“What is the probability that the sun will rise tomorrow?” he asks, interlocking his fingers together on the table.
“99.99 percent, according to Laplace. Although, you’re misapplying the Rule of Succession.”
There’s a slight twitch of his mouth that Jahlani doesn’t miss as she exhales. “Look, Professor Jackson, I?—”
“I have over 100 students enrolled this semester. With that being said, I’m not here to babysit you, Ms. Jones. You seem capable, but make no mistake, I will go above Dr. Hunt if I feel that you are unable to keep up. Understood?”
Jahlani swallows. “Yes.”
His fingers dance against the mahogany as he looks across at her, his eyebrows less pinched than before. Jahlani’s eyes bounce from him to the painting behind him, unsure of how to fill the silence.
“I like your painting,” she says in a rush. “Who is it by?”
“Ernie Barnes,” he says, his countenance remaining impassive. Jahlani blinks, hoping for him to divulge more, but when the silence expands, she sighs, shouldering her bag because she knows when she’s not wanted.
“I’ll be sure to email you once everything is solidified with Dr. Hunt.”
Before he can say anything, Jahlani walks out, feeling more defeated than ever and wanting nothing more than for the semester to be over.
CHAPTER 8
HIGHLY INAPPROPRIATE AND EXTREMELY IMPOLITE
ROMAN
Roman knows it’s his own actions that have put him in this predicament. He told himself he was going to do better. For his daughter. For his mom. But as he pushes through the glass doors, leaving his meeting with the advisor, he’s starting to believe that being better is out of the question.
You need to be more responsible. Get a high paying job. Think of Lucy.
Moisture falls onto his hand as he stands on the staircase to the Undergraduate Affairs building. Looking up, a nimbus cloud greets him with a dark, vengeful smile. He curses himself for not checking the weather before leaving the house today. It’s Florida after all. Did he pack a raincoat for Lucy? Abruptly pulling out his phone, he types a brief message to his sister.
Roman
Do you have her raincoat?
Danica
Yes.
Roman
Do you have an umbrella?
Danica
Yes.
Roman
Do you have socks on her feet?
Danica
Piss off Roman.
He grunts before hitting the call button on her contact. After one ring, her soft breathing greets him.
“I apologize for wanting to guarantee my daughter’s safety and well-being amid this category-five hurricane,” he says in a dry tone, looking at the sky.
