Chapter 2: No Turning Back

To hell with it…

If she weren’t a school official, I would’ve cussed her out the second she said, “Even if she dies, it’s useless for you to go back.”

Fine. I don’t need your stupid leave slip. You can control the paperwork, but can you control my two legs?

My heart pounded so hard it felt like I might knock over the faded Red Sox bobblehead on her shelf. Screw it—I was done with her red tape.

When it comes to leave requests, Ms. Benson is truly a piece of work.

At the first freshman meeting, she announced, “Let me make this clear: don’t come to me for leave over every little thing. If I approve your leave, then the next person, then the next—what, you want the whole college to fall apart?”

Back then, we all thought she was just strict. Who knew she meant every word?

Big things, small things, personal leave, sick leave—none of it gets approved. Someone wanted leave for his sister’s wedding—denied. “It’s your sister getting married, not you. What does it have to do with you? Is she going to disappear after she gets married? Wait until it’s your own wedding before you ask for leave.”

Someone needed to go home to get a new driver’s license—denied. “You’re already grown and you can still lose your license? What, you lost your license? Next you’ll tell me you lost your brain too.”

Someone got food poisoning and asked for leave—denied. “I’ve said it before, sick leave must be requested a day in advance and you need a doctor’s note. You say you have food poisoning in the dorm—why not just say your appendix burst and you have to lie in bed for a month?”

Worst of all, when a girl asked for leave because of severe period pain, in her own Ethics and Society class, Ms. Benson called her out by name and mocked, “As a woman, you should take better care of yourself.”

Stuff like this is too common to count. Getting her to approve leave is harder than getting the Browns to the Super Bowl—basically impossible. Every time you hear her say “denied,” the whole class just rolls their eyes and goes quiet.

If anyone dares challenge her authority by leaving without approval or skipping class, the consequences are brutal. At minimum, you’ll get blasted in the department Discord and have to write a 3,000-word apology letter. At worst, your parents get called and you get a disciplinary note on your permanent record.

But I can’t care about any of that now. Let the counselor do what she wants—I’m going home today, no matter what.

That night, I got on the Amtrak back to Maple Heights. The train rumbled through the darkness, neon blurring past the windows, the snack cart squeaking by every half hour. My roommate sent me a Facebook Messenger message: Ms. Benson had come to check the dorm, found I was gone, lost her temper, and cursed me out right there.

I said I knew.

I had seven or eight missed calls from her and dozens of one-minute voice messages on Messenger—she was really blowing up. I didn’t listen to any of them.

I just replied, short and to the point: “Student Caleb Morris is requesting leave to go home due to grandmother’s critical illness. Return date undetermined.”

She instantly replied: “I do not approve.”

Screw you. Whether you approve or not has nothing to do with me now—I’m just informing you.

I stuffed my phone in my jacket and watched the rows of sleeping cornfields roll by under the moonlight, feeling a cold knot in my chest, but at least I was heading home.