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Tim sits nervously in the nurse’s office, waiting for his mother. He resists the urge to drum his fingers on the edge of the uncomfortable plastic chair or to tap his foot incessantly. Nurse Holland is a patronizingly mean woman who’s already made a comment about him to his mom over the phone and Tim doesn’t want to draw her attention any further.
He’s so dead.
He doesn’t even know what happened.
Near the end of first period, Mr. Larson had passed out the report cards and his classmates had quickly started discussing their second quarter grades. Tim was already nervous about his grades – he always is – but he had flunked a history test; he retook it, of course, but he hadn’t gotten it back yet.
And there it was. Right between the straight A’s was a C in history.
Tim could feel himself breathing too heavily and through his mouth and ew, is he seriously mouth-breathing right now? But it didn’t feel like enough air even though he knew, objectively, that his lungs were at full capacity. His thoughts were spiraling hard too and escalating – spiraling up? – from my parents are going to be so pissed to I’m such an idiot, I’m quite literally stupid.
Now he’s at the nurse’s office for an asthma attack, but Tim doesn’t think he has asthma. Maybe he does? Does asthma just randomly develop at 13? Is he going to get an inhaler? Does he get to skip gym now?
His thoughts are interrupted by the door opening and he turns to see his mom, frowning. Janet must’ve come from Drake Industries’ offices because she’s dressed impeccably in a dark green suit with a matching brooch. Tim just feels more guilty now for interrupting her work. Nurse Holland waves Janet over to sign him out and she cards her fingers through his hair on the way over.
At least she isn’t that mad about it.
After being signed out, they head to the car in silence and Tim makes sure to open the doors for his mom because that’s what his parents say gentlemen do. When Tim is in the passenger seat with his seatbelt on, Janet turns the car key to start the car and switches from her preferred music – usually whatever Jack procures from his trips abroad – to Tim’s, Green Day.
She’s pulling out of the school when she finally speaks, “When would you like to talk about what happened at school?”
Tim feels like they’re setting up an appointment, which he finds funny enough to feel less tense. At least the asthma thing is new territory for both of them and he’s not the only one feeling awkward about it.
“I don’t know.”
“Would you like your father present?” Janet asks, pointer finger tapping the steering wheel to the beat of Welcome to Paradise.
“I’d like to speak with only you first and with Dad later,” Tim says in his most professional voice. He thinks it’s the most logical course of action, testing the waters with his mom who’s, in his opinion, a lot more sensible and mild than Jack. Although he often hears it the opposite way from others.
“That’s fine, but Jack is going to want to know what happened as soon as possible, so we have a small window of time. Do you want to have this conversation now?”
“Sure, but only if we stop for McDonald’s on the way home.”
Janet smiles approvingly, “Clever boy. It’s good that you recognized that I’m in the greater need here and benefited from it.”
“Does that mean you agree to my terms?”
“Only if you’re truthful. Now, tell me the exact circumstances of your asthma attack.”
Tim tells her everything and he doesn’t lie or withhold anything. From how he felt nervous about his grades, especially for history, ever since his retake to how he suddenly didn’t feel like there was enough air when he saw the C, to his newfound dislike of Nurse Holland. Janet nods along and hums thoughtfully during the appropriate times which he thinks is a rather enviable skill.
“What I think, Timothy–” she starts once Tim’s spiel is over. “–Is that you had what I call a panic. I got panics often when I was younger.”
Tim, in a hushed voice like it’s a Batman-level secret that his mom gets panic attacks, asks, “Why do we get panics?”
“I’m not entirely sure. I know, I’m supposed to know everything,” Janet teases. Tim used to ask her too many questions when he was young and was always shocked when she didn’t know the answer. “But it happens when my anxiety overwhelms me and, as you know, it happens very suddenly.”
“Am I going to grow out of them, like you?”
“No, most likely not. You’ll learn to cope with it, just like you had to learn to deal with your voice cracking or how tangled your hair gets when you don’t brush it.”
Tim, of course, makes an embarrassed and protesting noise at that, but he understands what his mom means.
Janet continues, “When I had panics, I decided to remove my stressor, which was my parents. I bought Drake Manor from them and had them move out. Of course, they weren’t the only stress-inducer in my life but it was still a lot of help.”
“Yeah, but I can’t remove school. Well, I can, but you and Dad are going to be mad at me and I’m not old enough to drop out anyway.”
Janet sighs and, while they’re waiting at the red light, turns to Tim and holds his face in her hand. “Timothy, we don’t care about your grades if it’s stressing you out this much. Are we happy when we see that you’re excelling in your classes? Of course, it means you’re doing well in school and that we’ve raised a smart little boy. Do your grades matter in the big picture? No–”
The traffic light turns green and she turns back to the road. Tim misses the warmth of her hand.
“–I don’t mean to be crude when I say this, but we’re a wealthy family. You aren’t reliant on how well you do in school for your future like those less… privileged than us. You could drop out for all we care – well, Jack may be a little put off by that – but as long as you keep being a clever boy and happy, then you’re doing fine by our books.”
“Alright, Mom,” he says, because he doesn’t really know what else to say to that.
“Now, let’s get you your McDonald’s and put this morning behind us. You can join me and Jack at the office afterwards.”