The Do-Over(3)
Author: Suzanne Park
“Do you remember your student ID?”
I laughed. Was she serious? I couldn’t even remember my own age sometimes. “I graduated ten years ago, I don’t recall what it was, I’m sorry.” I pasted on a smile. “I’m Lily Lee. College of Arts and Sciences. All I’m looking for is my transcript. I can give you my permanent address, graduation year, pretty much everything else.” And I did, I offered her all of this personal information, as well as my social security number and academic advisor’s name.
Tap tap tap.
Tap tap tap.
“Hmmmm. Strange.” She tilted her head and squinted at the screen. With a loud, slow exhale, she muttered, “Is Lee your maiden name? Are you married?”
Okay, I didn’t expect a “marital status” type of question from her. From my older sister, yes. My mom, yes. But the registrar? No. “Lee was the name I used in college. It’s still Lee. Middle name is Ji-Yeon.”
“Can you confirm this is your student photo?” She swiveled the screen so I could get a better look at my round, youthful, pimply face and all-gums toothy grin. And by toothy, I mean I actually had fanglike cuspids that were shaved down my first year of college. Sophomore and junior year was when things got better for me. My less canine-like smile. My classes were more interesting. I even dated a charming boy and we were together for over a year, one of the longest relationships I’ve ever had. Jake Cho. The one who shattered my heart into a million pieces. It never quite fit back together again.
I verified, “Yes, that’s me, Lily Ji-Yeon Lee. I wish they had face filters back then.”
“Let me share with you what I have here, so we’re seeing eye to eye.” While the printer hummed and pushed out pages, she typed and tapped some more. She grabbed the stack of paper and slid it toward me. The pile was pleasantly warm to the touch.
“Here’s all the academic information we have on file. And your partial transcript.”
“Partial?” My stomach lurched as I flipped to the last page. All of my classes were listed from my first semester to my last. Pretty standard stuff until I noticed one thing: in my last semester, two of my classes, Economic Principles and Survey Analysis, were listed as pass/fail. The matriculation date was listed at the top of the transcript, but my graduation date was not. It was blank.
I swallowed hard. Never before had nervousness, nostalgia, and amnesia hit me at the same time.
The registrar cleared her throat. “Ms. Lee, it appears that you didn’t obtain enough credits to officially graduate. You’re five credits shy, according to your records. Some of those pass/fail credits your last semester don’t count toward graduation.”
“There must be some mistake. I attended commencement. I walked across the stage.” I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping that when I reopened them, this would all be just a dream. But when I fluttered my lashes and peeked, everything was still the same.
“Sometimes academic advisors get the graduation requirements credit tally wrong, but it’s rare. In some cases, professors turn in grades the day before graduation and we still let students walk because most of the time the kids pass, even if they get D minuses. It’s showing in our system that you switched two classes to pass/fail, which is highly unusual because typically a student is allowed only one per year. It was a special exemption, but only one of the two classes was approved to apply credits toward your major and degree. Do you remember that?”
Vaguely? My last semester was a miserable blur, and my academic advisor had never explained the full risk of switching my classes to pass/fail. Only that I could, and it was too late to drop the classes and the poor grades would drag my GPA way down. The system would generate an academic probation letter sent to my permanent address, even if it was my last semester. It would go to my parents’ home. That was my top concern at the time.
“So . . . I didn’t . . . graduate? There’s no way to work around this somehow? Like a traffic violation where I watch a whole day of online videos and take a multiple-choice quiz to clear my record?”
She adjusted her glasses again. “I’m afraid not. The good news is, you don’t have to reapply for admission. If you want to complete your credit requirements, they’re opening up fall registration next week. I don’t have much sway, but what I can do is ensure you have second semester senior status because of your credit standing. You should need only one, maybe two, courses to reach the graduation requirement, but you’d have to confirm this with your academic advisor.”
I grabbed the counter to steady myself. My head whooshed and knees buckled from this avalanche of bad news. The lack of lunch wasn’t helping with the light-headedness.
“You’d also need to confirm with your academic advisor if there are any additional requirements needed for your degree given that ten years have passed.” A fall course catalog and a heavily frosted piece of cake passed through the opening in the Plexiglas window. “It’s my last slice, but I think you could use it more than me. It’s from Sassy Girl’s. Please, I insist.”
Sassy Girl’s was a local bakery that made the best buttercream cakes in the Northeast. For the first time in my entire life, I had no desire to eat cake. But because the birthday girl was staring at me with her kind eyes through her oversize tortoiseshell glasses, I had no rational reason to protest. With the accompanying plastic fork, I tore off a sizable chunk of the tender, fluffy white cake and took a bite. A culinary masterpiece. Under different circumstances it would have brought me comfort and happiness. It was then I discovered something new about myself: that it was possible to chew, fake a smile while saying “thank you,” and cry at the same time. A latent ability I never wanted to experience again.
Chapter Two
My phone rang. Then my text messages bleeped. It happened over and over, ring, bleep, ring, bleep, until I finally called my mom back.
She greeted me with, “Ji-yeon-ah, everything okay? You should be awake.”
Umma always assumed if I wasn’t picking up the phone, I was either sleeping in or napping. As if it was a bad thing to get more rest.
“I’m awake.” Technically, I was. I just happened to be lying fully flat on my bed, unshowered, with my pajamas still on. It was 1 P.M.
“I’m buying steak dinner to celebrate good news!”
“What good news?” I bolted upright. Maybe my sister was pregnant again. Or she got a job promotion. By steak dinner, Umma usually meant the eight-ounce sirloin steak combination dinner at Applebee’s. For her, steak dinners were reserved for only the most special of celebrations.