck as his dark eyes stared down at me.
“Professor Nigel,” I said.
Then he did something I never expected. He extended his hand.
I grabbed it, and he helped me to my feet.
“Would you like to tell me what you’re doing in my classroom?”
“Just getting a jump on my attendance.” I tried to sell the lie, but Nigel wasn’t buying it.
He slowly nodded. “And how would you explain the condition of my classroom?”
“Oh, this?” I surveyed the mess of papers on the floor and scratched the back of my head. “Yeah, that was an accident.”
I think he may have smiled.
“But nothing that can’t be cleaned up,” I added, hoping optimism would overshadow the grim reality that my professor just found me with his midterm exam.
I began to gather the papers when he tapped my shoulder.
“Mr. Kovak, that can wait. I think a discussion is in order.”
My stomach dropped, and I was pretty sure I broke out in a sweat.
Fuck. I’m a semester away from graduating. What have I done?
Nigel reached the door in three short steps and clicked on the rest of the overhead lights. I held my hand above my eyes while I adjusted to the brightness.
“Please.” Nigel nodded toward the table and chairs.
I took a seat behind the first table, and he grabbed a chair and sat opposite me.
“I… I….” I couldn’t string together a sentence. Suddenly, I felt myself shatter into a million little pieces. My head pounded with the beat of my heart that was definitely in overdrive. I picked at what nails I had left and tore at my cuticles. Then the coughing kicked in. I knew it was a sign of my tick, but I couldn’t help it. It happened when I was nervous or stressed. Or stressed because I was nervous. Every couple of seconds, a little cough escaped without warning.
“I liked your lecture,” Nigel said.
And for a minute, I didn’t cough, but I kept picking at my nails.
“Have you ever thought about a teaching career?”
My burst of laughter startled us both. A long, drawn-out “No” followed.
He rubbed his chin as if he were assessing the damage in front of him. Or the floor. It was hard to tell which was a bigger mess, me or all the handouts strewn everywhere.
“You mentioned that you’re an identical twin,” he said.
I nodded.
“Is your brother a student at Wyoming State?”
Again, I laughed. “No, he’s serious about education.” It came out of my mouth before I could take it back. “I mean, you know, he started here, but then he studied abroad and”—I shrugged—“he found a college that was a better fit.”
“I see.”
I knew he didn’t. No one did. Aaron hadn’t fucked up his life like I had. And he sure as shit wouldn’t have tried to steal a midterm. Or conduct an impromptu lecture in the process. What the fuck was I thinking? I picked at my cuticles until they started to bleed, then placed my hands beneath the table.
“Professor Nigel, I know I shouldn’t be here. I was just, you know, worried about the midterm.” I sounded pathetic. I cleared my throat and thought about my mom. When any of us got in trouble, she always said half the time she just wanted us to apologize and stop making excuses. “I’m sorry. What I did was wrong.”
“Like you said, nothing that can’t be cleaned up.” He pushed out his chair and turned toward the pile of papers scattered across the floor. “I wouldn’t mind a little help,” he said with his back to me.
“Right.” I hurried toward the clutter and began sorting papers by color, purposefully bypassing the salmon-colored midterm.
I thought he wanted to talk. Was that the talk?
Nigel knelt and his black dress shoes shone against the tiled floor. How does anyone get their shoes that shiny? It should’ve been the furthest thought from my mind, but I couldn’t help but wonder. I could practically see myself in the reflection.
“Mr. Kovak, I’d like you to do something for me.”
It felt like the wind was knocked from me. I stopped gathering papers and leaned back on my legs. Here it comes.
“Well, actually three things,” he said.
I nodded.
“I’d like you to go to the Disability Support Services office.” He never broke eye contact with me. “It’s in the admin building on the second floor.”
Before I could ask why, he continued.
“They provide services for students with disabilities.”
“Uh, I don’t have a disability.”
“I won’t insult you by saying that I understand what it’s like to live with a mental illness. Or that I knew you had one, because clearly I didn’t.”
And there it is. I could play the crazy card and ride this thing right out of his classroom. Or….
“Professor Nigel, I’m fine. I take medication and see a shrink. I’m good.”
“This is your senior year, isn’t it?”
Didn’t he hear me? “Uh, yeah.”
“Interesting. There’s not one notation in your file for accommodations. It’s something I would’ve been notified of at the start of the term. But your name and accommodation aren’t noted.”
When I didn’t respond, he continued. “Accommodations, such as proctored tests, which allow a student to take a test at their own pace, are available for students with a wide range of learning, emotional, or physical disabilities.”
“O-kay.” I wasn’t sure where he was going with this.
“It is quite commendable that you’ve made it this far in your educational pursuits without testing accommodations in place. Testing situations can be stress producing. Students with hidden disabilities usuall
y drop out,” he explained.
Hidden disabilities? Fuck. Just call it what it is—I’m mental. But he kept staring at me, so I shrugged. “It’s okay. Really. If anything, I’m sorry you had to hear me ramble. But I’m fine.”
“If that were true, I doubt I would’ve found you in my classroom previewing the midterm exam. Which leads to the second point. I’d like you to write a personal essay about a specific time in your educational experience that shaped you into the young man you are now.”
I scoffed. “Okay… may I ask why?”
“Yes, you may. It’s the scholarship requirement for graduating seniors who have undergone a unique challenge to finish their education. I think you have a good story to tell. And since I’m the chairperson for the scholarship committee, part of my job is to seek out submissions. So you’d be helping me.”
I smiled. “Listen, that’s really nice of you, but really, I’m okay. I was in your classroom when I shouldn’t have been here.”
“You’re correct. The Student Code of Conduct is in place to prevent behavior like this that undermines academic success. However, your lecture is probably what saved you.”
I chuckled when I probably should’ve remained stone-faced.
“So, the first of the two requirements is that you visit the disability offices and write an essay.” He paused. “I think your essay will broaden the candidate pool. The deadline for submissions is Friday.”
“This Friday?” My voice easily rose an octave.
That time he smiled. “Since you’ve already got a jump on the study material for the midterm exam, that should give you plenty of time to get an essay typed up. Then in the following week, you can go to the disability office.”
I exhaled loud enough for him to hear me. “Sure, okay.” I mean, what choice did I have? The guy could’ve had me suspended from the university, if not worse. “Disability office and essay, got it.”
“The final piece is for you to attend at least one group meeting at the Depression Center.”
“The Depression Center? Are you for real? I get that depression is one of the symptoms of my illness, but I treat it with medication. And the medication works. I don’t get depressed. I mean, I’m starting to feel depressed after tonight, but I’m not suicidal or anything.” I backed away from Nigel. “Listen, I messed up. Plain and simple. But I can’t be the first student who’s tried to sneak a glance at a midterm, and I’m pretty sure I won’t be the last.” As I spoke, I found release in finally sharing my truth and standing up for myself. I wasn’t sure what it was, only that there was so much bottled up inside me that I couldn’t contain the explosion.
