Amy Inspired - Bethany Pierce [79]
Sent: Friday 3.16.07 2:24 PM
Subject: Class
Noticed you haven’t been in class the last few days. Was just wondering if you were doing all right. Please let me know if I can provide you with any information about what you’ve missed.
If you’d like someone to talk to, the offer still stands.
Sincerely,
Ms. Gallagher
Standing at the stove cooking dinner that night, I had a strange conviction that an e-mail was not enough. You hear about the professors who noticed their best students had missed one too many days only to read about the suicide later in the local paper.
I got Ashley’s phone number from the online campus directory. The phone rang six times, but no one answered. I hung up and worked on dinner, but couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something was wrong. I dialed again, nervously tapping my pen against my thigh.
On the seventh ring, a girl’s voice answered. “Hello.”
“Hi. Um, I was wondering if I could speak to Ashley Mulligan, please?”
“Just a minute.”
The stranger murmured something in the background. “Can I ask who’s calling?”
“Tell her it’s Ms. Gallagher.”
“Ms. who?”
“Her English teacher,” I supplied.
“It’s your English teacher.” I heard amusement in her voice.
In the five seconds it took Ashley to cross to the dorm phone, I realized that (a) she was fine; (b) she was most probably not going to kill herself; and (c) she might actually be very uncomfortable with the fact that I’d called.
“Ms. Gallagher?” She sounded puzzled.
“Hey, Ashley,” I replied. “I’m sorry to call you like this, but I’d noticed you hadn’t been to class in a while. I just wanted to make sure things were okay.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line.
“I’m fine,” she said.
“I still have the story you turned in to workshop. It’s very good. The best I’ve seen all year, actually.” I was struck with a sudden inspiration. “We didn’t critique the story since you were absent, but I’d still like the chance to talk with you about it. I think you could submit it for one of the upcoming student writing awards.”
“I didn’t know they did that sort of thing.”
“They have competitions at the end of every spring term. There are several categories: best argumentative essay, best expository, best fiction. I think there’s a money award. And they publish the best creative writing pieces in the school’s literary journal.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Maybe we can get together after class sometime to talk about it?”
“I have another class after yours.”
“Just let me know. We can always make an appointment to talk in my office at a more convenient time.”
Voices picked up in the background. Ashley said something away from the receiver. Her roommate spoke back.
“I don’t want to keep you,” I said.
“Sorry. They were asking me something.”
I smelled something burning just before the smoke detector went off. “Well,” I said quickly. “I’ll see you in class tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
I ran to shut the smoke detector off. Staring at the blackened chicken plastered to the blackened skillet, I actually missed Zoë’s nonfat, vegetarian, organic cooking.
Apparently, I had underestimated the power of a roommate’s presence. In my office, Ashley was an entirely different person than she had been on the phone. She was excited about the prospect of seeing her work published in the school lit magazine. Timidly, she fished for compliments.
“Do you really think it’s good?” she asked.
“More than good,” I said. “It could use revision, but it’s wellpaced and full of rich detail. Despite the subject matter, you manage to avoid being melodramatic.”
“Thank you,” she said, genuinely grateful.
“I was disappointed that we couldn’t workshop the piece in class,” I ventured. “In fact, I’ve noticed you’ve missed a lot of classes lately. Is everything all right?”
She averted her eyes, twisted the cap of her Fiji water bottle. “It’s all right. I’m getting by. It’s hard, you know, but I manage.”
“Do you have anyone on campus you can talk to?”
She shook her head. “My roommates know, but they don’t bring it up unless I do. I go home every weekend, so I see my dad a lot.