“And how many students do you have in your office hours, Liam?” I fire back.
“None,” he retorts with a sly smile on his lips. “Because I teach them thoroughly during lecture.”
Lies. No one can teach their classes so thoroughly that they never have questions outside of class. When I was in college, my best teachers’ office hours were always packed with students.
But I don’t say that to Liam. All he cares about are test scores and pass rates, even if they don’t master the material. I can’t explain how many times students come into my class completely lost, complaining that they passed Liam’s class with flying colors but don’t know any of the foundational material to pass my class. To which I have to tell them I’m sorry and I will try to fill in the gaps as much as possible.
There’s no response I can make that’s worth my time or energy, so I just head back to my desk, exasperated with Liam and annoyed that it’s time to organize. I love teaching and interacting with students. What I don’t love is annoying clerical business and filing papers. But every now and then, the tornado of paperwork gets out of control, even for my tolerance, and it must be addressed. And now is one of those times. I reach my cubicle and survey the disaster, letting out a big sigh. Setting my bag on the ground, I get to work.
Ten minutes of organizing pass slowly, but I’m able to throw away about half the mess and file the rest. Under a stack of papers, I find one of Claire’s sticky notes from last fall.
What do you call an adventurous number?
A roamin’ numeral.
I hold the pink paper in my hand and look at the trash can on the ground next to me. Toss or keep?
My fingers crumple the note into a fist, but my eye catches the drawer to my left, full of sticky notes just like this one. I open the drawer and sift through the notes, the reminders of all the times Claire thought of something that would make me laugh, even when we weren’t together.
There is a fine line between a numerator and a denominator, but only a fraction would understand.
What do you call more than one L?
A parallel.
What is the best way to serve pi?
A la mode. Anything else is mean.
Happy Pi Day! Can’t wait for lunch!
Pi Day. Claire’s favorite day of the year, March 14. That note is from almost exactly one year ago, with this year’s Pi Day coming up again next week.
For the last three years, Claire and I have gone out to lunch on Pi Day and gotten a celebratory slice of pie. She gets chocolate silk, and I get Dutch apple. We sit and chat about life and math, and it’s one of my favorite days of the year, too.
But we shouldn’t do that this year, right? Even if Claire thinks it’s okay with her and Zach, it’s NOT okay for my heart. I can’t keep teasing myself with these moments with her, glimpses of what life would be like if she were mine.
That’s it. I need to throw them away.
I’m about the throw the crumpled sticky note in the trash can when my phone rings. It’s Kai, my best friend from Maui. I set the wrinkled note on my desk and click to answer the call.
“Kai, dude!” I say, holding the phone up to my ear. “How’s it going?”
“Amazing, bro,” he replies. Just the sound of his voice brings a smile to my face. “You’d love these waves.”
“Yeah, rub it in, why don’t you,” I say, hoping my smirk comes across in my voice.
“You know I have to,” he says with a laugh. “You belong here, not in stuffy OC. With me, your mom, and the perfect waves.”
“This is home,” I reply. It’s mostly true, even though I spent those few years in Maui with my mom and Kai before college.
And Claire is here, I think.
But is that a reason to stay here now?
“Besides, I’ve got a great job here,” I add.
“Yeah about that… How would you feel about teaching at Haleakala Community College?”
