Woke up, got out of bed…

That pounding noise; the front door, someone knocking. I pulled on a bathrobe and looked at the clock. Who would be knocking at my door at 5 a.m. on a Monday?

I stormed downstairs, eyes blurry with sleep, almost tripping on Mr. Smithers, who yowled and darted away. Better and better. Awakened from another dream about him by some drunk, lost idiot, no doubt.

“This better be important!” I yelled as I unlocked the door and yanked it open. (Wondering why I didn’t check the peephole even as I did it.)

My high school principal, the dean of the college I went to, and my Master’s advisor stood outside my door, looking concerned and flustered. We stood and stared at each other, me in my bathrobe, the three of them looking rather official.

“Erm,” said the dean.

“We have a problem,” Dr. Chaunders said. “We were doing an audit and discovered… this is a bit awkward-”

“You missed one of your elective finals, Emily,” my old principal interjected, “you didn’t graduate from high school.”

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