One Last Thing ✅

thirty-three things

I am so lost in thought that I jump a little when the bell rings. Everyone rushes to push their desks back to their normal spot, and Abbott moves mine without me even say anything.

"Thanks so much," I tell him.

"No problem," he says, waiting for me to gather my things.

Mr. White calls my name. "I almost forgot," he says. "I have something to give you. Can you wait a second?"

"Um, sure," I say, glancing at Abbott.

Abbott shrugs. "I'll see you at lunch, I guess."

As Abbott leaves, I walk over to Mr. White's desk, wondering what he could possibly have to give me, given it's my first day in his class. He shuffles through a pile of papers until he finds the one he's looking for. He scans it quickly with his eyes and then hands it to me.

"I wanted to show this to you before I forgot," he says. "Your Hamlet test. I'm going to hold onto it until my kids are finished with it, but I wanted to show you the grade you received. I understand this was a retake?"

Suddenly my hands are shaking.

"Yes," I say softly.

Mr. White's brow wrinkles. "Are you okay? I'm sorry, I just wanted to show you the score. You did so well..."

My eyes flash down to the 94% scribbled in red pen. An A!!!! written by her hand. I can't breathe. The floor seems to disappear from beneath my feet. Mr. White catches my elbow just as I start to go down. He steers me toward a desk, and I struggle to take in air.

"Hold on a second," he says when I'm settled into the desk. I put my head between my knees, squashing my bad arm between my legs, and try to catch my breath. Seconds later, Mr. White passes a paper bag to me. I straighten up and exhale into the bag, inhale. Exhale. Inhale.

Students drift in, ready for Mr. White's next class, but he shoos them away. "Wait in the hall," he calls. "And close the door behind you." They give us an odd look and shuffle back out again. "Are you okay?" he asks when I seem to be functioning normally again.

I just nod, not looking at the crumpled piece of paper a few inches away from my right foot.

"I'm sorry, Liliana. I should have thought about how that would affect you. I'm going to write you a pass to go see Mrs. Feldmann. How does that sound?"

"Okay," I say, just thinking about how badly I need to get of here, out of this school, this place where she was sitting across the hall only last week. Suddenly the air is full of her, and it's burning my lungs.

Mr. White reaches into a drawer and produces a pad of paper. Quickly, he jots down a pass, rips it off, and hands it to me. "Feel better, okay, Liliana? I'm sorry I can't talk to you longer, but Mrs. Feldmann will help you. I've gotta let those maniacs in." We both look toward the door, where a guy has pressed his face against the glass and is making a fish face. 

"Idiot," Mr. White mumbles under his breath.

I force myself to my feet.

"Thanks," I say, holding the paper bag out to Mr. White.

He shakes his head. "You keep it. In case you need it."

So I grab my notebook and pen and walk to the door. The fishface guy sees me coming and opens the door for me. I walk past the crowd of students waiting for class and head down the hallway, though I have no intention of going to see Mrs. Feldmann.