For the first time ever, Kimmy hugs me. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
Kimmy gives me a thumbs-up as she leaves the exam room. She’s smiling. Even though I’m not finished yet, and I’m never going to finish, and I’m the only one still in the room, and I’m too exhausted to think straight, I can’t help but feel elated at her smile. She did it. We stayed up all night laughing and studying, and she did it. I’ve never felt more proud. Of someone else or, I realize, of myself.
After the exam, which I most definitely failed, I make a decision. I call Danielle Grand and ask her if she’s still looking for a summer associate.
“Wow, Layla, I would love to have you onboard, but I don’t have anything left in the summer budget.”
“I don’t need a salary for the summer, just the experience. I want to help and see if I like the work. I need to find work I can feel good about. My only request is that you don’t put me to work as a gofer. I want to do real work.”
She laughs. “You’re going to love it. And there’s plenty of real work for you to do that will utilize your skill set. Like managing the fund-raising, budget, taxes…the list is endless.”
I smile. “I’m looking forward to it.”
closure for kimmy
12:30 p.m.
Almost done. My books have been stacked in a storage area downstairs for Jamie to sell next year, and I’m almost finished packing my clothes.
I lie back on my bare mattress and take a minibreak. I’m exhausted. Physically, mentally and emotionally. I haven’t pulled an all-nighter in a while, but it was worth it. I think I might have actually passed the exam. Layla is a genius teacher. She’d make a great professor one day. I hope I have some time to hang out with her before I leave today. My flight home isn’t until eight. I wonder if Russ already left. Guess he didn’t want to say goodbye. Too awkward.
All right. Break over. I stand up and stretch. I should probably call back Claire Moss. I tried calling her earlier this week to tell her I no longer wanted to work for them, but she wasn’t in and we’ve been playing phone tag ever since. Not that I’ve been trying very hard to get in touch. I’m not looking forward to the conversation. Between me and Russ revoking our offers, they’ll probably stop hiring LWBS students.
I find the number and pick up to dial. Why isn’t it ringing? Has the phone company already cut off my dorm line?
“Hello, Ms. Nailer?” says a gruff voice.
“Yes?”
“Professor Martin here.”
Not again. Please tell me Russ didn’t copy my exam. Ha-ha. “Yes?”
“I’m calling to congratulate you on your final mark. You scored a ninety-five on your exam, which means that combined with your assignment marks, you scored the highest mark in the class.”
Oh. My. God. “I did?”
“Yes. And I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but the top students in all three second-semester Strategy classes will receive the Hunder Strategy Award.”
An award? They’re giving me an award? Are they crazy? I don’t deserve an award. I don’t deserve anything.
Maybe it’s time for me to become someone who’s award-worthy.
“Thank you, Professor,” I manage to squeak.
“With the award is a scholarship for fifteen hundred dollars, and I hope it will encourage you to specialize in Strategy next year.”
They’re giving me money, too? Holy shit. “Um, that’s what I was thinking of doing.” Well, I am now.
“Also, I’d like you to consider applying for a teacher’s assistant position next fall for the Strategy Intro class.”
Wow. “I could do that, too.”
“Great. I’ll be mailing the scholarship and TA application to the address the school has on file in Arizona. And I look forward to seeing you next year. Have a great summer.”
“Thanks,” I say, unable and unwilling to stop smiling. “You, too.” I can’t believe a professor has so much faith in me that he wants me to help first-years. Who knew?
The phone rings again. Maybe I won the Finance scholarship, too. Maybe I should stop dreaming.
“Hello?”
“Hello, is this Kimmy Nailer?”
“Speaking.”
“Hello, it’s Claire Moss returning your call from O’Donnel. Sorry for the phone tag we’ve been playing.”
My heart jumps to my throat. “Oh. No problem. Thanks for calling me back.”
“Do you have any concerns?” she asks.
Do I have any concerns? Yes, about a million. I’m concerned that I’m going to spend the rest of my life being someone I hate. I’m concerned that I won’t be tough enough to make it in the corporate world. I’m concerned no one will ever love me.
The thing is, I want this job. I want this life. I want to come back to LWBS next year. I want to be a TA. I want my own damn freshly squeezed orange juice. “I want to confirm that the starting date is June first,” I say quickly, before I can change my mind.
“Yes. And orientation is May thirty-first.”
“Looking forward to it,” I say. And I am.
My entire year is packed into two duffel bags. How sad. The walls look bare and small dust bunnies peek out from the corners of the closet. Gross. My hands are filthy and I smell like I forgot to use deodorant this morning. I’ve packed the clock, but my watch says it’s four-fifteen. Still a while to go.
Knock, knock.
“Hold on.” Maybe Layla is coming to say goodbye. I can’t wait to tell her about New York. She’s going to be so proud of me. I open the door and a lump instantaneously forms in my throat.
It’s Russ.
“Hey,” he says.
“I thought you were gone.” I look at the floor.
“Leaving now. Can I come in?”
I nod and hold the door open, still not meeting his gaze.
“How’d you find the exam?” he asks.
“Fine. You?” I lean against the empty desk that came with the room. I don’t think I can take much more of this small talk. The lump is threatening to expand and block my speaking capabilities, possibly choking me.
“I came to say goodbye,” he says softly. I continue staring at the floor, the disgusting dusty floor, and he touches my arm. “I needed to say goodbye.” His voice trembles, and I finally look up.
And then my eyes lock with the bluest eyes I have ever seen, and I fall headfirst into them all over again. His eyes are glistening, and he’s trying to blink away his tears. I wonder if I’ll ever lose myself in eyes like those again.
My cheeks are wet, but I don’t care. “Goodbye,” I say.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.
I know, I think but don’t say. Me, too.
He hugs me tightly, and I let his smell overwhelm my nose and throat. “You’re doing the right thing,” I whisper into his ear, and realize I mean it.
“Yeah?” He sounds relieved.
“Yeah.”
Would we have worked in the long run? I thought so, but I’m not sure. Eventually the Spider-Man soundtrack would have driven me crazy.
That and the fact that I didn’t trust him.
“Good luck,” he says.
I pull back. “Good luck to you.”
He kisses me on the cheek. “Be good.”
I laugh even though I can barely breathe. “You, too.”
He squeezes my hand and lets himself out. And I sit back on the bare mattress and cry.
layla claims her prince
4:30 p.m.
Kimmy rubs her eyes with the back of her hands, and I gently pull her hands away from her face. “Don’t do that, sweetie. Here’s a tissue.”
“Thank you,” she says through her hiccups. “Thanks for making me feel better.”
“That’s what I’m here for. Do you want some more tea?”
“No, thanks. I’m feeling better.” Kimmy looks up at me and smiles. “Thanks for letting me stay in your apartment this summer. Are you sure you don’t mind having me?”