Free When You're Ready by Britni Danielle Page A

tears inching toward my eyes, but I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. Professor St. James was a bully who got off on breaking her students. I wasn’t going to roll over and play dead, no matter how pissed off and hurt I was.
    I cleared my throat and picked my words carefully. “I’m sorry my paper didn’t meet your expectations, but if you give me a chance to revise it I’m sure I can make it better.”
    “Revise it? Ha! Why would I want to read that abominable coup d'essai ever again?”
    “Coup de what?” I asked, completely confused.
    Professor St. James rolled her eyes. “Coup d'essai! Your essay!” She sighed like she was talking to an imbecile because I didn’t know the obscure French phrase. “Listen Ms. Chambers, I like you so I’m going to give you another chance.”
    “You what?” I was baffled. If this was how Professor St. James talked to people she liked, I hated to see how she treated those she loathed.
    “I’m going to give you another chance,” she repeated slowly like I had some sort of brain malfunction. “So don’t blow it.”
    “Oh…Okay, ma’am.”
    “If you’re serious about passing this class with a B, Ms. Chambers, you’ll bring me a 20-page exposition discussing the intersection between third wave feminism and the media by our next class meeting.”
    “But that’s in less than a week!”
    Professor St. James raised an eyebrow. “And your point is?”
    “It’s just…it took me almost a month to write the last paper, a week seems a bit unfair, don’t you think?”
    “Life is unfair, Ms. Chambers. The fact that I’m the lone woman in this department with tenure is unfair. Sexism and racism and ableism are unfair.” Professor St. James glowered at me over the tops of her glasses. “All you have to do is write a simple paper, not find a cure for cancer.”
    A simple paper?
    She sat back and folded her hands on top of her desk. “You asked for another chance, did you not?”
    I nodded, unable to speak because of the gigantic lump in my throat.
    “Then bring me your paper next week, or else you might as well drop this class because there will be no way you will pass.”
    “But…it’s too late to withdraw.”
    “Then I guess you better get to work,” she said, motioning for me to leave. “Good day, Ms. Chambers.”
    I stumbled out of Professor St. James’ office, stunned. I had hoped to get some insight on how to improve my essay, but instead she dropped a huge bomb in my lap. Researching and writing a 20-page paper that would convince her that I wasn’t an idiot— in less than a week —was as close to impossible as I could get.
    How the hell am I going to do this?
    I headed toward the Bruin bear to meet Scout, but my mind was stuck on how I could write the essay for Professor St. James while working every single night until it was due. I didn’t have another day off until after she wanted me to hand it in, so that meant pulling crazy long nights and functioning on minimal sleep.
    I’d done it before but it had nearly killed me. When I first moved to L.A. I worked a full-time waitressing gig while attending classes my freshman year. I worked the graveyard shift at a diner not too far from my apartment, then hustled to class after I got off in the morning. Most days I didn’t get to sleep until five or six in the evening, and was back up at 11 p.m. to make it to work by midnight. It was a hellish schedule, but I kept it because I needed the money. I was hospitalized for exhaustion two or three times, but somehow I managed to finish my first year at UCLA with my GPA intact. This time I wasn’t so sure I could pull it off.
    I spotted Scout by the statue and tried to put on a brave face. I didn’t want to burden him with my problems, especially since he was sweet enough to give me a ride to work. I took several deep breaths, trying to push Professor St. James’ evil ass out of my mind and strolled toward Scout.
    He looked amazing . He was standing near the