“Cardiology is a medical discipline. It deals with heart function and physiology, not ink blots and dream analysis," Iargue back, though we both know I'm being difficult on purpose. "Psychology is a prerequisite hoop I have to jump through."
We enter the lecture hall, and I immediately feel my stomach tighten. In Chemistry, I sit front and center, hand constantly raised. Here, I slink to a middle row, trying to become invisible.
Professor Harrington enters. He is a man in his late thirties with a perpetual five-o'clock shadow and an annoying habit of pacing while he lectures.
"Today we're discussing attribution theory," he announces, writing on the whiteboard. "How we assign causes to behaviour, both others' and our own."
Russell leans in and whispers, "The silver fox is lookin' fine today." I shrug him off but secretly agree.
I take notes like I'm supposed to, but my brain won't focus. Terms like "fundamental attribution error" and "self-serving bias" feel hopelessly vague compared to the precision of my other classes.
"Mr. Moretti," Professor Harrington says suddenly, and my head snaps up. "Can you give us an example of the actor-observer bias?"
My mind goes blank.Merda. Come on, brain,think, think, think.I hate being called on in this class. In Organic Chemistry, I can recite reaction mechanisms from memory, but here? I'm lost.
"It's, um..." I fumble through my notes. "When we attribute our own actions to... external factors, but others' actions to... internal characteristics?"
It comes out as a question, and I hate how uncertain I sound.
"Close," Professor Harrington says kindly, which is worse than if he'd just told me I was wrong. "The actor-observer bias refers to our tendency to attribute our own actions to situational factors while attributing others' actions to their personal dispositions. Can anyone give an example?"
A hand shoots up from the front row. "Like if I fail an exam and say it's because the professor made it too hard, but when someone else fails, I think it's because they didn't study enough."
"Precisely, Ms. Johnson! An excellent example."
I sink lower in my seat, cheeks burning. I hate this class. I hate the imprecision, the subjective interpretations, and the lack of clear right answers. And most of all, I hate that I need to pass it to get into medical school.
When the lecture ends, I pack up quickly, eager to escape, but Professor Harrington calls out, "Mr. Moretti, a moment please."
Great.I wait as other students file out, then approach his desk.
"Sebastian," he says, using my first name now that we're alone, "I've noticed you're struggling with the material."
I stiffen. "I'm completing all the assignments."
"Completing isn't understanding," he says gently. "Your written work shows technical competence but lacks insight."
"I'm trying," I say, hating how defensive I sound.
"I know you are." He leans against his desk. "You're brilliant in your other courses. Dr. Hayes mentions your name frequently in the faculty lounge."
I wait for the "but" that inevitably follows.
"But," he continues on cue, "Psychology isn't about memorization. It's about understanding human behaviour… including your own."
"I understand behaviour," I protest. "I don't see why we need to overcomplicate it with jargon and theories when most of it is common sense."
Professor Harrington smiles. "If it were common sense, we wouldn't need psychologists. Listen, Sebastian, I'm concerned about your midterm grade. Psychology is required for med school applications, and a C won't look good on your otherwise perfect transcript."
My stomach drops.A C? I've never gotten a C in my life.
"I'm recommending tutoring," he says. "I have a student who excels in this field. I think you'd benefit from his perspective."
"His?" I ask, immediately suspicious.
"One of my best students," Professor Harrington says, not elaborating further. "He has a natural intuition for human behaviour and can explain concepts in relatable terms."
Before I can protest, he's already writing in his calendar.
