Where I End and You Begin Read Online Free PDF

direction of the major department offices. The Dean’s office.
    I am well and truly busted.
    Is it too late to throw up again? I wonder. Like a squid, I could vomit whenever frightened or cornered, and make my getaway in the ensuing confusion.
    But my stomach is thoroughly empty. I have no defenses.
    I follow Daniel McGuire into the large office of the Dean, and he stops at the front desk and speaks in a low voice to the secretary there. I stand behind him and stare down at my shoes. My mouth tastes horrible, and I wish I’d brought some water with me to class. When he turns back to me, I can’t meet his eyes.
    “Dean Arthursen wants to see you,” he says.
    I flash him a look. It’s meant to be a glare, but I can tell my fear is showing through.
    He gives me a little smile. “It’ll be okay,” he says.
    It’s not. But he’s been kind. “Thanks, Mr. McGuire,” I say.
    “Daniel,” he says.
    I blink.
    “Call me Daniel.”
    “Daniel,” I repeat dutifully. I wait for him to leave, but he keeps standing there, his eyes studying me as though he’s trying to figure something out. When the Dean steps out of his office and calls me, I swallow—hurts, like trying to swallow steel wool—and move around Daniel toward the Dean.
    To my surprise, he follows me. I turn and open my mouth to tell him I’m fine, and Get lost, but he speaks before I can.
    “I’ll just stay here in case you need someone to walk you home,” he says.
    I nod, but inside I’m starting to hate him. He pities me, feels sorry for me. If I had half the chance, I’d kick him in the head.
    I turn back and follow the Dean into his office.
    Dean Arthursen is a small, balding man who teaches ancient Greek and Latin. He taught my freshman orientation class, and I’ve always liked him. Right now, though, I’m so scared I think I’m going to turn to stone.
    He gestures to the chairs in front of his desk—a typical academic’s desk, covered in papers and books and little notes that only the writer could decipher—and I sit down, letting my bag fall to my feet. I’m starting to shake, though if it’s with cold or fear I can’t say. I’m wrung out. I’d give anything for a glass of water.
    He sits in his chair behind his desk and folds his hands on the table.
    “Good morning, Miss Ray,” he says.
    “Morning,” I reply. Social conditioning takes over and I smile at him, striving to keep myself safe by being pleasing. It’s not going to work, but it never hurts to try.
    He turns to his computer—a tower with an ancient CRT monstrosity attached—and types in a few letters before looking back at me.
    “Miss Ray, Mr. McGuire tells me that you threw up in his class. He suspects that you were drinking before attending. Do you have anything to say to that?”
    “I wasn’t,” I say immediately. Drinking while underage? I’d be fucked. Kicked out.
    “You aren’t in trouble,” the Dean tells me. I don’t believe him and keep my lips stubbornly shut.
    Dr. Arthursen watches me for a moment, his watery blue eyes huge behind his thick glasses, then sighs. “I’m having a look at your records here,” he says. “You don’t appear to be doing well in your classes this semester.”
    My hands and feet are suddenly cold. He knows. He knows, he knows...
    “Your GPA as of this point in the semester is a 3.2, which is below what you need to stay here. If you are having a problem with alcohol, there are many resources on campus to help you deal with that...” He lets his voice trail away, rising in question.
    I stare at him. I don’t have a problem. I have a coping mechanism. It’s not my fault I need to cope so badly.
    But that’s the sort of thing drunks say, so I stay quiet.
    Dr. Arthursen leans back in his chair. “Miss Ray, you are a very promising student. You’re here on full scholarship, you did well the last two semesters, though your grade point was a little too close to the line for comfort. If you want to stay here, I suggest you