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Mrs O’Sullivan lifted a hand placatingly. “Not all of it, but the larger portions we were hoping for were denied. The grants and scholarships.”

“I— I don’t understand.” Her voice was breathy, like a laugh, the hysterical kind that follows horrific news because the brain shuts down and leaves only mania. “I received near-perfect grades in undergrad.”

“Yes, Ariatne?—”

“Atta,” she snapped. “Please.”

“Right, yes. Of course.Atta. Your grades were outstanding, but that was six years ago.”

“So?”Fuck, she was being rude. “Sorry.” She squirmed in her seat. “I’m sorry. I just don’t understand.”

The look she received was even more pitiful than before. “There are a lot of young people vying for that money, Atta. What have you been doing for the last six years? Your paperwork says you’ve been working in a morgue and that you have the same position here in Dublin.

“It— It’s the family business,” she stammered, feeling light-headed.

“Right, okay. But it has nothing to do with your undergrad degree or your master’s program.” She looked down at the file on her desk and back at Atta over her glasses. “It says here your undergrad degree was in Folklore with a Religion component?”

Atta’s mouth was too dry to speak, but she managed a small nod.

“That makes your pursuit of postgraduate studies in botany seem more recreational than vocational. Do you understand?”

Attaunderstoodthat she’d like to punch Mrs O’Sullivan in her ruddy throat.

“The point is, it doesn’t look good to the powers that be. You have been denied.”

“Is it hot in here?” Atta pulled at the collar of her turtleneck, looking around—for what, she wasn’t sure. A window to throw herself out of?

Mrs O’Sullivan rose and poured a glass of water from a pitcher in the corner decorated with little black cats, sliding it across her desk to Atta. “We have a couple of options.”

“Oh?” Atta held the glass just to feel the coolness against her palms.

“You could always see about taking out a loan.”

A snort escaped before Atta could stop it, a dribble of the water sloshing out onto her tights and seeping through to her leg. “I don’t make enough money to qualify for something like that.”

“What about your parents, then? Perhaps they could help out. They’re business owners, yes?”

Atta blinked at the well-meaning woman who clearly grew up without these types of problems. Without having to pray for ends to meet or wondering where the next meal might come from. “There isn’t a lot of money in caring for the dead.” She looked down into the water, watching the ripples keep time with the pulse in her hands. “You’re thinking of funeral homes.” —that rip off the bereaved for their own benefit. Thankfully, Atta kept that last part to herself.

“I see.” Mrs O’Sullivan’s pink lips pursed together in thought. “There is one more option.” Atta brightened and Mrs O’Sullivan held out her palms. “Classes have already been in session for a couple of weeks, so I don’t think it will be possible, but we can see.”

“Anything. I’ll do anything to stay here.” To stay in a place of knowledge and books and information. Where her inquisitive research can delve deeper.

Mrs O’Sullivan sighed. “We do have jobs on campus.”

“But I already have a job.” One she couldn’t give up. It would defeat the entire purpose of what she was after. Or, at least, cut off her access to what she needed.

“And does it make you enough to pay tuition?” Mrs O’Sullivan had lost her benevolent constitution.

“No. You’re right. Go on, please.”

“There are Teacher Assistant positions that offer a significant tuition discount in lieu of payment, as well as boarding and three hot, three cold meals a week available at The Dining Hall or The Buttery.”

Atta’s heart rate began to slow. She didn’t know how she could swing a full course load and two jobs, but she would figure it out. There was still hope.

“It won’t cover everything, but it’s a massive start.”

“Yes. Of course.” Atta scooted to the edge of her seat. “I’ll do it.”