“I feel like you’re setting me up for failure, and I don’t appreciate it.” I’m beginning to think the worst. It’s hard, knowing everything is stacked against me. I’ve never been in a situation like this before, and it’s uncomfortable.
“Failure isn’t an option, Isabella. Any work you’ve done previous to this doesn’t matter, won’t even count. You’re entire grade rides on what you do in this moment.”
He drops another fucking bomb. This one I really hadn’t expected.
“That’s not fair,” I whisper, trying to push the heaviness out of my chest and the tightness out of my throat.
Pete levels me with his gaze. “Life isn’t fair, and as soon as you realize that, the better off you’ll be. This isn’t an easy job. Why do you think I’m a professor at a college, instead of off in the warzone? As humans we do what we have to, in order to survive, and I’m telling you, this is what you have to do.”
I sigh heavily, finally facing and understanding the obstacles he’s laying down in front of me. “Just so you know, I resent you for this.”
“It’s okay if you resent me,” he drops his pen on his desk, folding his hands in front of his chin. “I’m trying to get your prepared for reality, something I wish others had done when I was in your shoes. You understand?”
“Yeah,” I cross my arms over my chest. “I guess I get you’re trying to make me a better person and a good journalist, but this feels like a personal attack. I have to be honest with you.”
“You gonna be able to do it?”
“Is there really an option that I don’t?” I question, giving him a look of death. Wishing with everything I have, it would cause him to expire right on the spot. “I’ve not gone to school for four years to get this damn close and have you pull it away from me.”
“I’m not pulling it away from you, you’ll be pulling it away.”
Inside I’m fuming, absolutely ready to stop right now. Give up everything I’ve worked for, but I have to keep my cool. “How long do I have to accomplish this?”
“Six weeks, from start to finish.”
“Six weeks?” I parrot back at him, feeling that pit in my stomach increase into a damn crater.
“I didn’t stutter, right? Seven weeks until this semester is over and you need to have everything to me in enough time for me to grade it.”
“But we have this semester and next before I graduate. I’ve known you long enough to know you typically grade both of them together. I feel like you’ve decided to fuck me over, Professor.” Any other teacher I wouldn’t say those words to, but this one? He knows me better than anyone else. He knows my dreams and what I want to accomplish. It’s almost as if it’s impossible.
“You tell me you don’t think you’re up to it, I’ll fail you right now. You can do this, Isabella, don’t disappoint me.”
If there’s anything I hate, it’s someone telling me I’ll fail. I’ve worked hard to be where I am in life, and I’ll be damned if I let anything stand in my way. Not to mention pulling the disappointment card was a low fucking blow. “I’m up to it, I’ll give you the best interview you’ve ever read in your life.”
“I’m expecting that from you. Go out there and get it.”
He turns away from me, and I know at this moment I’m dismissed. Grabbing my purse and bag, I shoulder them both before getting up and leaving the office. It’s taken everything I have to hold my shit together, but no more.
Once I’m outside, I let my cheeks heat, let the flush of anger flow over my body. This is the stuff I do my best to keep in, to not allow others to see, but dammit I’m pissed right now.
It’s a long haul down the hill to student parking. If I thought I could make it without falling on my face, I’d take off at a run and get rid of all these feelings inside my chest. But I haven’t run in at least two years, and I don’t want anyone having to call the ambulance on me because I’ve about killed myself. When I see my SUV, I pick up the pace, ready to get inside so I can let loose with the tears clogging up my throat. Beeping the doors, I fumble, opening the driver’s side as quickly as I can. Tossing my bag and purse in the passenger seat, I crank the heat, and rest my forehead against the steering wheel, finally letting the tears fall.
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