Scorched Dreams

School was never Annabelle’s thing but she always managed to get by. After high school, she attended a community college for two years and then transferred to her state college. Her dream was to become a teacher. Yes, ironic for someone who has never been good at school. But that is exactly why she wanted to be a teacher, to make a difference and a genuine impact in the lives of her future students, as cliche as that sounds. She wanted to help kids understand that there isn't just one way to be smart and that success is still possible without having excellent grades. She was going to be one of those “look at me!” poster children for people who overcame challenges. That is, until her GPA dropped below a 2.5 and she was kicked out of school. 

When she received her Spring semester grades and saw her GPA she knew what was coming. She knew the school's policy, having it in the back of her mind with every test and assignment grade she got back. When she walked into her academic advisor's office for the meeting he had emailed her about with the subject "academic discussion," the urge to vomit the dry toast she forced down her throat that morning was overwhelming.

As she took a seat in the icy metal chair across from his desk, she regretted wearing shorts, her skin growing a shield of goosebumps and raised hairs. Her attention hyper fixated on the obnoxious ticking of his clock. She wanted to yell at it to shut up, to have some respect for the gravity of her situation. Now was not the time to be so fucking tuned in to the time! How did her advisor get any of his work done with this thing?

She wasn't sure when he started speaking, but eventually, she heard, "I'm sorry, Annabelle, but given your current GPA, the school’s policy calls for..." And then came the dreaded words she had been anxiously awaiting: “academic dismissal.” His voice faded into the background as her attention unwillingly returned to the ticking clock. Her teeth began to chatter, although likely not from the cold. She desperately tried to prevent her tears from spilling, forcing them to make a home in her waterline. 

Now what? She had quit her job as a nanny to pursue her dream career. Going back seemed humiliating. The most frustrating part was that she knew her shit! It was just all those damn tests. Every time she sat down to take one, she’d get overwhelmingly hot and start sweating a concerning amount. Her hands would shake so much that her writing became even more ineligible than usual. She cursed her stupid hands and her stupid, fucking brain as she stormed out of the office and school and into the scorching sun. Her goosebumps transformed into a sticky coat of sweat that drenched her back and mixed with her tears, burning her eyes.

Sweating and shaking. She was always fucking sweating and shaking! Through blurry eyes, she spotted a group of twenty-somethings chatting and laughing with backpacks over their shoulders and promising careers ahead of them. She bet they didn't even know about the school's policy. "Academic dismissal” probably wasn't something that ever even crossed their minds. They never had to worry about their future being ripped away by some advisor with a loud clock and cold chairs. Their butts probably only touched those chairs when discussing making the dean's list or honor roll, terms that never crossed her mind. She bet their hands didn't shake. And how the hell weren’t they sweating when it was ninety-five degrees out? 

Annabelle wanted to wipe those smiles off their faces. She wanted to shake them and yell at them, to make them understand how she felt. She wanted to know that someone, literally anyone, suffered with her. Her breathing grew heavier. So focused on their glowing and smiling faces, she failed to realize that they were moving toward her, toward the door she was blocking. She felt like a mad dog, ready to attack. She hated these students. Absolutely HATED them.

They stopped in front of her awkwardly, clearly waiting for her to move aside so they could pass. Instead, she just stood there, practically seizing with rage. She was well aware of how crazy she must have looked: red-faced, damp with sweat, frizzy hair, shaking, practically foaming at the mouth. But she refused to move. Instead she just stood, staring into the annoyingly green eyes of the tall boy standing at the forefront, the apparent leader of the pack. He coughed, politely signaling for her to step aside so that they could continue walking and get to their class. There was no sympathy for the fact that this was her last time on campus. Just their presence drove her crazy! It was the summer session. The only people who should be here were those facing academic dismissal. They were probably here taking more credits than they needed to in order to unnecessarily fulfill some double major requirements. 

“Is she good?” Annabelle hears the blonde girl with pink shorts, whose hair seems to be frizz-repellent, say to the green-eyed freak who is still staring at her. That was it. The final straw. Blinded not by sweat or tears, her vision blurred even more as she felt a voice deep from within rise.

“No, I am not good!” she screamed. The voice didn't feel like it was coming out of her. She felt possessed by some raging  monster.

The group was silent, stunned by the fury they were witnessing.

“How in the world can I be good?”

She stared at their faces, filled with shock and confusion, with a hint of fear sprinkled in. Struck by the gravity of the situation, how she must appear to them, how they must feel after her outburst. She couldn't help but burst into laughter. It started slowly, just as a slight exhale through the nose, before becoming a chuckle and then a thick laugh that erupted from deep within her, loudly as unrestrained tears streamed down her face. Her gaze remained fixed on them as she cackled. Her laughter, mixed with sobs, and her view of the students she had terrified suddenly became liberating.

With tears streaming down her face, Annabelle raised her middle fingers towards them, waving them in each of their faces so that everyone received the same attention. She then turned around to give the same gesture to the building that symbolized the death of her aspirations.

"Fuck you!" she screamed as loud as her lungs allowed her to, her voice cracking with emotion.

"Girl, what—" she heard one of the students begin to say.

"Hey!" Annabelle cut him off sharply, her anger still simmering. "Shut up!"

The group was once again stunned into silence as Annabelle's laughing fit returned. As a painful goodbye, she blew the old building a sloppy kiss. Furious about the new unknown path she was about to embark on, she walked away from her failed one.