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“Yes. I’ll meet you here. Good luck.” She offered a fist for me to bump, but I was so floored by her kind words, I just stared at her in disbelief.
“Or not…” she said bitterly and dropped her hand.
“No, no. Seriously, sorry. That just took me by surprise. C’mon. I’ll bump your fist, Shep.” Now I was begging, and I scoffed at how ridiculous I sounded. I hated that her mood swings always had the rest of us on eggshells.
My sister got in the driver’s seat and slammed the door. Without another word, she sped off before I hit the first step that led up to the majestic front doors. I loved this campus and all its history. Some of the classes were absolute shit, but the grounds and buildings always made me feel at home.
The man I was about to meet with did not, however. Dr. Andrew Chaplin was a mysterious professor. He never went out of his way to be likeable or even approachable. He certainly wasn’t one of those instructors who hung around after class to offer extra help or information.
He was a by-the-rules kind of guy from day one. If you needed further instruction in his class, you could request a tutor or meet with him during his scheduled office hours. I was shocked when I got his email regarding this meeting because I thought his teacher’s aide typically handled the summer internship assignments.
This was my first time in this particular building, so I was unfamiliar with the location of his office. Fortunately, there was a marquee in the lobby that listed who occupied each office. I found his name and office number and headed upstairs to the second floor. Of course, his office was the last one at the end of a very long hallway, and the heels on my sandals click-clacked the entire way.
Just as I was about to open his door, someone called my name from the other end of the corridor. When I swung around to see who was shouting in the otherwise silent building, I completely deflated.
“Joel.” I paused, not wanting to deal with him right now. While he hustled the length of the hallway toward me, I muttered an unenthused, “Hey.”
“I thought I saw you driving near the quad,” he said excitedly and thumbed over his shoulder toward that area of campus. “But I realized it was Shepperd and flagged her down. She said she dropped you off, and I remembered you mentioned a meeting with Chaplin. Have you been in to see him yet?” He punctuated his rapid-fire question spree with a boyish grin.
Christ, what did I ever see in this guy?
That whole data dump pulled me up short because I had an excellent memory and nowhere in a quick scan of the last few days could I recall telling Joel about this meeting. I smelled a rat, and if I found out my twin sent this dipshit up here just to mess with me, I’d be giving her the silent treatment for a week.
Modulating my voice to blend a bit more with the vibe of the setting, I quietly began to whisper my reply. “Listen, I don’t want to be late.”
With an outstretched hand on the knob, I was about to tell him we could catch up later, but the door was pulled open from the inside, and Professor Chaplin loomed in the doorway with a disapproving scowl.
“If you don’t mind, this isn’t the social quad. Some of us are trying to work,” he hissed bitterly.
“Oh, sorry. You’re right. I— I— Uhh…” I stammered like a fool while Joel began backing away. Freaking coward was going to hightail it out of there and not even own up to the fact he was the one making all the noise.
“Ms. Farsey, I believe we have a meeting scheduled?” Dr. Chaplin asked. He gave Joel a once-over and said, “Run along, son. You can talk to your girlfriend when she’s done here.”
I stepped across the threshold while explaining, “He’s not my boyfriend. Honestly, I don’t know what he wanted. I was just about?—”
He stopped me with a raised hand. “None of that concerns me,” he said dryly and took the seat behind his desk in the cramped space. There was a plain folder and two pencils in the center of the desk and nothing else. Not even a laptop. Bookshelves lined the wall behind him, and my eyes darted from title to title on the perfectly aligned spines.
The dude had an eclectic selection for sure, but I was tongue-tied after the whole Joel scene to comment about any of them. Since I was an avid reader, it could’ve been a way to break the ice with the man, but the opportunity was gone before I could gather my wits.
“Sit down,” he instructed, and I dropped gracelessly into the uncomfortable wooden chair. The back was mounted on a semicircle of spindles, which dug into my spine when I leaned back.
“You applied for an internship with the grant-writing program. Is that correct?” he asked while boring a hole in the center of my forehead with his dark, intense stare.
“Yes, that’s correct. I’m excited to find—” I began to answer, but the man cut me off again.
“You’ve been chosen to work directly with me for the next ten weeks. I’m applying for three separate grants on behalf of the psychology department and require assistance. Your performance, attendance, and tested knowledge will compose your final grade in my class and can secure a scholarship within our graduate program here at the university. Do you have any questions?”
“Umm, noooo, I don’t think so.” This was the last thing I expected to hear today and wasn’t sure I could handle an entire summer with this jerk. “Not at this time, at least,” was my initial response, but I quickly started formulating a host of them, though. “Okay, actually, how many other interns will be working on these grants besides me?”
“It’s a one-on-one learning opportunity, Ms. Farsey. You were selected by the professors of the department for the position, so I suggest you seriously consider the offer as the privilege it is.”
Thankfully, my brain came back online, and I asked an important question rather than blurt out any one of the What the fuck? types that were clogging up the works in there.
“Thank you.” I forced a smile through clenched teeth. “When do you need my decision?”
“Friday, five o’clock. We have a lot of work to accomplish, so if you aren’t going to take the spot, I’ll still have to interview other candidates.”
“Not that this was an interview,” I muttered and immediately regretted letting that slip out. When I met his icy glare, I knew he had heard me.
