his own private entrance. I’d heard it was pretty nice. For being in a dorm. A drawback, of course, was that all of his employees were students, and he had to schedule performance reviews on Sunday nights.
He shrugged. “I didn’t like being a lawyer. I kept thinking I would learn to like it, but I didn’t. One day I just came home and said I wasn’t going to do it anymore.”
“Huh,” I said. I tried to think of what kind of response would keep the conversation going in this direction. “Wow,” I said. “That’s crazy!”
He nodded. “That’s what my ex-wife said. Only she was a little angrier. She was the one who put me through law school.” He waved his hand in front of his face, as if trying to erase the words. “Sorry,” he added quickly. “Too much information. Not your concern.”
“That’s okay!”
He met my smile with a blank face. The performance review would now resume. He pulled his eyeglasses away from his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Anyway, as I was saying, I am aware of the pressures of a demanding course load. But you’ve still got to do your job.” He winced, clearly uncomfortable. “And I’ve got to tell you, Veronica. Right now, it doesn’t seem like you’re doing it.”
My cell phone rang in my pocket. I apologized and pulled it out to silence the ringer. My mother was calling. I silenced it and apologized again.
“It’s okay,” he said. He shook his head. “It’s okay about the phone, I mean. But…the not doing the programming, not doing your job, that’s not okay.” He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his desk. “I’m sorry about this. I can see you’re stressed out, about this job, about school. I can look at you and see it. If you want to talk with me, if there’s some way I might be able to help…”
He paused, waiting. He was so nice. I was aware of the pressure of tears, but if I didn’t speak, I could contain them. I shook my head.
“Fine,” he said. “But there’s a reason Housing is giving you a free room. Some of these kids need somebody looking out for them. You’ve got to take the job seriously.” He let his eyes rest on mine, unblinking. “Or you shouldn’t have the job at all.”
I did not cry in his office. I curled my toes up inside my boots, looked him in the eye, and promised I would try harder. I kept my voice even, my expression resolute. I said what my father would have said. I said I would honor the terms of my contract. I said I understood his concerns, and that I appreciated his understanding, but that things were about to change.
“Good,” he said. “That’s good to hear.” He did not seem particularly happy. “You’re sure you’re okay?” he asked.
On the way back up in the elevator, I was alone, but I did everything I could to hold back the tears that had pooled beneath my eyes. I did not want to be crying when the doors opened to my floor’s lobby, to Marley and her quilt and her Cheetos, or to another one of the freshmen on my floor I did not even know. I used all my old tricks: I yawned. I jumped up and down. But when my cell phone rang again, and I saw my mother’s number flash on the screen, I stopped trying to get ahold of myself. I flipped open my phone and pressed it hard against my cheek.
“Hey.” It was just one word, but I let all the sadness and shame I was feeling fall into the mouthpiece, hoping she would hear them.
“Veronica.” The voice did not belong to my mother. It was a male voice, very low, unhidden anger in the tone. A ribbon of sweat went cold along my hairline. The pressure of tears disappeared.
“Who is this?”
“Jimmy.”
I glanced at the screen of my phone. It was my mother’s number. Jimmy Liff had her phone. I heard the grinding gears of the elevator as it slowed near my floor.
“Uh…one of your guests left their phone at our house this weekend?”
The elevator doors opened to the lobby of my floor. Marley was reading a book on the couch, her legs covered by the quilt. She looked up at me and started to speak. I pointed to my phone and kept walking.
“Shoot,” I said. “It’s my mom’s.” She didn’t have a landline. There would be no