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I brought this on myself, but it doesn’t make the knot in my stomach any less nauseating. More than once, I’ve wondered what the hell I was thinking, but this is genuinely part of my job. Avery is a brilliant student. If I can help them direct and hone that brilliance, the whole field will be better off for it.
“Yes, it’s about your first assignment,” I say.
“Was it bad? There’s no other notes on it.”
Now that they’re closer, the dark shadows under their light eyes are more obvious. They’re way too tired looking for someone who has barely cracked into their twenties.
“No, it was great,” I say, quickly reassuring them. “I didn’t have any other comments. That’s why I wanted to talk to you about it. There was really nothing much I could correct or point out. You nailed this assignment.”
Their thin, manicured eyebrows rise, surprise easing the tension in their face for a moment.
“Really?” they say. “I just assumed I got, like, half of it wrong.”
I shake my head. “Not at all. You were far less verbose than a lot of your classmates, and your citations were perfect. You didn’t need to go to that kind of depth for such a short assignment. I was only trying to get a feel for everyone’s writing style, the things they might need to work on, but you stood out, Avery. This essay is really good.”
They light up, and it’s worth every anxious thought I’ve had since meeting them. They actually smile, and I can tell in that moment that it’s the expression they are always meant to wear. It softens their whole face, banishing the shadows under their eyes and tension around their lips. I can’t stop my stomach from fluttering, but I’m more grateful than ever that the lectern stands between us, that I have some sort of physical barrier to cling to. It was one thing to meet Avery and see them as the first queer person I’ve encountered outside of my secluded corner of theworld; it’s another to experience their smile, their mind, their infectious energy when they’re passionate about something. And they’re clearly deeply passionate about this.
But they’re also a student. I grip the lectern harder, like I can also get a grip on my emotions that way. This person deserves a mentor who can actually guide them. They deserve a mentor who can give them the guidance and resources they need to reach their potential. I feel inadequate to the task, but I’m the person they have. I’m the one in their field. In the future, they could be doing exactly what I’m doing right now, which makes me their best point of contact. As unfortunate as that is.
I have to be professional. I have to be what they need. They deserve that. The whole field of gender studies deserves that.
“I’m so happy you think so,” Avery says, a bit breathlessly. “This is what I’ve been thinking about for my research project. It’s been a passion of mine for so long. There’s so little out there about this, but people have been playing with gender forever. It’s not some new phenomenon like people think it is. I want to bring that to light so badly.”
“And I think you will,” I say. “This is a great start. You could definitely use this as a jumping off point and build on your research here. You’ve already laid the groundwork for it.”
“I guess I’m just stuck on where to go next,” Avery says. “I feel like I’ve found every book there is about it, at least every book in Montridge about it. This place isn’t that big.”
“To you,” I say before I can catch myself.
Laughter lights their eyes. “Oh. Yeah. You called Montridge a city. I guess it’s different from where you grew up?”
“Quite a bit,” I say mildly.
“It’s not that scary when you get used to it. There’s even some queer bars and stuff in the area.”
This is edging way too close to personal territory, way too close to a conversation I don’t want to have with my eager young student. I desperately try to steer it back on track.
“Well, sometimes in a field like this, modern day expressions of community can be helpful,” I say. “But you could also try looking in the back of any of the books you’ve already dug through. See what they’re citing. See where those resources lead you.”
“Oh, that’s a great idea,” Avery says. “Of course. Duh. Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Because you’re still learning how to do this and I’ve been through it already.”
“True. I guess that makes you my mentor or something.”
They laugh, but I freeze up. It’s what I’ve been thinkingin my head, but the way they say it makes it sound so much more dangerous than my idle thoughts entertained alone in my office.
“I don’t know if I’m your best option for a mentor,” I say, despite spending the past week thinking the exact opposite.
“Why not?” Avery says. “You’re smart. You’re in the same field. And you’re closer to my age than a professor or something.”
“I’m almost thirty. You’re barely twenty.”
They roll their eyes and wave their hand like that’s the most ridiculous thing I could have said. “But you’renotthirty, you’re not even close, and Iamtwenty. That’s a lot closer than me and some professor who’s had tenure for a decade. Do you think… Do you think we could talk more about this? I have to get to my next class, but I’d love to discuss this more. I know it’s early to think about that research project, but I want to dig in as soon as I can. And when you mentioned community it gave me a few ideas too. There might be places around Montridge that are worth visiting if I can find the time to do it.”
They’re off to the races, their ideas spilling out almost as quickly as they can voice them. I can tell they’re hatching these wild plans on the fly, but their enthusiasm is so infectious it’s like being hit with a blast of laughing gas. I feel light and wild, swept along by Avery’s intelligence, their passion.
Maybe that’s why I open my dumb mouth and say the stupidest thing I possibly can: “Yes, we could arrange that.”
