Chapter 6: Flash Cards

On Thursday Cal put one hand flat on my hip and the other under my knee and said, "Tell me when it pulls."

I was lying on my side on the treatment table with my cardigan folded under my head.

"It pulls," I said.

"Where?"

"Right there. No, lower."

"Here?"

"Yes. Stop. Yes."

He eased the leg back an inch and the pull softened.

His hand stayed on my hip a second longer than the exercise needed.

Then he took it away and wrote something on his clipboard, and his ears were slightly pink.

"That's the glute," he said. "It's been doing your back's job. Poor thing."

"It's a very loyal glute."

"It's an overworked glute, and you owe it an apology."

I laughed into the pillow, and he laughed too, low, and the table creaked.

"So what's a year of seventeen-hour days for?" he said. "Nobody sits in a carrel for fun."

"A graduate exam."

"For what?"

"Forensic accounting. Hartley State has a master's program."

"It gives one fully funded place a year, to the top score. I was going to win it."

"Was?"

"I missed the October sitting. There's another in April, and they add the two scores together."

"How do you miss the October sitting?"

I looked at the ceiling tiles.

"Someone took me to the wrong building."

Cal's pencil stopped.

He didn't say he was sorry, and he didn't say that was awful.

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