vocabulary term. “You’d only need to take qualifying exams if you’re planning on staying on for a PhD. I thought you wanted to go into industry.”
“I do,” I assure him. “But some of the other students I’ve spoken with said I’m more likely to snag an advisor if I sign up to take them. They said some of the faculty don’t like to take on students that they think will only be hanging around for another year or two.”
He hums his agreement. “That’s true, I guess. And if you pass and change your mind … Well, you know the saying: better to ask for forgiveness than permission.”
“Yup.”
There’s a pause, and I wonder if the cell signal’s dropped until I hear his voice pick up again. “Okay, same game plan then. I’m going to run back to my place after my shift to change into something a little more presentable. I’ll pick you up from your place at eight?”
“Sounds good, see you then.”
I’m only half-present in Prof. Peter Harrison’s class, as my mind has detached from my body and is running through possibilities of what Hawk and I might get into later. My eyes chance upon the clock above the door when I notice there’s only a few minutes of class remaining. Panicked, I snap to attention and look on the whiteboard. I’ve been jotting down the occasional note, as well as responding the few times Prof. Harrison’s called on me, but for the most part I’ve spent the entire session on autopilot. Graduate classes aren’t like my undergraduate ones; I’m not in a classroom with a few hundred students. There’s only twenty of us here. I’m hoping my distractedness had gone unnoticed, and trying to rationalize why this doesn’t mean my test of self-restraint has failed, when I hear Prof. Harrison speak.
“Miss Lewis?”
“Yes, Professor?”
“Would you have a few minutes after class to stay and chat with me?”
Busted. I feel my chin twitch, but he turns his attention back to the whiteboard and finishes explaining the details of our next assignment before dismissing the rest of the students. After shoving my notepad back into my bag, I take the smallest steps I can that don’t give away my guilt. Prof. Harrison’s eyes fix on me after the last student leaves.
“I need to speak to you about something, Miss Lewis.”
With a sigh, I prepare to unload my mea culpa. “I apologize for that, sir.”
His face screws up. “For what?”
I pause, wondering if he really didn’t notice. If he did, I don’t need to dig myself a deeper ditch by blatantly admitting it. If he didn’t, I’m not so honest of a person that I’m going to out myself to clear my conscience. Instead, I just shrug and mumble, “You know,” allowing him to take it as he wants.
The corner of his mouth raises. “Oh, yeah. I don’t blame you for zoning out. I’m sure someone like you finds a class like mine very unstimulating.” He removes a stack of papers from his bag and pulls one I recognize. The bright pink cover sheet stapled atop a stack of otherwise normal quadrille paper gives it away. I learned the trick as an undergrad to help me distinguish more easily my paper in the return piles outside the massive lecture halls at Colorado.
“Sir?”
He picks up my paper from the top of the stack and lets it fall back to the desk. The thin stack doesn’t make too big of a noise, but the act sends out its own reverberations.
“You have a brilliant mind, Miss Lewis,” he declares. “Your explanation and extrapolation in the fourth section took me quite by surprise.”
Shocked not to hear any sarcasm in his voice at calling me brilliant, I understand from this second statement that Prof. Harrison is a man for whom the barb lies not in the spear but in the throw.
“But, sir, I didn’t provide any conclusive answer to the problem in section four.”
He snaps his fingers, and his face transforms into that of a giddy academic. “Exactly! Out of the entire class, you were the only student who
“I do,” I assure him. “But some of the other students I’ve spoken with said I’m more likely to snag an advisor if I sign up to take them. They said some of the faculty don’t like to take on students that they think will only be hanging around for another year or two.”
He hums his agreement. “That’s true, I guess. And if you pass and change your mind … Well, you know the saying: better to ask for forgiveness than permission.”
“Yup.”
There’s a pause, and I wonder if the cell signal’s dropped until I hear his voice pick up again. “Okay, same game plan then. I’m going to run back to my place after my shift to change into something a little more presentable. I’ll pick you up from your place at eight?”
“Sounds good, see you then.”
I’m only half-present in Prof. Peter Harrison’s class, as my mind has detached from my body and is running through possibilities of what Hawk and I might get into later. My eyes chance upon the clock above the door when I notice there’s only a few minutes of class remaining. Panicked, I snap to attention and look on the whiteboard. I’ve been jotting down the occasional note, as well as responding the few times Prof. Harrison’s called on me, but for the most part I’ve spent the entire session on autopilot. Graduate classes aren’t like my undergraduate ones; I’m not in a classroom with a few hundred students. There’s only twenty of us here. I’m hoping my distractedness had gone unnoticed, and trying to rationalize why this doesn’t mean my test of self-restraint has failed, when I hear Prof. Harrison speak.
“Miss Lewis?”
“Yes, Professor?”
“Would you have a few minutes after class to stay and chat with me?”
Busted. I feel my chin twitch, but he turns his attention back to the whiteboard and finishes explaining the details of our next assignment before dismissing the rest of the students. After shoving my notepad back into my bag, I take the smallest steps I can that don’t give away my guilt. Prof. Harrison’s eyes fix on me after the last student leaves.
“I need to speak to you about something, Miss Lewis.”
With a sigh, I prepare to unload my mea culpa. “I apologize for that, sir.”
His face screws up. “For what?”
I pause, wondering if he really didn’t notice. If he did, I don’t need to dig myself a deeper ditch by blatantly admitting it. If he didn’t, I’m not so honest of a person that I’m going to out myself to clear my conscience. Instead, I just shrug and mumble, “You know,” allowing him to take it as he wants.
The corner of his mouth raises. “Oh, yeah. I don’t blame you for zoning out. I’m sure someone like you finds a class like mine very unstimulating.” He removes a stack of papers from his bag and pulls one I recognize. The bright pink cover sheet stapled atop a stack of otherwise normal quadrille paper gives it away. I learned the trick as an undergrad to help me distinguish more easily my paper in the return piles outside the massive lecture halls at Colorado.
“Sir?”
He picks up my paper from the top of the stack and lets it fall back to the desk. The thin stack doesn’t make too big of a noise, but the act sends out its own reverberations.
“You have a brilliant mind, Miss Lewis,” he declares. “Your explanation and extrapolation in the fourth section took me quite by surprise.”
Shocked not to hear any sarcasm in his voice at calling me brilliant, I understand from this second statement that Prof. Harrison is a man for whom the barb lies not in the spear but in the throw.
“But, sir, I didn’t provide any conclusive answer to the problem in section four.”
He snaps his fingers, and his face transforms into that of a giddy academic. “Exactly! Out of the entire class, you were the only student who
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