I squinted at the typed paragraph, then glanced at my notes written in red ink. “The part about deterrence theory? What about it do you disagree with?”
“We learned in class that longer sentences don’t meaningfully deter crime,” Brock argued. “Yet when I made that point here regarding harsh sentencing, you said it wasn’t completely accurate.”
“Because it’s not,” I replied. “In general, yes, longer sentencesdon’tdeter crime. But there are some specific crimes and situations where it does. Your paper was focused on truancy and petty theft, both of which have shown stronger-than-average correlation with harsher sentences.”
“Ah, but not in this case!” He grinned and opened his laptop, placing it on the desk and spinning it around where I could see. “That correlation doesn’t exist when the stolen item is a basic necessity, like diapers, baby formula, or canned goods. Which was what I referenced in that paragraph.”
I read the study he had pulled up on the laptop, then re-read his paper. He was right.
“Well done,” I said, popping the cap off my red pen and rewriting the grade at the top. “I think that warrants a few extra points.”
“A ninety-one? I’ll take it.”
“But next time,” I warned, “cite that source in your paper if you want credit. The citation standard is listed in the class syllabus.”
“Will do, Professor.”
“And to be clear, I changed your grades purely on the merit of your argument. Not because of… what happened at the bar on Friday.”
“I wouldn’t want it any other way.” He put his things away and stood. “My goal here is to learn, not to just get a good grade.”
Before he left, I said, “Have you ever considered going into the legal side of the law, rather than enforcement?”
Brock blinked in surprise. “Why do you ask?”
“You’re good at formulating an argument. Just something to think about.”
He pondered that for a moment, then left.
I smiled to myself. The difference in maturity between Brock and Jace, compared to my younger students, was stark.
That starkness was on full display for the rest of the day. I returned a test in my first afternoon class, and many of the students argued about the grades—and they weren’t as polite or articulate as Brock had been.
After that, in my Computer Crime class, my students were required to come to the front of the class and give presentations. Since this was a 200-level class, I had high expectations from my students.
The first dozen were awful.
The minimum length required was seven PowerPoint slides, and half the students failed to meet that. Others didn’t adequately cover the required material. One boy obviously used A.I. to write his slides, and another poor girl’s presentation was riddled with typos.
I was beginning to wonder if the problem was with me. One bad presentation could be a fluke, but a dozen was a trend. Had I failed to prepare them, or to make my requirements clear?
Then it was Cam’s turn to present.
“The focus of my presentation is the risk involved with not adequately spending money on digital security,” he began.
His presentation was like a glass of cold water to someone dying of thirst. His slides were detailed, but not packed with too much information, which allowed him to elaborate orally. He understood his subject and was able to answer questions from the rest of the class at the end. He was a little awkward, which I could understand since he seemed like more of an introvert, but overall he crushed it.
Of course, it wasn’t lost on me that he was probably an expert because of all the hacking he had done. But I could overlook that right now.
“Excellent job, Mr. Keene,” I said when he was done fielding questions from the class.
He beamed at my compliment, with little red dots touching his cheeks. As he returned to his desk, I caught him humming a song. It sounded like theChicagosoundtrack, but I couldn’t be certain.
A little shiver ran through my bones. It was wild how much he looked like my old crush, down to the way he smiled.
I shook it off and called the next name on the list.
29
