Kiss To Forget (Blairwood University #2) - Anna B. Doe Page 0,110

eyes meet mine. The uneasiness I’m feeling is written all over her face, but she tries to cover it with a shrug.

Talk later? she mouths, at which I nod once again.

I watch her go before slowly moving toward the desk where Dr. Stevens is waiting patiently. We stay quiet as a few more students roll out. They give me curious glances which do nothing to calm down my nerves. Different possibilities on what could be the cause of this conversation cross my mind, but the only thing it does is upset me even further.

“Is something wrong?” I ask as soon as we’re alone, slowly clenching and unclenching my fingers by my sides. My hands shake slightly, a light sheen of sweat covering my palms. This reminds me too much of my senior year in high school. One year that, if I could erase it from my mind, I’d do it in heartbeat.

“I’ve really admired your work so far. You seem like a dedicated student who loves to learn and is careful about what she says, and makes sure her answers are correct before voicing them out loud. Every pop quiz you’ve solved almost to perfection. Every essay you’ve submitted so far was extremely well written and thought out. You dig deep, questioning most of the things even some of my older students don’t.”

“I…” I stop, unsure where she’s going with this. This is all positive, right? The way she looks at me, though, tells me otherwise. “Thank you?” I finish tentatively.

I can feel a “but” coming, and I’m not sure I’m going to like it at all.

Her dark eyes narrow just slightly, her face turning grim. “That’s why I hate even more to do this.”

I swallow, but it feels like my heart has stopped in my throat, leaving me unable to breathe. Gulping down the lump in my throat, I whisper, “What is going on?”

Dr. Stevens stares at me intently, as if she’s trying to figure me out. The silence stretches between us, air sizzling with anticipation. The need to scream at her to just get it over with already is overwhelming. She must sense it somehow, or maybe it’s just written all over my face. “Are you aware that you missed the deadline to submit the final essay?”

Time around me stops, her words ringing in my ears. I try to remember what I’ve done this past week. “B-but that’s next week?” My voice stutters as I try to go over my schedule in my mind. But it’s hard with this constant buzzing in my ears.

Think, Yasmin. Think.

My mind is a mess, and the longer it takes me to remember, the more my panic grows. My heart starts galloping in my chest, my breath turning ragged, as if I’ve just run a marathon.

Could it be...

No, I’m sure it was next week. It can’t be…

“No, the deadline was Friday before spring break.”

Shit. No, no, no… This can’t be happening. Not again.

“Between you missing the deadline and the pop quiz that happened earlier that week, plus your low attendance in the last few weeks…” She shakes her head slowly. “I’m sorry, but you won’t be able to pass this class.”

“I-I…”

No words. I have no words left to say.

“Miss Hernandez…” Dr. Stevens keeps talking but I can’t hear a word she says over the sound of my heartbeat echoing in my eardrums. Her lips move, but no sound comes out. She finally stops, and I realize she’s waiting for an answer.

An answer I don’t have.

“I… I have to go.”

Not looking back, I run from the classroom and out of the building. It feels like the walls are squeezing in on me, sucking all the oxygen from my lungs. They burn, the pain the only thing that’s grounding me.

How did this happen? I should have known better. Been better organized. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

The door crashes against the wall as I push it forcefully open, making a few heads turn in my direction. I inhale sharply, needing my lungs to relax so I can breathe, but the only thing it does is make me choke.

Bending forward, I tap furiously at my chest until I start to cough.

Air, I need air.

Finally, after what feels like a lifetime, my lungs open up, and I can finally breathe again. My eyes are misty and filled with tears, clouding my gaze.

Blinking furiously, because I will not cry, not here, not now, I grab my phone out of my back pocket and try to crunch some