Showing up ten minutes before class mightsoundlike good timing, but in reality? It’s a rookie move—especially when it comes to seat selection. I’m one of those students with very specific preferences: not front row, where you’re in direct line of fire for eye contact and pop questions, but definitely not dead center either, where you’re boxed in on all sides and stuck for the duration. No, I like the sweet spot—just a few rows back, near the aisle. Easy in, easy out. Prime real estate.
But with time slipping through my fingers this morning, I already know those seats are long gone.
It’s not a massive space, maybe two hundred seats at most. Cozy compared to the cavernous lecture hall I had for Economics last year, which housed five hundred students and felt like a full-blown stadium. This room, at least, feels slightly more manageable, even if it’s already buzzing with energy and low-level panic.
I pause just inside, scanning the rows for a familiar face. For a few seconds, all I see are strangers—some hunched over their phones, some flipping through syllabi like they’ve already accepted academic defeat, and others whispering to each other with that awkward,first-day-small-talkenergy.
Then I spot them.
Halfway up the tiered seating, three blondes clustered right in that ideal zone I would’ve claimed for myself. Relief rushes through me like a deep breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. I weave my way up the aisle, careful not to knock over anyone’s coffee or bump a laptop with my bag.
“Khloe!” I call out, just loud enough to cut through the ambient chatter.
Khloe Wilson turns to the call of her name, and her baby blue eyes light up when she sees me, her lips curling into a big, glossy, pink grin. Her dirty blonde hair is tied up into a high ponytail, complete with a red bow studded with clear rhinestones. Her sunglasses sit perched on top of her head, and she is wearing a red university tank top featuring the university’s mascot—a wildcat—frayed denim shorts, and red Converse sneakers. Her whole vibe screams school spirit and confidence.
“Rae!” she squeals, like we haven’t seen each other in a year instead of just a few weeks. Her voice draws the attention of the other two sitting with her, Austin Whitmore and Marlena Beckett, the inseparable couple of our group. High school sweethearts. Disgustingly adorable. Practically married.
Marlena stands to greet me; her platinum hair is pulled into two pigtails, with a small section of hair pulled forward to frame her face. She’s wearing a pale pink summer dress, girly and casual all at once, and somehow not wrinkled at all, which I respect because I woke up barely holding my life together. I haven’t seen her or Khloe since right after my birthday in June—life got busy, and our schedules never lined up.
Austin flashes me a smile from his seat. He runs a hand through his mess of blonde curls, then adjusts the gray t-shirt tucked into the waistband of his jeans. A black cowboy boot pokes out beneath the hem as he stretches his leg into the aisle and props open his laptop like he owns the place—which, to be fair, is kind of his vibe.
I drop my book bag on the floor and hug both girls quickly before settling into the seat next to them, just in time for the professor to walk in.
“Tessa and I are grabbing lunch at the Cactus Grill later,” I whisper as I fish out my laptop. “You guys should come.”
“What time?” Austin asks in his thick southern accent, already slouched deep into his seat.
“After her second class. She gets out around 12:50, so… one?”
“That works for me,” he says, glancing at the girls. Marlena and Khloe nod in agreement.
“Sweet,” I reply, finally flipping open my laptop. The screen lights up, and I take a breath, settling in.
Silence settles over the lecture hall as the professor finishes setting up his PowerPoint. His black hair, streaked with gray, is neatly slicked back. He’s dressed in a white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing an array of black and gray tattoos on both arms; the designs are indistinguishable from where I sit. Black-rimmed glasses frame his face, and a short, neatly trimmed beard, stippled with gray, sharpens the angles of his jaw.
“Good morning and welcome to Criminology 101. I’m Professor Mark Henley,” he begins, stepping away from the podium with his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his black dress pants. His voice carries easily across the room—calm, steady, but commanding. “This course is designed to provide you with a rigorous, analytical exploration of crime and criminal behavior—grounded in theory, informed by empirical research, and relevant to contemporary issues within the criminal justice system. As upper-division students, you’re expected to go beyond surface-level understanding.”
He scans the room as he speaks, pulling a clicker from his pocket and advancing to the next slide. His eyes flick briefly to the screen before returning to us.
“This semester, we’ll examine the structural, social, psychological, and economic forces that influence criminal behavior. We’ll also critique how society defines, manages, and responds to crime. Our discussions will cover major theoretical frameworks, policy debates, and ongoing challenges within law enforcement, the courts, and the correctional system. This is not an easy subject. It requires you to confront difficult truths—not just about crime, but about power, inequality, and the systems built to maintain them.”
For a moment, he lets that sit, then continues. “You are expected to engage critically, read consistently, and contribute thoughtfully. My role is not to provide answers but to challenge your thinking and help you develop the tools to analyze complex issues through a criminological lens. If you put in the work, this course won’t just broaden your academic perspective—it’ll prepare you for real-world application, whether you’re headed toward law enforcement, research, policy, or public service.”
He scans the room again and offers the smallest smile. “Let’s get started, shall we?”
Returning to the podium, he clicks the next slide and raises his eyebrows slightly. “Can I get a volunteer to tell me, in your own words, why criminology is important in criminal justice?”
Several hands go up—including mine.
His gaze lands on me, and he gestures. “Yes—you.”
“Criminology is important in criminal justice because it helps us understand the underlying causes of criminal behavior, not just the behavior itself,” I say, sitting a little straighter. “It gives us a framework to analyze patterns, social influences, and systemic issues that contribute to crime. By studying criminology, we can develop more effective prevention strategies, enhance rehabilitation approaches, and create evidence-based policies that extend beyond punishment.It connects theory to practice in a way that’s essential for meaningful change.”
There’s a pause before he nods. “Perfect. Thank you…?”
“Raelynn Carson, sir.”
“Thank you, Raelynn,” he says, his eyes lingering just for a brief moment before turning back to the screen and resuming the lecture.
