A second retreat with nine different departments was scheduled for mid-September, obviously minus Davis. I was nervous about the announcements the president was going to make and what would happen to our department, but I’d decided if push came to shove, I’d start somewhere new. I could do it, and it would be fine. I was cautious but breathing easier than I had in a long time around my peers. I’d been given an out, an offer to not attend the second retreat, but that felt too much like Davis winning. I declined the offer to skip it.
On top of everything else, I would see Jake, and we’d made plans to meet somewhere private after the first day’s meetings. Our texting was sweet and friendly, but we hadn’t talked about us. I longed to see him and ached to kiss him, but also worried our connection was too badly damaged and that he wouldn’t want to repair it. I had a couple of weeks until I’d know, but luckily they would be filled with the busy beginning to the semester.
A knock at my office door interrupted my thoughts. I glanced up to see someone I never would have expected: Quinton or Quenton, fist poised against the doorframe. He stood before me in green seersucker shorts, a polo shirt, and his signature boat shoes.
“Dr. Turner? Do you remember me from your Intro to Learning class? Quinn Sterling. Do you have a minute?” Quinn. Damn, I was so close.
“Sure, come in.” I motioned to the chair on the other side of my desk, and he dropped into it. “What can I do for you?”
His gaze skittered around my office, down at his shoes, and back to me. “I wanted to, um, to ask you about, like, what we learned in class last semester.” He toyed with his sunglasses, which were perched atop his product-laden hair.
“Sure. Anything in particular?”
“Well, I had to do community service this summer.”
My attention caught on the had to, which made me envision Quinn in an orange jumpsuit.
Not his color.
“And we helped with, like, um, this summer school program in the city for, like, poor kids. I didn’t want to do it at first, but then, it was, um, it was cool.” He took his sunglasses off his head, then put them back on, fidgeting.
“That’s great,” I commented, trying to sound pleasant and reassuring.
“And, um, the kids had a hard time doing, like, totally basic math, like multiplication and shit—er, stuff—but they loved video games.” He relaxed a little, letting his hands drop to my desk, and he leaned forward. “And I remembered you talking about that in class.”
“Sure, gamification can help kids get excited about math.” He was paying attention when I talked about my research?
“Yeah! This one kid really didn’t get it. We didn’t have anything fancy, it was, like, a really poor school, but I brought in my tablet, and we found this free app, and like, we played these games and it totally helped him. It was really cool. I felt, like, really good about myself.”
I smiled. I’m proud of the little shit.
“Anyway, I liked doing it a lot, and I was wondering if you could help me do it, like, for a job.” His dispassionate, too-cool-for-school mask was gone, replaced with genuine curiosity and vulnerability.
“To be a game designer?”
“No. A teacher.”
I could have been knocked over with a feather. “Definitely.”
“I don’t know a lot yet. It’s, like, new still, but using games to help was cool. My major is marketing, but can you help me, um, switch or whatever? This seems way more interesting.” His expression was hopeful, and I couldn’t stop my smile from widening.
“I’d be happy to help, Quinn.”
When he walked out thirty minutes later, I shook my head. If someone else had been in the room, I would have given them a wide-eyed did-you-see-that? A sense of professional wonder filled me like a balloon, and I wished I had someone to tell.
Naya: The strangest thing just happened.
Jake: Yeah?
Forty-four
President Lewis stood at the front of the main lodge in a TU sweatshirt and jeans. I glanced around the room, wishing there was anyone near me who would share my incredulity. Is our seventy-year-old university president wearing skinny jeans? The people to my left and right, including my stuffy colleague Anita, looked unperturbed. Joe would have at least given me a raised eyebrow, but he was still recovering and on strict orders from Elaine to step back.
We’d departed early that morning from the parking lot outside the main administration building, piling into a charter bus. Professors from nine departments settled in awkwardly, stilted conversation buzzing through the vehicle as people whispered about “Camp Job Search” and “Retreat to the Unemployment Line.” I’d wanted to ask Jake a hundred times what to expect, but everything between us still felt fragile, so I’d held back, even though we’d made plans to meet up that night by the lake to talk.