Once I’ve finished the forms, Ms. Malcolm takes me on a brief but informative tour of the campus. I won’t need to wander much as my job is limited to one pod of professors, but it’s nice to get the lay of the land nonetheless.
Finally, we make our way to the mathematics department and into the pod of professors I’ll be working with for the foreseeable future. The pile of papers sitting on the secretary’s desk—my desk, now—is a disaster of mismatched sheets and post-its, and I’m suddenly concerned about what I’ve gotten myself into. None of the six offices in this pod have the lights on, so I assume I’m here alone.
“Here you are, dear. Why don’t you get settled and familiarize yourself with your workspace,” she gestures toward the warzone that is my new desk and I plaster another awkward smile onto my face. “I’m sure one of the professors will be around soon if you have any questions.”
I thank her and as she turns to leave I ask, “Do you happen to have any advice for how to best interact with these professors? I know personalities vary and I’d like to make a good first impression.”
Ms. Malcolm chuckles and responds, “You just be yourself, dear. If they don’t appreciate your first impression, that’s their own problem.”
Then she leaves.
That’s their own problem.
Okay, so, I like her. I like her a lot.
I spendthe next few hours organizing the warzone that is my new desk, sorting through papers and piecing together what MaryAnne left behind. Most of it, thankfully, is just meeting requestsfrom students—a scribbled, stapled, sticky-noted catastrophe that begins to feel like progress as I sort them into neat piles. A binder labeledTASK MANUALcatches my eye, and I crack it open.
Inside I find step-by-step instructions for logging in, navigating the email server, printing class rosters, and even a section with handwritten notes about each professor’s quirks.
Damn, MaryAnne. You’re a freaking unicorn.
The binder boosts my confidence, offering a whispered assurance that I won’t drown today. I let myself breathe a little easier, flipping through her notes about things like Dr. Patel’s obsession with calculators and aversion to scented pens and Dr. Johnson’s need to be reminded to eat lunch. Every page is layered with a kind of quiet competence I both admire and envy.
By 10 a.m., the first professor finally arrives.
A short, elderly man with kind eyes and round glasses steps into the pod. He’s got a shuffle in his walk and the kind of presence that immediately lowers your blood pressure.
“You must be our new administrative assistant,” he says, smiling warmly. Thank you for not calling me a secretary. I’m not sure why that matters, but, it does.
“I am,” I nod, standing up. “Hi, I’m Tori.”
“Dr. Johnson,” he replies, clasping my hand in both of his. “We’re very thankful to have you here, Miss Tori.”
Miss.I almost correct him, but don’t. I’m not ready to explain anything yet. Not to a stranger. Not even to someone this gentle.
“I worked in accounting for the last ten years, so I’ll probably have questions as I go.”
He chuckles. “Questions are welcome. MaryAnne kept us all afloat, so we’ve been paddling in circles since she left. We’ll figure it out together, yes?”
His kindness is disarming, and I find myself smiling—a real one, not a awkward one—as he disappears into his office. If they’re all like him, this job might actually be bearable—maybe even enjoyable.
What does it say about my last workplace that a soft-spoken man remembering my name already feels like a balm?
I return to the meeting requests, checking them against posted office hours, highlighting conflicts and penciling in tentative time slots. The steady rhythm of the task settles my nerves.
Or, it does… until a voice slices through the air.
“Who are you?”
Okay, rude.I glance up.
Tall. Brooding. Displeased.
The man standing in front of me radiates judgment like heat off asphalt. I recognize him—he’s Dexter’s friend. Leo.
His eyes are dark brown and hard, the kind that search for weakness. Or maybe I’m just sensitive. Either way, he’s staring at me like I’m the punchline to a joke he didn’t laugh at.
I stand, smiling—awkward, not real—and offer my hand to shake.
