Chapter 7

Megs' apron fluttered as she whizzed through Green Mountain Grinds. Her Sunday morning shift was in full swing, and the coffee shop buzzed with energy. The scent of brewing coffee melded with the sweet, buttery scent of fresh pastries delivered each morning from the bakery down the street.

"Double espresso macchiato," Megs muttered under her breath, her curls bouncing as she turned to prepare the drink. Her fingers flitted across the espresso machine. She barely had to look at this point. The motions had been permanently branded into her brain.

As the steam hissed, she glanced down at a notification on her smart watch, a small thrill running through her at the sight of Gideon's name on the screen.

How's your Sunday so far?

Megs couldn’t keep the smile off her face. He’d texted her. Twice. Once, last night to send the link to the software he recommended, and now. First thing in the morning. How long had it been since a guy did what he said he was going to do?

She finished the coffee and handed it to the woman at the counter then turned. “I need to grab something in the back, can you take the register for a second?”

John, Megs’ coworker and the younger brother of a boy she used to babysit, nodded and slipped into place as she disappeared into the back room. She did need to refill the cream, but she figured she had an extra couple of minutes if she also purported to be reorganizing the paper products.

Megs pulled out her phone and texted.

Busy! Sunday mornings are always popular. You?

Sundays aren’t as popular here. I’m just at the gym

Megs’ heart stuttered at the thought of seeing Gideon in less than slacks and a buttoned shirt.

You’re not discussing the most recent Times opinion piece at a cafe with a cup of tea and one of those jackets with the patches on the elbows?

Please tell me that’s not what you think professors do on the weekend

Please don’t kill my dreams, Gideon

He reacted with a laugh to that, and Megs grinned. She needed to get back to the bar.

Enjoy your “workout.” Back to coffee orders

I shouldn’t be texting you anyway. Technically you’re still on my roster. I’m guessing it’ll take till Monday to correct

Megs’ cheeks flushed. Crap. She’d forgotten to get online and try withdrawing from the class again. The add/drop deadline was midnight, so she could easily take care of it after her shift.

Such a rebel ??

Megs slipped her phone back into her apron and grabbed the pen hanging next to the clipboard by the door. Drop class, she wrote in tiny letters on the skin just above the underside of her wrist. Not her arm, which would be visible, and not her palm where the ink would transfer or be washed off. It was the perfect place to leave herself notes.

This feeling. Like she was standing in an airplane with a parachute attached to her back, about to jump out the open door. Bad idea. Warning lights spun in her head. Those two things, excitement and terrible results, were inextricably linked in her brain. Case in point: the past weekend. She was excited about the audition, and what did that get her?

Kicked out of her certification course.

But oh, how she loved it. That thrill, like she’d been pumped full of helium and would soar into the sky if someone let go of her string. Frustration swelled in her gut as she straightened her apron.

How was this fair? Other people felt excited about things, and it didn’t ruin their lives. Why was her brain so broken that it only latched onto things that were bad for her? Things that caused failure and disappointment with, ironically, an astounding success rate?

The audition had been a terrible idea. She’d known it from the get-go and done it anyway. Which meant . . . Megs groaned. Gideon was probably a terrible idea, too. With a huff, she grabbed a carton of cream from the fridge, then whisked back out to the counter.

Later that afternoon, Megs sat on the couch across from her mother. She would’ve done this in her bedroom had she known Sylvia was going to join her, but now she couldn’t stand up and leave without arousing suspicion since she’d barely sat down a few moments ago.

“Callbacks went well?” Megs asked.

“Yep, all finished. Not totally thrilled with the princes.”

Megs opened her Champlain Community student portal. “Not funny enough?”

Her mom scoffed and flipped open her notebook. “They can’t sing. You can’t teach comedic delivery, so that was prioritized.”

“But you can teach them to sing in six weeks?” Megs raised an eyebrow.

“Darci can. I hope.”

Megs snorted and clicked on her class schedule, then right-clicked on her Intro to Recording section. Drop class. She clicked the button and filled in the appropriate boxes, then clicked ‘submit.’ The wheel turned. Megs watched the blue cycle from light to dark, tapping her fingers impatiently on the tops of the keys.

Error.

Megs pursed her lips. It wasn’t an internet issue, then. She started to sweat. What was she supposed to do now? The drop deadline was in less than eight hours, and she wasn’t holding out hope that somehow this issue would be resolved by then.

“Are you watching that video about the rhinos going extinct again?” Sylvia asked. Megs blinked in confusion. Her mother motioned to her face. “Your jaw was hanging open, and you looked like you were going to be sick.”

Megs snapped her computer shut. “No. Just working on something.”

“What?”

Megs wracked her brain. School? No, she couldn’t mention anything about her impulsive enrollment. The certification course? Nope. Not digging herself deeper on that one since she had to find some way to explain why she wouldn’t be passing. The audition? Absolutely not.

Megs swallowed hard. Her entire life was a lie, and here she was, sitting across from the woman who gave her life, not admitting any part of it. “Paperwork. For . . . voter registration.”

Sylvia frowned. “I thought you were already registered to vote?”

“I decided to change my party affiliation.”

Her mother gasped. “Are you—?” She looked around the room, searching for who knew what. “Did someone convince you to vote Republican?”

Megs nearly laughed out loud. How she’d thought that politics would be less controversial than the actual issues in her life was beyond her. “No, Mom. Independent.”

“Well, it’s a slippery slope.” Sylvia lowered her glasses and narrowed her eyes. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Megs shook her head and stood, slipping her laptop under her arm. “I’m fine, Mom.”

“Well, I’ll just count my lucky stars you’re invested in this country instead of refusing to vote like half your generation,” her mom mumbled to herself as Megs took her computer into her room.

She flopped into her desk chair and pulled her headphones from the drawer. She would try to drop the class, as the note on her wrist reminded her, every hour and hope she got lucky. Until then, she may as well look at the file she’d created in Gideon’s study. Just the thought of him sent goosebumps in a wave up her arm.

With a deep breath, Megs clicked on the link to the software Gideon recommended and downloaded it, then read a couple of tutorials showing how to import her file and begin cleaning it up. The importing was easy, but the editing? Her brain blurred at the lines of text and bullet points and clicked away from the site. Surely it couldn’t be that difficult to figure out by fiddling around.

Once her recording was in place, Megs pressed play. The sound of her own voice filled her ears, and she cringed. She’d submitted hundreds of virtual auditions thanks to COVID-19, but it never got easier. Somehow, hearing her voice extracted from the image of her face made it more abrasive.

She blew out a breath and continued, figuring out how to split the file and cut out her mistakes or extended breaths, then tinkered with the pitch and volume until it sounded almost professional to her untrained ears.

Megs saved the file, then double-checked the email for submission and hit ‘send’ before she could second guess herself. There. It was done. Even though she secretly resented her audition now that it had unintentionally cost her the course.

No, she’d cost herself the course, it wasn’t the audition’s fault. A course she didn’t want to take for a job she didn’t want to work, but what were the alternatives? Megs closed the laptop and lay back on her bed, her curls fanning out on the comforter.

The ink on her wrist caught her attention, and she groaned. What was wrong with Champlain’s computer system? They must know it had a bug, which meant they’d probably allow her to drop the class first thing in the morning if she called.

Megs rolled over and grabbed her phone from the nightstand, setting a reminder to call the school at eight o’clock during her shift. She had to drop that class. Not because she wanted more time with Gideon—though even rebutting that thought made her heart rate jump—but because she needed her three hundred dollars back. She’d been irresponsible, and she needed to set it right.

You should talk to someone about the course. His words echoed in her mind. Maybe Gideon was right. Maybe she should find a time to drive up and beg for re-admittance. The worst they could say was no.

Megs’ phone buzzed, and her heart leaped as she glanced down at the screen. Not Gideon.

Heading to karaoke. See you there?

Megs attempted to muster enthusiasm for Haley’s text despite the queasiness in her stomach. She needed a distraction, and while It Must Have Been Love and Sweet Caroline weren’t going to suddenly make her brain functional, they would at least remind her why she should wake up tomorrow morning and try again.

Megs opened her messages and hovered over Gideon’s name. She should thank him, shouldn’t she? Even if it were stupid to audition in the first place, he’d helped her produce something passable.

Thank you for your help with the audition. Just submitted.

Bad idea, bad idea, she shouted internally as her thumbs ignored her and kept typing.

Off the record, how was the rest of your day?

Three dots appeared, and Megs held her breath.

Off the record, it was relaxing.

Off the record, I’m heading to karaoke.

With your friend from the coffee shop?

Megs’ heart stuttered. He remembered that?

You didn’t say “off the record”

Glad you caught that. Those three words are my only protection from potential disciplinary action

Sorry. I won’t continue to ask you to sacrifice your morals

My willpower is obviously lacking when it comes to students who aren’t really my students

If this is a common problem, you should consider getting help

The opposite of common

The word you’re looking for is “rare.” Aren’t you a professor or something?

Megs should’ve been getting dressed. She should’ve been walking to the car to meet Haley, but she sat glued to her phone.

Title doesn’t mean much. Just a piece of paper you can get online

Megs snorted.

Off the record, have a good night.

Off the record, are you working Wednesday?

Megs’ stomach swooped like she was on a playground swing.

Off the record, yes

The following day, Megs stepped into Green Mountain Grinds. The stillness immediately put her at ease, which was no easy task. After her text conversation with Gideon and despite singing her heart out at karaoke, she’d tossed and turned all night. Her excitement over meeting him only made her fear of not being able to drop his class explode like elephant toothpaste.

She strode to the back room and hung up her jacket.

"Morning, Megs.” John turned from the table, coffee in hand.

“Morning.” She was glad to have help this morning. They’d been understaffed for months, and Monday mornings were always busier first thing than the rest of the week. “I need to make a phone call at eight. Shouldn’t take long. Are you okay to cover me?”

John nodded. “Should be slowing a bit by then anyway.”

“Hopefully.” She smiled and tied on her apron, then made her way to the counter. John was a good kid. Seventeen and homeschooled with better social skills than most teens she interacted with these days.

As usual, when they opened the doors at six-thirty, the first hour raced by. Megs kept a close eye on her watch, and at five to eight, she finished up an order and caught John’s attention. She mimed taking a phone call and, when he nodded, hustled to the hall and into the back room.

Megs stared at her phone, and when her toes began to tap after only a minute, she flipped over to her social media to distract herself. There hadn’t been any other texts from Gideon last night, which was probably a good thing. All she wanted to do was plunk down on the couch and send messages back and forth, and that was just another red flag to stab into the ground next to the others.

The clock hit eight and Megs dialed the number for the academic counseling office she’d saved in her phone. It rang three times before a woman with a cotton candy voice answered.

"Champlain Community College, how may I help you?"

"Hi, I’ve been trying to drop a course, but there's been some trouble with the online system," Megs explained.

"Okey, dokey, let me check your account. Can I get your student number?” Megs gave it, and then there was a pause filled only with the tapping of keyboard keys. "Well, it appears you've missed the drop date.”

“Right, like I said, I tried to drop it online, but the system kept spitting out error messages.” Megs’ palms began to sweat.

“Hmm, I hear what you’re saying. It looks like you barely enrolled in this class on Saturday night, is that correct?”

“Yes.” Megs didn’t know what else to say. It was a mistake? I was overly ambitious with my work schedule? None of that was true, and despite all her acting training, she wasn’t quick at lying on her feet in real life.

“I’m guessing there was a problem because the payment for the class hadn’t processed since you enrolled over the weekend. Let me see . . . can I put you on hold?” The woman didn’t wait for Megs’ answer.

Soft music filtered through the speaker, and Megs traced the lines of the tile on the floor with the top of her shoe. They had to let her drop, right? It was a problem with their computer system. Why would it matter if the payment hadn’t come through yet? Sure, there probably weren’t hundreds of students enrolling in a class and then dropping it within twenty-four hours, but there had to be some.

“Alright, I’m back, thanks for waiting. So, unfortunately, I think there may have been a misunderstanding.”

Megs swallowed. “How so?”

“The drop date for the class was September fifteenth at midnight.”

Megs frowned. “I checked the website multiple times and—”

John poked his head into the room. “You good?”

Megs tipped her phone so the speaker wasn’t next to her mouth. “Can I use your phone for a second? Just to search something?”

He nodded and pushed through the door, then pulled his phone from his pocket. He unlocked it and handed it to her.

“Ma’am?”

“Yes, sorry, I’m just looking again at the website . . . ” Megs trailed off as she typed Champlain Community into the search bar, then navigated to the class enrollment information. “Yes, right here. There’s a link to a PDF, and it says September seventeenth is the add/drop deadline.”

“Could you take a look at the date at the top of that document? Under the title?”

Megs scrolled up and read the heading, then read it a second time. It felt as if someone had just doused her with a bucket of ice water.

“Do you see the date there?”

“Twenty-twenty-two,” Megs murmured.

“Correct. I don’t know why it’s not updated on the website, but that was the add/drop date for last fall semester. This semester it was the fifteenth, and it actually says that if you log in to your student . . . ”

The woman’s voice droned on, but Megs couldn’t process the words. How had she not noticed that date? Probably because she’d made the decision to enroll in approximately thirty seconds. But she’d tried to do her due diligence. She’d checked to make sure she could drop it, and she’d tried to do it Friday—

The thought died in Megs’ head. She’d tried Friday, but it had been in the parking lot of the burger place, where she didn’t have enough reception to get the site to load properly. Then, when she went home, she’d been too excited about that moment pressed up against her car with Gideon to think about it. Why hadn’t she dropped it the second she got home?

“ . . . if we remove you from the class now, you'll receive an 'E' on your transcript and won't be refunded, but I can still do that for you. Would you like me to remove you?”

Megs handed John’s phone back to him. He gave her a look that said I’m sorry as he crept back toward the door.

Thank you, she mouthed.

“Would you like me to pull you from the class?"

Yes. That was the answer Megs wanted to give. She wanted this to be over. She didn’t want to be enrolled in a class at all, and especially not a class where Gideon was the professor. But all of her instincts were wrong—they were always wrong.

She never should’ve tried to audition. If she’d been satisfied with the certification class and ignored that bubbling excitement and fixation, she’d be working a normal shift right now. Probably finding an apartment and doing homework. Boring but safe.

"Let me think about it,” was the answer she gave.

"Sure thing. Just give us a call back.”

“Thank you.” Megs dropped the call and slumped into the plastic chair next to the wall. Her mind whirred, and while part of her wanted to scream, a larger part simply felt numb.

She wanted to stay there in the break room and wallow while she thought through every ramification of this new development, but she dragged herself up and stalked back to the front of the coffee shop. And bonus! Her mind splintered in a thousand different directions as she took orders and went through the motions behind the counter.

She wrote the name on the cup. Am I really going to throw away three hundred dollars for nothing? Set the cup down and pressed the button on the espresso machine. But I can’t go to that class. Angled the nozzle on the can of whipped cream. Gideon is still my professor.

By nine-thirty, the stream of customers was nonexistent. Megs grabbed a rag and was wiping down the counters when her phone buzzed. She pulled it out and saw a message from Gideon.

It seems you’re still on my roster