I felt like I had been hit in the stomach by a column from the Parthenon. In reality, perhaps that would have been more pleasant. At least then, my statistics professor might have taken pity on me. I had the conversation with him in my head. Over and over again. Each time, offering a more compelling argument. Each time, being shot down with a little more hostility.

I wondered what I was going to tell my father. A minuses aren’t As…and neither are Fs? I froze in my spot at the side of the hallway. Like a tongue to a frigid pole, I was stuck here. The test was excruciatingly long and there was nothing to break up the monotony. I began to peel off the “u” of university off of the sweatpants. Pick. For that time that I turned in a homework I had spent the weekend on and been greeted with a C. Pick. For the professors who didn’t care that I was sick to the point of throwing up every hour, who counted my absences as unexcused. Pick. For the advisors who didn’t actually care that I was struggling in school. Pick. For not letting me into a test that could have redeemed my grade. A test I would now fail by default. It wasn’t much but it was a bit of payback for the pain that the school was causing me. My RA was not going to be happy about her pants.

The door opened and someone I met during orientation shut it quietly behind them. “You finished fast, Andi! I didn’t even see you leave.”

I just nodded. Yes. You didn’t see me leave. I didn’t want to admit to this stranger that I had not ever entered the testing room in the first place. I smiled to soften the fact that I had not actually confirmed anything.

“See you around.” She shouldered her backpack and walked by.

I stared at her retreating backpack and springy step. I tried to will myself into her shoes and hoped I could stay there. I was going to have to talk to my professor, and now that the time had passed, I wasn’t so anxious to get there. Stay in the test forever, I willed the students. Never leave. But they did. They left, first in a weak stream, then in droves. None of the rest of the students saw me. They stepped around me, unconscious of my presence, deep as a sinkhole in their conversations. I felt like a beggar. Please, I thought, bestow your luck upon me.

But soon they were gone. I stood up, all my muscles fighting to keep me down, near the ground, where it was safe. I opened the door like it was made of fire and poked my head in. The main classroom was blocked by a chalkboard that spanned almost the full length of the room. I crept around it, straightening my clothes when I got to the end and hiding the ripped off U in a pocket.

He was leaning over the table of tests and folders, straightening them to perfect right angles, a man of numbers until the end. Did he know yet that my test was not among them? The TA that had closed the door on me stood nearby.

“Professor Nuren?” I said.

He turned at the sound of my voice. “Yes?”

“I wasn’t able to take the test today because I was late. I was late because I got locked out of my room and the security guards didn’t come in time to open the door. I borrowed my RA’s clothes to get here but the TA closed the door right when I got here. This test was supposed to be a game changer for my grades. Can you please let me take the test?”

“I appreciate your situation, but if I made an exception for you, the whole class would be late for their tests. I would start getting cockamamie stories about dead pets, flu-like illnesses, abductions, and near death experiences!”

“But what I told you is true! I wouldn’t tell anyone you let me take it late. I’ll sit down right now and take it. I’m ready.”

“You heard him already. He said no.” The TA jumped in.

I glared at the TA. He was the real cause of all of this. If he had just let me in instead of closing the door, I wouldn’t be here.

“Unfortunately, he’s right. I can’t let you take the test. Rules are rules.”

I stared at his craggy face to try to find where his humanity had hidden itself. It was apparent from my search that it had indeed shriveled up and died amidst all the equations he had completed.

“There’s one more test and a final, if you’re really struggling. The final is worth a lot of points.”

Was he trying to redeem himself? I couldn’t stand to be there anymore. I gathered up the sleeves of my RA’s sweatshirt and turned away. As I was leaving, with my presence hidden behind the chalkboard, I heard the TA speak.

“Did you see what she was wearing?” he said.

“I almost believed her,” the professor said. “But what can you do?”

I slammed the door. It’s probably immature of me, but I hope they jumped.

The walk back to my dorm to return my RA’s clothes was longer than I remembered it being. The buildings slunk past, looking guilty, like my professor should have. The panels of the sidewalk stretched on for miles and miles. I tried not to step on any cracks. I didn’t need more bad luck to befall anyone. Although if it really did break my mother’s back, it would delay when I would have to tell her. I tried to wipe the thought out of my mind. Unsuccessful and conflicted as to what I should do, I walked on the grass, which poured dew all over the open flip-flops I was wearing. I welcomed the discomfort, seeking in some way to punish myself.

When I first realized that I ruined everything I touch, I was eight. My parents had just come back from a Native American reservation. They had brought back a necklace for me, which I never wore, and a bow with arrows for my brother. I had been so excited about the bow and arrows that I had asked my brother if I could play with his gift too. When I pulled it back to shoot an arrow, the bow snapped in half. My parents were furious but I stayed in my room for the next three days of my own accord. In that moment, when the bow had snapped, everything had come together. All the little mishaps and mistakes I made, they all added up to who I was. I was someone who ruined things.

My RA had asked them to block my door open, so when I got there, I walked right in, picked up my phone and climbed into bed, minus my flip-flops. I didn’t think my RA would be looking for her clothes back so soon. And explaining what had just happened was not high on the list of things I wanted to do. I didn’t go to class that day. I figured I had already doomed myself to fail statistics, a few others wouldn’t really matter. One might say, “Andi, just give it a try”, but I had tried and been tried. And I was tired.