Pete Kovich, the head of the business school's academic advisory department, held a finger up to his mouth but motioned for me to come in when I arrived at his office early Thursday morning. The chair opposite where he sat at his desk was empty, and it took me a moment to realize that he was talking to someone on a wireless headset. Not that good old Pete ever talked, per se; his everyday speaking volume always seemed to hover somewhere near the sonic boom. I'd been forced to schedule meetings with him multiple times per semester since failing my first class at L.A.U., and each time I walked out of his office with at least some degree of hearing loss.

He was a funny man, that was for sure, and as I sat down, I took a moment to peer around the oddly decorated room. An entire wall had been dedicated to framed postcards from obscure little towns around America. "That's where you find the most charm," he'd once told me. "All the really beautiful things in this country... You're not going to find them in New York or Chicago, are you?"

I hadn't known how to answer that question -- I liked both of those cities -- so I shrugged, and Pete apparently took that as a sign that I agreed. That, combined with the fact I'd complimented his bobblehead collection as a sophomore, resulted in him liking me far more than any academic advisor should like a student with a faltering 2.3 GPA.

"No, I can't pick up Rosie today, honey, you know that," Pete said, shaking his head. "What am I doing? I have back-to-back meetings with students until five." He paused, frowning. "Well, I can't help that. Maybe you should've listened to me when I said we needed a sitter."

I tried my best to tune out the one-sided bickering, but I couldn't help but feel reminded of family dinners back home. Mom and Dad had always gone at it like cats and dogs, though they'd done their best to hide it from Michael and I when we were growing up. Now that we were older, I think they must have decided that there was no point in shielding us from the fact that they couldn't stand each other. Sometimes I wondered why they didn't get divorced but considering how volatile my relationship with Gemma was, maybe stubbornness ran in our family.

After Pete hung up a few minutes later, he rubbed his temples and sighed. "You got a girlfriend?" he asked, catching me off guard.

"Excuse me?"

"Do you have a girlfriend?" He paused, and then corrected himself, "I suppose I shouldn't assume... Do you have a girlfriend? Boyfriend? Someone waiting for you at home?"

Slightly taken aback, I shook my head. "No to all three."

With something that looked like a cross between a grimace and a smile, Pete said, "Enjoy your freedom for as long as you can. Don't get me wrong -- I love my wife, my kid... But it'd be nice not to worry about anyone but myself for a day or two."

"Yeah," I replied, confused as to why he was confiding in me. "I bet."

"Let me tell you something else," Pete said, leaning forward as he rested his elbows on the table top. "You know what I'd do with a few days off from daddy duty?"

I shrugged, and Pete went on, "I'd grab a couple beers and just sit in front of the TV. No Barney, no one complaining that they don't understand the game. It'd just be me, my sixty-inch TV, and the Seattle Seahawks."

Pete continued to describe his fantasy world until he caught my eye again. As if reading my mind, his monologue abruptly stopped and he offered me an awkward chuckle. "I see you so often that sometimes I forget you're a student. I probably shouldn't be saying stuff like that to you, huh?"

"I mean, I'm not going to tell anyone," I assured him, though the truth was that I'd probably use it as conversation fodder for days.

Somehow even more booming than his voice, Pete's laugh echoed around the room. "No, no. There's no need for me to act like a grumpy old man. Marriage is great, really; I promise." The lingering tightness in his jaw told me that he didn't quite believe that what he'd said was true. With a deep breath, he clapped his hands and rubbed them together until his fingertips turned red. "So, what've you got for me?"

"Well, I--"

A thought must have crossed Pete's mind because his jovial expression returned to a deep frown. He picked up a steaming mug of coffee from near his computer's keyboard and, with concern in his eyes, he appraised me silently for a moment. I shifted nervously under his gaze. "How are you doing, by the way?" he asked, dropping the volume of his voice to what I suspected was the closest he'd ever come to a whisper. "Feeling better?"

It was a seemingly innocent question but I knew what he was implying. Breaking eye contact with Pete, I stared at a postcard from Jumpertown, Mississippi, while I thought of how to word my answer. I wasn't exactly embarrassed about my meetings with Dr. Fersan, but that didn't mean that I enjoyed opening up about them either. At first, I hadn't wanted to share my anxiety diagnosis with anyone. I kept imagining how they -- my friends, that is -- would react... How they'd start treating me once they knew that I wasn't the laidback individual they always made me out to be.

I never understood why, but "laidback" was the one word that people always used to describe me. Although I often felt like a hurricane was brewing inside of me, I suspected that my friends had started to characterize me as being easygoing after comparing me to Michael. More tightly wound than a spring, my brother always seemed like he was on cusp of a nuclear meltdown. It was one of the main reasons why I hated spending time with him. No matter how relaxing something should have been, whether it was a vacation or a nice meal, Michael had an uncanny ability to turn it into a high-stress affair. He'd never been very good at hiding his emotions, so what you saw was what you got with him. Some people liked that -- I guess they respected his transparency -- but I would've preferred having a family member who didn't rapid cycle between flying off the handle and pretending to be nice.

Still, an absolute social chameleon, Michael had a way of charming others that reminded me of a voodoo sorcerer at work. Whether it was a teacher or one of our parents, Michael had always been able to talk his way out of anything with a smile and a well-worded apology. He had an uncanny way of telling people exactly what they wanted to hear and for that reason alone, everyone forgave him for his bad temper. On the other hand, I'd never gotten away with anything while we were growing up, a fact that Michael loved to remind me about.

"I'm doing alright," I said, when I realized that Pete was still waiting for a response. "Thanks for asking."

I told Parker about my anxiety about a week after Sophie announced that she had bipolar disorder. I'd hoped that would mean that Parker might be understanding, even if no one else around me was. Sure enough, he'd listened while I talked, his face fixed in the same worried expression that he always wore when I told him about the chaos in my life. He asked me a couple questions -- if he could help with anything, stuff like that -- and then he'd scratched his head and said, "Well, you know, I'm around if you need me."

And that was it. No joking, no prodding, just support. Deep down, I hoped that the rest of my friends would react the same way but I didn't feel like testing it to find out for sure. I could brush off a lot of things that the guys made fun of me for but I didn't want them to think less of me as a person for something that I couldn't even control. No, I was pretty good at keeping secrets, especially when they happened to be my own. Outside of my family, Parker, and the people who worked at the student health center, the only other person who knew about my visits with Fersan was the man sitting in front of me.

Lifting my head slightly, I stared at an unidentifiable stain on Pete's left lapel. A peculiar shade of brown, I tried to guess what kind of sauce he'd spilled on himself and when he'd last gotten his suit dry cleaned.

Bushy eyebrows furrowed, Pete looked unconvinced. "You sure?"

"Yeah, definitely," I replied, perhaps a little too quickly. "I can't remember if I said it in the spring, but thanks again for helping me to reschedule my exams."

I swallowed, hoping that Pete would let the conversation drop. Instead, to my enormous chagrin, he said, "You know, my sister suffered from pretty severe post-partum after she had her first kid. Boy, it was tough on her."

I forced a nod, cursing the world for appointing me the most socially oblivious academic counselor at the university. I bet that Parker's class selection meetings never turned into makeshift therapy sessions. Then again, I doubted that Parker had ever been forced to meet with an advisor about his grades. Despite being content with Bs and Cs, Parker was easily the smartest person that I'd ever met. I didn't know any other science majors who could pull at least a 3.0 without opening his books until the week before his finals, but Parker always managed exactly that. He downplayed it, but I had no doubt that he could've ended up as the the engineering school's valedictorian if he'd put some effort into it.

Pete drummed his fingers against the arm of his chair and appraised me through kind eyes. New wrinkles had appeared on his face over the summer and the shocking orange toupee that he wore looked even more ridiculous against his fading tan. "Do you eat right?" he asked. "Exercise? That's what really helped my sister, you know. Diet and exercise, that's the key."

Biting my tongue to stop myself from saying something that I'd regret, I wondered why so many of the people around me seemed to think that my anxiety was something that I could just snap out of. My dad was still under the impression that I was using it as an excuse to slack off and no amount of arguing with him seemed likely to change his mind. Unlike Dad, however, I knew that Pete was trying to be helpful, even if his advice did make me want to bang my head against the wall. "I try to run every morning," I replied. "Don't worry, I'm doing everything that I can to keep it under control."

Sensing the thinly veiled irritation in my voice, Pete finally seemed to realize that I didn't want to discuss my problems with him. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down. "I'm sorry, I got a little sidetracked. I'm, uh, I'm glad you're doing well." He cleared his throat. "So, what can I help you with today?"

Happy to move on to a different topic, I said, "Well, I was actually wondering if I could switch my science G.E. to something a little less... Science-y."

Pete raised an eyebrow. "A science G.E. without science? I'm not sure we offer any of those."

"No, I mean, you know, there's science," I said, motioning with an outstretched arm to show one end of the spectrum, "and then there's kinesiology."

"Ah." Nodding to show that he understood, Pete keyed a few words into his computer and studied the screen. "What were you thinking?"

"I don't know. Maybe oceanography?" I asked, hopeful that a space had opened up since I last checked the online enrollment portal.

My heart sank when Pete shook his head. "No can do. The only oceanography class with any seats available conflicts with your Intro to Business Negotiation course."

"Can't I take that next semester?"

"It's only taught in the fall this year, I'm afraid. We're trying to encourage incoming business majors to get it over with right away."

I ignored the subtle jab at my self-inflicted predicament and racked my brain for a different solution. "Okay, what is available?"

"You mean, what's available in the realm of non-science-y science classes?"

"Yeah," I said. "Maybe astrology--"

"Astronomy," Pete corrected me, and I felt my ears redden at the mistake.

"Right, exactly. That's what I meant, sorry."

Pete used the arrow keys on his keyboard to scroll up and down, clucking his tongue as he did. "I hate to say it but there isn't very much available."

"What do you mean?"

Turning the monitor so I could see it, what little optimism I had left crumbled into dust. Each class that Parker recommended was listed as being full, and those with spaces left all seemed to conflict with another course that I needed. Sighing, I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes for a moment. "So, what can I do?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I've already gone to the first two classes and I can tell you right now that there's no way I'm going to do well. Should I drop it?"

The alarm in Pete's expression was almost comical. "Scott, you need to take a full course load each semester if you want to graduate next year. If you drop it now, you're either looking at taking twenty units in the spring or enrolling in a summer term."

I groaned, unable to decide which option sounded worse. "However..." Pete swiveled the computer screen back around and stroked his chin thoughtfully before typing something in. "If you'd be willing to take an extra two units in the spring, I can make it so that you'll be taking kinesiology Pass/Fail."

"That means that I just need to get a C-minus, right?"

Pete hesitated. "Anything above a 70% will give you a Pass on your transcript, yes--"

"Great, let's do that."

"--but you should still aim for the highest grade possible."

"I mean, of course, I will," I said, and I meant it. Unlike Parker, I always tried in my classes, even if no one believed me. "What sort of two-unit classes are available next semester?"

"The course list hasn't been finalized yet but there are typically quite a few fun classes offered." The way that he stressed the word 'fun' told me that what he really meant was that they'd be easy enough for me to pass without too much effort. "You know, there's yoga, Intro to Blogging, stuff like that."

"Alright, cool."

I waited until Pete confirmed that he'd changed my designation from grade-seeking to Pass/Fail and then got to my feet. "Appreciate it," I said, and Pete shook my hand, as he always did at the end of our meetings.

I turned to leave but stopped when Pete called my name. "Have you considered getting a tutor?" Pete asked, resting his hands on top of a small stack of folders. Despite the smile on his face, I could tell that he was still concerned. "It's better to start working with someone early in the semester than it is to wait. I know quite a few graduate students who would be happy to tutor for a couple bucks an hour. Heck, I bet you could even find a few that'll help you out in exchange for a hot meal."

He chuckled at his joke and I managed what I hoped was a pleasant, if weak, grin. "Thanks, Mr. Kovich," I said, my legs feeling like two lead weights as I started towards the door again. "I'll definitely look into that."

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Happy Halloween and thanks for reading! Feel free to vote/comment if you enjoyed the chapter and please let me know if I missed any typos. I'll try to update again tomorrow or Monday.