Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 138775 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 694(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138775 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 694(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
So it looked like I was staying here another night.
6
TORI
“Tori? May I speak with you after class?”
Uh-oh. No student liked to hear that as they made their way into a lecture hall. Professor Abrams hadn’t ever asked me to stay after class before.
“Of course,” I said, as if I wasn’t going to spend the next hour worrying about what she wanted to talk to me about.
She seemed to guess my fears because she smiled at me. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing bad.”
That would’ve been reassuring if her smile hadn’t faltered at the end. That didn’t bode well.
Predictably, I worried the entire class, even though this required composition course was one of my favorites.
After class, I waited while the other students filed out and then followed Professor Abrams up to her third-floor office.
Perching on the edge of a chair, I waited until my teacher was settled behind her desk before I looked up.
Crap. She was watching me with concern.
“I can do better,” I said hastily.
Her eyebrow rose in confusion.
“On my last paper,” I said. “Or on whatever is making you look at me that way.”
A ghost of a smile crossed her face. “I never had much of a poker face.” Her gray curls bobbed as she shook her head. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I brought you here to tell you about an opportunity. I’m just not entirely sure it’s a good opportunity. But I suppose I should let you be the judge of that.”
That made me only slightly less anxious, but a hell of a lot more curious. “What is it?”
She glanced toward the window, as if trying to decide where to begin. “You applied to work in the writing center at the start of the semester, correct?”
“Yes.” It had just been two weeks ago, and I’d been disappointed when I didn’t get a spot there. The center helped students, especially freshmen, who needed to strengthen their writing skills. Since I wanted to teach high school one day, it seemed a good match for me. There probably wasn’t much difference between the writing abilities of a college freshman and a high school senior. “They told me to apply again next year when I had more coursework and experience under my belt.”
Professor Abrams sighed. “There’s a chance that you might be able to work there this year.”
“Really? How?” If there were any way to do that, I’d be eternally grateful. The experience and the pay would really help me out.
“The Athletic Department contacted us. There’s a member of the baseball team who barely passed his English class last year and is already struggling this year.”
“I’d love to help him.” It sounded like the perfect job for me.
“They’re particularly interested in getting him help with any of his classes that require essays and papers, but specifically Composition 102, which you’re taking. He’s in the section taught by Dr. Winters.”
“I can help him,” I said again. “I love writing. And teaching. I’ll do it!” I was so eager that my words were tripping over each other.
“It’s not that simple,” she said. “I wish it were.”
“What do you mean?”
She pressed a hand to her face briefly. “Athletic Departments often have an oversized influence at a university. The teams bring in money and donations. They keep both students and alumni happy.”
“Even… here?” As far as I knew, sports weren’t a huge part of academic life at Langley, although the issue hadn’t really been on my radar.
“Even here. Apparently, this student is the star player on the team, and if he fails any more classes, he won’t be able to play next year. So the department is adamant that he passes.”
I supposed that made sense. Even though Langley was a small private school focused more on minting future leaders of America, not sports stars.
“I’ll do my very best,” I assured her.
She rested her forehead on her hand briefly, looking like perhaps she had a headache. “There’s more to it than that. I hate myself for saying this, but it’s not my decision.”
“What is it?”
“Athletics is so invested in this student that they want an assurance that his tutor is, too. So If you agree to work him, then your grade in Composition would be tied to his. If he passes, you pass. If he fails, you fail.”
For a moment, I thought I’d heard her incorrectly. That was insane. I’d never let myself fail an English class. “C-can they really make that rule?”
“Yes.” She sighed. “But that doesn’t mean you have to accept the job. In fact, I bet if you asked your advisor, she’d be against it. It’s not worth risking your GPA. Plus, the job at the writing center only stands if he passes.”
I was still stunned, and I couldn’t gather my thoughts. “If you don’t agree with this, why did you ask me?”
“Because I have to find someone. I’m being pressured, too. And if it weren’t for that ridiculous clause, you’d be my first choice to help him.” She shook her head. “I feel complicit even in asking.”