And most will look at just those two, and nothing else will matter.
She won’t even make it to the interview.
Jahlani nods, exhaling. “I see.”
“I hope this doesn’t deter you from the program in any way.”
Jahlani lets out a mirthless laugh. “Honestly, Dr. Hunt, nothing has been going my way the past few weeks. My focus now is to finish my degree, however possible.”
Dr. Hunt claps her hands together. “Good. I’m glad you say that, because I have an alternative for you.” She leans forward, pressing her palms against the desk. “Our program allows youto collect your internship hours internally as well. Most students choose not to take that route because they’re a shoo-in for a job with the companies that they intern with, which I’m sure you’re familiar with, right? It’s higher pay, better experience. All of this to say, you can still get your hours and complete your degree, but?—”
Jahlani inches forward, her skin itching in anticipation.
“You would be teachingrather than applying it as you would in an external internship, with one of our professors here. You would be a graduate teaching assistant.”
Oh.
Jahlani nods as she reaches for her water, finishing the entire glass. The room feels small, as if the walls are closing in on her.
“Oh, okay. Yeah, that sounds …” Jahlani trails off, trying to keep the disdain from her voice. After all, she’s not in a position to be picky. Beggars can’t be choosers. And right now, she’s on her knees.
“That sounds good. Great,” she says, giving a forced upturn of her mouth.
Dr. Hunt chews on her lip before she sighs, her shoulders deflating. “Look, I know it’s not an ideal situation, but it has its perks. You would receive a biweekly stipend, and your tuition would be paid in full.”
At this, the throbbing in her head seems to subside. Her spine straightens as she grips the cool glass between her fingertips. If it were plastic, she’s sure she would have crushed it at this point.
“My tuition would be completely covered?”
Dr. Hunt gives a bright smile, showing straight teeth. “Yes, every single credit.”
The email about her late loan payment burns a hole in her back pocket. The echo of her dad’s refusal to give her what he said he would.
Her eyes move back to Dr. Hunt’s.
“I’ll do it.”
Dr. Hunt smiles before typing something on her computer. “Great. Why don’t you head over there now, introduce yourself, see what he needs, and I’ll sort out all of the paperwork. You’ll be with Professor John Jackson. I’m going to email you and him the details. He’s located in the Mathematics Building on the west side of campus.”
Jahlani nods, rising from the chair, and turns toward the door.
“Oh, Jahlani,” Dr. Hunt calls out before Jahlani rounds the corner. She twists back to see her standing, arms braced on the table. “Thank you for taking on this role. I know it’s not what you anticipated, but I appreciate your flexibility and willingness. Don’t hesitate to reach out for anything.”
Jahlani smiles, unsure of what to say before leaving the room.
She steps into the humid air, adjusting her braids behind her back as she maneuvers through the campus to Professor Jackson’s office. Some people lounge around the quad with blankets, chatting with one another. The sun is generous today, offering a soothing warmth. The kind that makes her wish she were capable of taking a break to be able to enjoy it.
Taking a steadying breath, she climbs the concrete stairs into the building. The main entrance is carpeted in gray and offers windows that have a nook for students to sit on and work at. There are two hallways that sit on the sides of the elevator, paving a path to the lecture halls or the offices that house the professors. Jahlani walks to the directory, trailing a finger as she scans for his office.
Adjusting her bag, she turns the corner, making her way to room 205. The cream walls are covered in flyers offering tutoring services, upcoming university events, and programsoffering financial assistance. As she gets closer, her stomach starts to tighten. Her mouth runs dry as she comes upon his open door.
From her angle, she can see a tall, dark-skinned man in a simple navy-blue shirt and black slacks. Silver glasses sit perched on his nose that slide down as he cranes his neck, shuffling papers around on his desk. Streaks of gray intertwine with the dark hair of his beard and coils on his head. His expression is stony as he mutters something to himself.
Clearing her throat, she raps on the door twice before stepping inside. He doesn’t look up, and she wonders if she knocked hard enough. Flexing her fingers, she clears her throat again before speaking.
“Professor Jackson?” she asks, watching as he continues to move around the desk.
Maybe she’s in the wrong room.
