Rows upon rows of brown pews lined the first floor of the lecture hall, students scattered throughout; some in groups, some seated alone. I debated heading upstairs to the second floor but stopped when I heard laughter from above. I didn't want to risk distraction. Deciding to take the last row on the first floor, I sat at the very end with my laptop open, fingers drumming against the flimsily attached desk with my knee bobbing to the same rhythm.
Students flooded in the closer it got to 9am. At 8:55, the projector on stage flickered on and the wordsAn Introduction to Psychological Studieslit the screen.
There were dozens of students in the hall by the time a tall, slim man with short white hair and a trimmed white beard stepped up onto the stage, a book under his arm and a takeaway coffee cup in his hand. He wore brown trousers and a brown, grey and black plaid jacket over a tan collared shirt. His glassesslipped down his narrow nose, thin lips tugged up into a polite smile as he looked out at the students flooding the hall.
“Ah, so many fresh, young faces,” he said, book and coffee cup discarded onto his lectern. “Many of you still have light in your eyes. Welcome to Dawnridge! And to those of you without that light in your eye, welcome back to Hell!”
He laughed at his own attempt at humour while everyone else shifted uncomfortably in their seats, my legs bouncing more wildly than ever. If anyone had sat in my pew, they would have certainly felt it. Thankfully, no one even looked my way.
“My name is Doctor Elijah Graham, and I was a practicing psychiatrist for…” he stroked his chin in thought, “...nearly fifty years. I went into academia to further my research on trauma and the brain. My research days are nearing an end, but I am thrilled to be here with you all, passing my knowledge down to every brilliant mind here.”
He went through some introductory slides with definitions of terms that would be used throughout our course. Biopsychology, behavioural neuroscience, empirical evidence, cognitive perspectives, nature versus nurture. I noted everything, determined to memorise every word in order to secure a scholarship for my second year. According to email correspondence with the university's student advisory team, I required a High Distinction in all eight subjects that I completed over the first two semesters. One slip up would mean I would have tobegAunt Vera for financial aid or apply for government assistance—an undesirable debt either way. Myonlyoption—succeed.
“Since it is only your first day,” Professor Graham said as he switched off the projector, “I don’t want to spend the whole hourlecturingyou. I want to engage you all in a…friendly competition.”
I closed my laptop wearily as whispers echoed through the hall.
“I want you all to divide into two groups,” Professor Graham went on, “one group form a line to my left…and the other my right.”
No one moved.
“Come on,” Graham waved his hands enthusiastically, “get up! get up!”
I reluctantly approached the left side of the room since it was closer, many students doing the same.
No one quite knew what was going on, but there was a hum of anticipation in the air.
“Now,” Graham smiled, “one by one in the order you’ve lined up in, you will come on stage and compete in a simple game of trivia. The winner of each round will remain on the stage and compete against the next person until there is only one person standing in the end. One student could win every round and make it to the end or lose to their final opponent who is the last to compete, stealing the victory. It is all about luck and intelligence.”
There was a collective groan. I, myself, debated fleeing before I had the chance to get up on stage. There were eleven students in front of me. If I left at that very moment, no one would know. But something gave me pause.
“The winner,” Dr Graham said, “will earn a personal recommendation for the Dean's Merit Award. This will openmanyopportunities for you, including scholarships, paid fieldwork, and extra credit. Not to mention an exclusive dinner with the Dean and Dawnridge's Psychology Board."
A personal recommendation. For the Dean's Merit Award. For the scholarship. This could be my ticket in. If I had a recommendation,andmy grades were good, how could theypossibly refuse? I would have security. I would be able to breathe, knowing I was set on the right path.
Interest flooded the room as many students became more enthusiastic about the challenge.
One by one, students from both teams were called up to the stage to answer a question. Topics ranged from popular culture, animals, history, science, politics, sport, and, of course, psychology.
The first five players on my team had lost to a tall, dark-skinned male with short black hair, his lips pulled up into a polite smile with every correct answer that rolled off his tongue. That same smile faded, however, when the sixth player on my team beat him, only to last one round before she too was booted off the stage.
As my turn neared, my stomach flipped erratically. Sweat moistened my hands. Heat flamed my cheeks. I needed a bathroom, desperately. Taking deep breaths, hands fluttering at my sides, I focused on my end goal and what winning would mean for me. I needed to do this. For myself. And for Auden’s future.
Player eleven was eliminated and it was my turn to grace the stage. I approached on shaky legs, doing my best to focus on my opponent and no one else. She was a tall young woman with long black waves that rolled down to her elbows, black-framed glasses magnifying her brown eyes. She had surpassed the last six players on my team, and she looked me up and down like she would surpass me too.
“Your question is…” Dr Graham started, reading from a card in his hands. “…how many ribs does a human skeleton have?”
“Twenty-four!” I answered instantly, my voice louder than I intended due to the adrenaline hammering through my veins.
“Correct!” Graham boomed, satisfaction flooding through me at the glower on my opponent's face.
I watched her walk off, one leg shifting from the other. This was it. If I could make it through every question thrown at me, I really could win that recommendation.
Each student from the right side came up and then went back down. The questions seemed to be in my favour, answers pouring from my tongue before my opponent could even part their lips. The recommendation was within my grasp. I was going to win. I had almost dethroned every member of the right team whenhestepped up.
He approached with an air of confidence I hadn’t seen in any of my previous opponents. Hands tucked into his grey trousers, a sage knitted vest over the top of his white collared shirt, he stepped up onto the stage, his tall frame towering over mine. His black hair flopped over his forehead, parting in the middle to reveal clear, smooth skin above his chestnut, oval brown eyes. Bow-shaped lips pulled into a smile, he held out his hand to me and wished me luck.
Caught a little off guard, I shook his hand silently before averting my gaze.
