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“Devon,” he groans. “Stop looking at me like that.”
I shrug and wink then turn to my bathroom. “Love you. Have fun.”
“Love you too. Let me know what happens.”
I take my time getting ready and set up my computer, testing the link Professor Grant emailed everyone.
“Is it safe to come in?” Quinn yells through my door as she knocks loudly.
“Yes, you idiot.” I swing it open and scowl at her. “Bryce isn’t even here.”
“I know. Just wanted to tease you.” She throws her purse on my dresser and crawls onto my bed, making herself comfortable. “Since we haven’t had one second alone since you got fucking engaged, please tell me we’re doing something fun after we’re done with this.”
“It’s only been a week and a few days. I thought we’d go shopping. We’ll probably need some special gear and digital devices. Not to mention, we’ll need to find a way to get our phones to work overseas.”
“Ooohhhh, who’s the serious, organized one today? I was thinking more along the line of pedicures.”
“Quinn, this is serious.”
“Bitch, remember the research I did? I know more about the history of Israel than probably anyone in our group. It still pisses me off that our parents didn’t even blink an eye. After the shit-fits they gave us, I was prepared for much more than a simple ‘we’re dealing with it’.”
I sit next to her and position the computer so we can both see easily. “No doubt. It surprised the shit out of me, too. I’ve tried to get Bryce to talk to me, but he said it was worthless until I got the details today.”
“What’s the deal with Bryce and Nate? Dean told me their situation with OCS was unusual, especially with their ROTC experience.”
“It is. Apparently, Bryce and Nate were technically classified as Commissioned Officers once they graduated. Since they both studied Engineering, they asked if they could attend Officer Candidate School. It was unnecessary, but they were given special permission. I have a feeling Bryce worked his voodoo magic. According to Nate, it’s highly uncommon. I felt like an idiot when Bryce explained it to me.”
“Wow, so they’re asking to go into intensive training for twelve weeks?”
“Yeah, seems so. Something to do with their long term plans.”
I log us in, dial the phone number listed, and hear a series of beeps as others join the call. The large screen shows an office and Professor Grant staring into the screen. A small box pops up on the lower right corner, which captures Quinn and I from my computer cam. A few minutes pass, and finally, Professor Grant turns on his sound.
“Hello all. Thanks so much for joining me this morning. Usually, we’d have a meeting on campus, but since most of you are home for a small break before summer semester, this was the best option. I can see each of you, but you can only see me. If you have a question, press star-eight, and you will be live.
“Let me recap the email sent out last week. Obviously, if you are on this call, you have been accepted to the School of Journalism Summer Expo. Each year, the school recognizes talented individuals in all areas of journalism and communication. These students are vetted through an application process and invited on a five to six week expedition.
“Our goal is multi-fold. First, the University wants to foster the talent and academics for your long-term success. We have relationships with some of the most highly acclaimed news networks and magazines in the country who support this effort. Secondly, this is an opportunity to bring awareness to certain social and cultural issues around the globe. The school takes this job very seriously and is grateful for your commitment, so thank you.”
He pauses and then smiles widely on the screen, changing his entire persona. “Now that the standard bullshit is out of the way, let me tell you all congratulations! I’m honored to work with this crew of young talent. Each year, the professors assigned brag they have the best group, but I’ve already told my peers that YOU are the best group to have under my guidance.”
His excitement is contagious, and there are a few star-eights pressed, followed by a chorus of ‘hell yeah’ and ‘damn straight’. He smiles and waits for the chatter to die down. When it gets quiet, I swear his eyes are on Quinn and me when he speaks.
“Since the original email went out, there have been some major and significant changes. Valid concerns were presented to the University President, the Dean of our School, and myself. We listened and took into account what was being said. In the end, and for the safety of our group, we will no longer be traveling to Israel.”
My heart falls to my stomach and then begins racing. Quinn shifts so fast the computer slides to the side, and I clumsily catch it before it hits the ground. It takes a few seconds for the both of us to get settled. When we do, Professor Grant is looking directly at us.
“Miss Harris, Miss Jackson, is there a problem?” His lip slants upwa
rd, twitching.
“Star-eight his ass and answer him,” Quinn hisses.
“You star-eight him. I don’t want to.”
She hands me the phone, and I swat her hand away. She squeaks loudly, trying to press the buttons.
“Ladies, I can see you.” Professor Grant is laughing at us now. “If you’re ready, I’ll continue.”
