Driscoll stopped me. “Olivia? Did you bring back the signed letter?” “Which signed letter?” “Olivia . . .” “Oh! You mean the signed letter about my very, very, very unfortunate grade in math?” “Yes, Olivia. That signed letter.” “No, Mr. Driscoll. I didn’t bring it back.” I smiled sadly, shook my head, and then looked humbly at my toes. “I don’t know what’s the matter with me. Lately, I’ve been forgetting a lot of stuff, and sometimes I get dizzy, too.” To illustrate the point, I staggered a few steps and bumped into the wall. “It could be I have a brain tumor.” Mr. Driscoll closed his eyes and pinched the skin above his nose like he had a headache. “A brain tumor is unlikely, but if you don’t feel well and want to see the nurse, you may.” I had seen the nurse once already this week and twice the week before. I had a feeling she wouldn’t be sympathetic. So I squared my shoulders and stood up straight. “I feel better all of a sudden. Who knows?
