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Now, it comes through. I open it and scan theemail.
Your paper, blah blahblah…
I hit payload three lines down. It’s an R&R, which means I need to make some changes, then they’ll publish it in thejournal.
The publication is competitive—they take less than one in ten submissions—but I knew my paper was fuckingsolid.
This is goodnews.
Until I read the list ofchanges.
Shit. Whoever reviewed this had a 1500-year-old redwood up their ass, because my to-do list is going to take hours outside of my day job. But this paper will go a long way to helping get me back into UW, whenever I get my job talkscheduled.
The public interview is the biggest hurdle to getting it back, and I’ve emailed the head of the hiring committee twice to follow up since my dad died. So far,nothing.
The sound of the sliding door has me lookingup.
Two men stride in. The principal is fiftyish and stocky, as if he used to play football. The second man is the board chair. His graying hair and receding hairline does nothing to hide that he’s the kind of lean you probably work for at that age. His blue eyes aresharp.
“Dr. Crawford, I didn’t realize you’d behere.”
“I like to stay involved in the happenings around here. Especially since I was instrumental in recruitingyou.”
“How are things going?” the principal asks. “I trust you’re finding our students interested in the subjectmatter.”
“Biology?Absolutely.”
Mostly theirown.
The principal pulls out a tablet—because it’s a point of pride of this school to use technology wherever possible—and runs through a list of questions. How each of my classes is going. If I have the support Ineed.
“I appreciate it’s less than a month in, but I don’t foresee any issues,” I conclude, partly because I want to wrap this up and get out ofhere.
Before we can, Crawford weighs in. “Dr. Robinson, the beating heart of Baden isn’t the academics. It’s theextracurriculars.”
“I’m sure.” I try to sound as though I care but probably fail. What these kids do on their own time isn’t on my list of things to care about. Not after selling the DNA program to pay my bills, getting my job back, getting this papersubmitted…
“Athletics, music,” the principal goeson.
World peace, laundry, the new Kendrick Lamaralbum…
I realize they’re waiting for me to respond. “Very worthwhilepursuits.”
“You don’t seem like an athletic or musical person,” Crawfordobserves.
“I was moreacademic.”
“I understand completely. I wish my children were more likeyou.”
I’m not sure who his kids are, though they must go to Baden, but I’m not about to let on. It hasn’t occurred to me because I haven’t noticed the name Crawford. I make a note to go through my lists more carefully afterschool.
“You’re your father’s son,” he goes on. “Which is why I saved the best for last.Debate.”
The principal leans in. “The first competition is in two weeks. We’re short a coach. Since you’re so capable and motivated, perhaps you’d agree to take on thisrole.”
Shit. Backpedal.“I don’t know that it’s the bestfit.”
“You’re precisely what they need,” Crawford says smoothly. “Someone close to their age but who’s already achieved a tremendous amount. You have the benefit of lived experience. And Wesley, I know this fall has been challenging. This could be what youneed.”
