Of course, that’s what all of this was about. It all made sense now. Mason was always very good at charming someone before asking for a favor. Remembering my latte order and pretending to care about my recurring nightmares were all part of his plan to butter me up so I would go easy on his players. For a moment, he had me convinced that he cared about repairing what was he broke.Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…
“I remember Jake. He came by my office to grade grub a few weeks ago.”
“Yeah, he told me all about that.”
Mason pauses, realizing we’re standing a few feet outside the building. I turn to face him, curious as to what his request would be. Will he ask me to put together an extra credit assignment — which I had already offered to do — because he told Jake that grade grubbing is insulting? Or will he ask me to give the little shit an A+ because hockey players don’t need to understand research methods?
He lets out a small breath and bites his lip like he’s nervous. “I was hoping maybe you could take another look at his assignment?”
Aaaand we’re done here. “You can’t be serious.”
“Well Jake mentioned that he accidentally got marked off a few points more than he should and that he tried to get it fixed but his teaching assistant…”
Mason’s choice not to finish that sentence likely means he realizes how absurd it sounds. I take the opportunity to berate him anyway.
“‘His teaching assistant’ what? Why don’t you go ahead and tell me what I did, Mason? Misgraded his paper, and when it was brought to my attention told him ‘Too fucking bad’?”
I wasn’t proud of my anger in this moment but after all the challenges I had to overcome during grad school, I’d become particularly sensitive about how I was perceived professionally. I care about my research and my students. I was sick of feeling like everyone around me questioned my judgment and decisions. Unfortunately for Mason, he was just a drop in the bucket.
“I just…” He opened and closed his mouth a few times like a goldfish. “He’s one of our star players, but we have to bench him if he doesn’t get his grade up. And I’m his coach so it’s now my responsibility to help him out. I’m trying to help him—” I put my hand up to stop him.
“I tried to help him too. I double-checked to make sure the points he got off weren’t done mistakenly, and I even offered him extra credit to bring his grade up, but he turned it down and said he didn’t have the time for it. There’s only so much I can doto help my students, especially if they’re not willing to help themselves. It seems you and I have very different ideas of what ‘helping’ means.”
Mason’s pained expression matches his voice. “Vi, I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have asked you to take another look at his assignment if I did.”
The remorse I see in his eyes makes me want to believe him, but I have learned the hard way how persuasive he could be. How easy it was for him to lie to me to get what he wanted. Putting our history aside, Jake was not just ‘our star player’; he wasmy student,and I cared about my students.
“Listen, maybe it’s best I set up a time to meet with Jake and the head coach so we can figure out what the next steps are together. Steps that don’t include me changing his grade just because he feels entitled to it.”
“Sure, that works. Except Coach Jameson put me in charge of handling Jake’s academics so it looks like you’re stuck with me.”
“Are you serious?” This comes out aghast, and for the sake of maintaining my angry exterior, I am grateful for that. But really my surprise comes from theteeniestbit of pride. He’s managing his players’ professional and academic careers. I never thought I’d see him in this leadership role. It looks good on him.
“I’m afraid so.” He gives me a sheepish smile.
“Fine. Whatever. I'll send you and Jake an email later today.”
I manage to enter the building and make it down the hall when I hear Mason calling my name. He jogs up to me and stands in front of me, blocking my path. “Violet, wait up for a second.”
Hello god, the universe, or whatever else is out there. Please put an end to this torturous conversation and I’ll never be lazy about dividing up my recyclables again.
“Yes Mason?”
“You didn’t get my email. You need my email to set up the meeting.”
“I was planning on just looking it up in the Westchester staff directory.”
“Oh right. That makes sense.” He makes no move to get out of my way.
I raise my brows as if to say,‘anything else?’
“I was hoping we could…um.” He looks down at his shoes for a minute before looking back up at me as he shakes his head.
“Actually no. That was it. Just wanted to make sure you had my email.”
“Great. See you around.”
seven
