As he zipped up his oversized psychology-themed hoodie that read "Analyze This," he gave me a hopeful, slightly awkward smile.
“I’ll go. But I’ll have you know that I printed out your Rate My Professor profile and I’m giving it five stars in red pen. Well, until next year, Ms. Hollis… stay grounded and hydrated.”
Jason waved like we were besties, thenfinallyleft the room humming what suspiciously resembled the Criminal Minds theme.
I sipped my iced coffee, stared at the door, and muttered under my breath, “Next semester, I’m putting an electric fence around my damn desk.”
Then, as if the universe pitied me, one of my favorites, Laila, a bright-eyed sophomore who consistently occupied the front row, approached me with that intuitive softness she always carried.
She grinned. “I really wonder what Jason does when he goes home. I feel like he narrates his whole life in third person while eating cereal out the box.”
I let out a short laugh.
I wanted to reply,if I ever get a Jason Jr. next semester, I’m taking early retirement and moving to Cuba.
“Professor Hollis,” she continued, warmly, “thank you for everything. I could take this class ten more times and never get bored. And coming from me? That’s big. Some of these professors be talking like they’re allergic to fun.”
“I try to keep the hives to a minimum. Education shouldn't feel like a root canal,” I kidded.
Laila smiled. “It didn’t in your class. But…” she hesitated, then smiled, almost knowing. “I also wanted to tell you that you’re going to have the best Christmas ever this year! I feel it! Like… really feel it!” Laila pressed the candle to her chest. “Something good is coming your way. I don’t know what, but… something amazing.”
The words hit me harder than I expected.
I offered a soft smile. “Thank you, Laila. That’s very kind of you to say… and that means more than you know.”
Laila shrugged shyly, unaware that she’d just cracked something open inside me.
“My pleasure! Have a good break, Professor! You deserve that! Thank you for making this semester feel lighter for all of us! See you next year!”
Laila waved before hurrying out, her braids bouncing with each step, and her optimism trailing behind her like glitter in the hallway.
When the door closed, I finally exhaled and sank into my desk chair. The room always felt too big when everyone left.
Intro to Cultural Psychology was my domain, my safe space, and my home away from the home I never quite built. At thirty-three, I’d carved out a respectable corner of life for myself at the University of Maryland, nestled right between ambition and quiet grief. Born and raised there. I never strayed too far, just far enough to make a name for myself.
I’d always been the overachiever; the girl who people said “had a good head on her shoulders” before I even knew what that meant. I’d been on the honor roll since elementary school, and kept it through middle school, high school, and never looked back. I was at the top of my class in undergrad and made the Dean’s List every semester without fail.
I had articles published before I even finished my Master’s, and my professors wrote recommendation letters with lines like “mature beyond her years” and “sharp as they come.” Excellence wasn’t just a goal; it was a habit, a part of me, and the one thing I knew how to chase when everything else in life felt unpredictable.
My mother—God rest her beautiful soul—instilled greatness in me. She wasn’t a professor, but she taught me how to speak with intention, carry myself with quiet confidence, and lead a room without ever raising my voice. She believed in education like it was gospel and poured that belief straight into me. She used to say, “Books don’t just open minds, baby; they open doors. Don’t ever let yours stay closed.” So becoming a professor didn’t just feel right; it felt like a way to keep her legacy alive. Every lecture I gave, every student I encouraged, and every life I touched with words, was me walking through the doors she held open for me.
I wasn’t alone for too long.
The door creaked open without a knock.
Only one person made their grand entrance that way—my best friend, Klarissa. She was also a professor in the English department and believed in dramatic entrances, the way other people believed in deadlines.
“Happy end of the semester, bestie!” Klarissa exclaimed as she struck a dramatic pose in the doorway, as if it were a national holiday. “We made it without failing a student out of spite, cussin’ out a dean, or throwing hands in a faculty meeting. If that ain’t growth, I don’t know what is!”
She strutted into the room with her oversized tote sliding down her arm and a venti coffee in hand. Klarissa’s lipstick was still perfect, even though she’d been teaching all morning. That girl didn’t believe in fading lip color or fading energy.
I chuckled. “Hey, boo. I knew it wouldn’t be long before you showed up.”
“You know I had to come check on my girl! Sitting up in here looking all smart and fine like you didn’t just carry this university on your back for sixteen weeks straight!”
Klarissa kicked the door closed with her heel, dropped her oversized tote onto my desk, and unbuckled one shoe like her end-of-the-year contract had officially expired.
“My professionalism tapped out at exactly 11:59 this morning,” she said, leaning against a student’s desk with a sigh. “I had one last email in me, and I used it to tell the registrar that if they lose my office hour log one more time, I’m mailing it to them in glitter and vengeance.” She raised a brow and pointed at me. “But how are you feeling, friend? You ready for this break?”
