Even with the window shut and locked, and her curtains preventing anyone from possibly being able to look in, Wendy didn’t feel any better. It was like whatever was in the woods had attached itself to her back and was clawing its way into her skin, no matter how hard she tried to scrub it clean. Wendy shuddered and squeezed the acorn tight in her hand.

If she was going to get any sleep tonight, she needed a distraction.

Keeping the acorn in her fist, Wendy pulled out the notebook from her bedside drawer, a red Sharpie, and a stack of pamphlets. The university had sent her a large manila envelope full of information on housing and academics.

Jordan had convinced Wendy to sign up for the health sciences housing. Jordan knew what she wanted to do and was already reaching out to premed students with questions.

Wendy wished she had that confidence.

Chewing on the cap of the red marker, Wendy flipped to the page of her bullet journal saved with a ribbon. Across the top center of the page she had written Nursing, and on the next several pages were bulleted lists, dates, and calendars. After poring over the university website’s academics section, she had mocked up an entire four years’ worth of classes to graduate with a nursing degree. Wendy had used her collection of fine-tip Sharpies to meticulously map out potential schedules, all color coded with their respective credits. It had taken her weeks.

Everything was carefully laid out for her. If she followed these steps, she would have her nursing degree and be ready to enter the real world after graduation. She would have a steady job in a high-demand field.

But …

Wendy turned to a blank page. At the top in small, red letters she wrote Premed.

It was a crazy idea. Becoming a doctor took ages —four years of undergrad, four years of med school, and then a three-to-seven-year residency? That was a lot of time and a lot of money. She was relying mostly on grants and scholarships for college. How would she be able to afford going to med school?

Nursing was perfectly respectable. She’d earn a degree faster and make a decent living. Sometimes, she entertained the idea of becoming a doctor, specifically a pediatrician, but she was just toying with the idea. Realistically, it was too much of a risk and too big of a cost if she failed.

Being a pediatrician meant the wellness of children—their lives—would be in her hands. It made Wendy start to sweat just thinking about making the wrong decision, or messing up so colossally that she’d lose a patient. There was no way she could handle that sort of responsibility. She couldn’t even keep her brothers safe—how could anyone trust her with their children?

She pulled out the athletics brochure and busied her mind reading about the state-of-the-art training facilities on campus.