I met with my advisor on Monday, in her office, on her terms. She explained that my grades had suffered this semester, and that she was worried about my performance. She tried to be encouraging but she had something like two hundred and fifty advisees and she was tired of doling out the same stale advice and rules.

“If your grades do not improve, you will be put on probation for a semester, during which you will have to demonstrate a commitment to your academics. If your grades do not improve, you will be asked to take a year off to reconsider your career goals and whether or not the University is the right place for you.”

I assured her I could do it. I probably should have told her how overwhelmed I felt. Maybe she could have helped me. Intervened with my statistics professor. Asked my other professors to allow me a second chance, a fresh start. But I told her that this was only a minor bump in my journey. I referred her to my grades in high school as proof that I was, indeed, able to handle a heavy course load. She countered by bringing up my unusually strenuous choice in college activities.

“I appreciate your help,” I said, hoping she would understand the dismissal and allow me to leave. “But I can handle this on my own.”

“Call your parents,” she said.

I rolled my eyes. The University only communicated when it was beneficial to them.

And my parents never communicated. They arrived on the dreariest of gray mornings. I was huddled under my covers, throwing myself a pity party.

There was a knock on the door. “Andi, can we come in?”

It was my RA. I didn’t know who else she had with her but I said yes in a weak voice. Maybe she would join my pity party too. She used her universal key and opened the door. I looked into the light that streamed in. And there were my parents, looking just so with their formal business attire. They were too high class to be standing in a dorm and too angry to be standing in the doorway long.

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“Thank you,” my mother said, dismissing my RA in such a polite way that my RA didn’t even notice. The door fell shut behind them.

They were silent. The quiet that often came before a storm, or a tsunami, or death. I pulled my blankets tighter around me. The stepped around Ruby’s workout clothes and the pillows they had bought me at the beginning of the year. They reached my bed. My father, although below me, cut an intimidating figure. My mother looked at my bed, most likely trying to figure out how to scale it. I pulled my body back towards the wall so they could see even less of me. I didn’t want to do this now. Everything I had been avoiding was going to be scrutinized like the life of a celebrity.

“You must have been busy,” my mother said.

“I didn’t want you to worry,” I said.

“We haven’t heard from you in a month. You didn’t think that would make us worry?”

I tried to think of a good reason. With my parents so close, I couldn’t think of anything that would satisfy them.

“Answer your father,” my mother said.

Ruby stirred in her bed, shifting her covers infinitesimally. I willed her to stay asleep. If she got involved, everything would get worse.

He grabbed my ankle and twisted it to the side, pulling my muscles to the point where they would go no further. “Listen to me. You’re not allowed to lie to us. All your mother and I want you to do is succeed.”

I bit my tongue against my yell. I turned my body to compensate for the pain radiating up my calf.

“Your RA says you’ve been struggling with classes,” he said. I tried to adjust where I was sitting so he couldn’t turn my ankle. He twisted it again. “Pay attention to what I’m saying.”

“I have it under control. I’m working really hard. I promise.”

He pulled again and I cried out.

Ruby shot up in her bed. “Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Andi’s parents! How nice to see you!”