LOVE IN DISTRESS

Untitled Episode4. TWO DAYS AND A DEADLINE

I sat on the edge of the bed, and my stuffs looked out of place.

I thought about Cletus’s words in between, he said “You make the place look bad,” and for a second I thought about it and he wasn’t wrong at all.

I didn’t belong here, but my mother said I did, and Mr Harrison said I earned it, so with that in my mind I got dressed and went to Math 101.

The halls of Ivy Dorms were quiet in the morning, too quiet, with no sound except my footsteps on the marble floor and the faint smell of polish that made me remember nights spent on my knees with a mop in my hand.

I kept my head down as I walked past girls with coffee cups and small dogs tucked into designer bags, and I felt the old feeling creeping back, the one that said I was out of place and everyone could see it.

Michael was already there, sitting two rows up like always, and when I walked in he just gave me a small nod instead of waving or making it a big thing.

I took my usual seat at the back, opened my notebook, and tried to focus, but my mind kept going back to the hospital bill and my mother’s voice on the phone.

The numbers were stuck in my head, eight thousand four hundred dollars, and I didn’t know where even a hundred of that was supposed to come from.

Scholarships didn’t cover hospital bills, and cleaning jobs didn’t pay enough to cover rent and food and something like this, not in a month, not in a year.

“Annabelle,” Professor Lane said, “you got the last problem right yesterday, want to try this one?”

I looked up and saw the equation on the board, messy with red chalk marks that made it look harder than it was, and I walked up and solved it without thinking too much because math was one of the few things that still made sense to me.

When I sat back down Michael turned halfway and mouthed “good job,” and for a second it felt like maybe I could be normal here, like maybe I could just be a student and not the cleaner’s daughter who got lucky.

After class he caught up to me in the hall and asked,

“Coffee? Library cafe, the machine’s working today.”

I almost said no out of habit because I didn’t want to owe anyone anything or give anyone a reason to look at me closer.

But I didn’t want to sit alone in the dorm with the numbers in my head either, so I said okay.

We walked across the quad without talking much, and the wind was cold but not the kind that made your bones ache like the nights we cleaned, this one felt clean, new, like the air had been scrubbed overnight and the campus was trying to pretend nothing bad ever happened here.

When we sat down I wrapped both hands around the cup and told him,

“My mom’s in the hospital, pneumonia,”

before I could stop myself, and the words felt heavy coming out because I hadn’t said them out loud to anyone yet.

His face changed right away and he asked,

“Is she okay?”

I told him they were running tests and she had to stay for a week, maybe longer, and that the bill was eight thousand dollars.

I kept my eyes on the table because I didn’t want to see pity in his face, I’d seen enough of that already from people who thought they were being kind.

Michael didn’t say anything for a long time, then he leaned forward and said,

“We’ll figure it out, don’t try to carry it alone,”

and his voice was steady in a way that made me want to believe him even though I knew better.

I wanted to believe him, I really did, but eight thousand dollars wasn’t something you just figured out when your whole bank account had forty-two dollars in it, and the school didn’t give out money just because you were desperate, they gave it out because you had the right last name or your parents had donated a building.

“I have to go see her,” I said, standing up too fast so coffee sloshed over the rim.

“I’ll drive you,” he said.

I didn’t argue because at that point I couldn’t.

The drive to St. Mercy Hospital was quiet, and I watched the city pass by outside the window, thinking about how fast everything had changed in two weeks.

One day I was cleaning floors, the next day I was a student, and now I was back to worrying about money like nothing had changed at all.

When we got there the hospital smelled like antiseptic and old coffee, and the fluorescent lights made everything look tired, even the people walking through the halls.

My mother was in Room 204, and she looked small in the bed with tubes in her arm and an oxygen mask resting on the table beside her.

She smiled when she saw me, even though her face was pale and her breathing was shallow, and the first thing she said was,

“Annabelle, you didn’t miss class, did you?”

“Mom, you collapsed,” I said, and my voice cracked because I’d been holding it together since the text came through.

“Annabelle,” she said firmly, “you worked too hard for this. Don’t throw it away because of me.”

I hated that she was right, I hated that even lying in a hospital bed she was still thinking about my scholarship and my future and not about herself.

The doctor came in then and told us it was pneumonia and stress, that she needed to stay for at least a week, maybe longer, and that the bill on the desk was eight thousand four hundred dollars and we needed to pay at least half by Friday or it would go to collections.

I almost dropped the paper when he handed it to me, and Michael put a hand on my shoulder like he could hold me up just by touching me.

“How am I supposed to pay this?” I whispered.

“We’ll talk to the school,” he said. “Maybe they can help, maybe we can set up a payment plan.”

I nodded because what else could I do.

We sat with my mother for an hour, and she kept telling me not to worry, that she’d been sick before and she’d be fine, but I could see the fear in her eyes when she thought I wasn’t looking.

When we left she squeezed my hand and said,

“Get better grades than everyone else, just to make them mad.”

I laughed even though it hurt because that was how she always handled things, with a joke and a push forward.

Michael walked me back to the dorms when we left, and the sun was setting and the campus looked quiet, almost peaceful if you didn’t know what was underneath it.

“Call me if you need anything,” he said. “Anything, even if it’s 3 a.m.”

I nodded and said thank you, and he smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes, like he was holding something back.

I told myself I was imagining it because I was tired and scared and my brain was looking for problems where there weren’t any.

That night I couldn’t sleep.

I stared at the ceiling and did the math over and over, tuition was covered but rent and food and eight thousand dollars for the hospital wasn’t, and I kept coming up with the same answer, which was zero.

I thought about dropping out, about going back to cleaning full-time and telling Mom we’d figure it out later, but I knew she wouldn’t let me and I didn’t want to let her down either.

Then I remembered what she said, “Being honest matters more than having a full stomach for one night,” and I realized I didn’t know how to be honest and stay in school at the same time anymore.

Two days later Cletus found me in the library, sitting at a table in the back where I thought no one would bother me.

“You look worse than before,” he said, dropping into the seat across from me without asking, and he wasn’t yelling this time, he just looked annoyed like I was wasting his time.

“Go away, Cletus,” I said, because I didn’t have the energy for him and I had bigger things to worry about.

He leaned forward and lowered his voice a little, and said,

“I’m trying to help you, believe it or not. Stay away from Michael Drake.”

I stopped writing and looked at him,

“What?”

“He’s using you,” Cletus said. “I don’t know what his game is, but rich kids don’t hang out with scholarship kids unless they want something, and Michael Drake isn’t as poor as he pretends to be.”

“That’s not true,” I said, but my voice shook a little because I’d been thinking the same thing in the back of my mind since Friday.

“Isn’t it?” he said. “Think about it. He showed up right after you got famous for giving back the money. He’s too perfect, too available, and his dad is Victor Drake, and Victor Drake doesn’t do anything without a reason.”

I stood up and grabbed my bag because I didn’t want to hear this, not now, not when I was already falling apart.

“No,” Cletus said, “but I know his family, and they’re bad news, Annabelle. Worse than me.”

I walked away before he could say anything else, but his words stuck to me like wet paper, and I kept hearing them in my head while I tried to study and while I tried to sleep.

That night my mother called again, and her voice was tired in a way I hadn’t heard before.

“The hospital said we need to pay at least half by Friday, or they’ll send it to collections,” she said.

“Annabelle, I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” I whispered, because it wasn’t, it was mine for being too proud to ask for help and for thinking a scholarship would fix everything.

“I know you’re trying,” she said. “But if you need to take a break from school, we can do that. I don’t want you sick from stress.”

I closed my eyes and said,

“I’ll figure it out, Mom. Get better. That’s all I care about,”

and I meant it, even if I had no idea how I was going to do it.