I take it back. I take it all back. College is harder than I thought it was going to be.
Yes, I have a 4.0 GPA. Yes, most of my professors know me by name. But I am surviving on caffeine to get everything done.
Midterms were harder than I expected them to be, and if I want to keep my grade point average where it’s at, I can’t afford to slack off. That means long hours in the library. Studying on weekends. And lots of review groups.
Like the one I’m in right now.
Educational psychology may be my favorite class, but it’s also the most intense. It’s not that the content is even hard. I raised a child; I’ve seen most of this before. I just have names for it all now. But it’s so time consuming.
Initially, we were required to read Pollyanna by Eleanor H. Porter, pick a particular character, and come up with a basic psychological summary that fits their behaviors in the book. That was all fine and good. It was a children’s book, so the reading was easy. And there weren’t deep psychological issues. It was more about pinpointing basic behaviors. But then a similar real-life assignment was sprung on us.
Twice a week, for an hour per day, with a minimum of four weeks, we sit in a local elementary school classroom, where we have to pick a child to observe and write a case study on them, just like we did with the book. We’re not allowed to put names or identifying features, for privacy reasons obviously, and we can’t interact with the child. Just observe behaviors.
While I find it fascinating, and I really love getting into the school, the only days I have time for this extra work are on Tuesdays and Thursdays. The days I work. It’s only three hours out of my day, including drive time, but those six hours a week used to be spent getting things like laundry and grocery shopping done. Now that’s all put off until weekends, cutting into my study time, which means I have to study later during the week . . .
It’s a vicious cycle. Hence, the venti upside-down caramel macchiato I’m nursing at eight o’clock at night. I’m going to be sitting in this conference room chair for several hours, and then I have to drive all the way home. I need the caffeine desperately.
Tonight, we’re going to go over our case studies as a group and pinpoint any holes or missing bits of information. Basically, a tweaking session before the first draft is turned in. But in true college-kid fashion, not everyone is here yet, so we’re waiting for the stragglers.
My phone dings with a text just as I take a drink of my java. The name flashes on the screen briefly and lips immediately quirk up. It’s Jack.
Jack: Late night on campus?
Me: How did you know?
Jack: I just saw your car in the parking lot. Do you need anything? Coffee? Snacks? A kiss?
I bite back another smile and try not to giggle like a school girl. Even though I technically am one.
Me: PDA probably isn’t allowed in the library. Especially with one of your players in my study group.
Jack: Let me change the question . . . dinner Friday night? Without a library full of eyes?
A laugh bursts out of me, and I quickly cover my mouth when I realize how loud it is. I glance around and only a couple people are looking at me, but most don’t even turn their heads away from their phones. Smiling again, now that I know I didn’t draw too much attention to myself, I respond. Because that’s what Jack does to me . . . makes me smile.
Me: You’re on.
I put my phone down and Brian Anderson, Isaac’s teammate and fellow brownie lover, catches my attention. He’s sitting next to me, eyeing me skeptically.
“What?” I glance around quickly to see if he’s really looking at me or just in my general direction.
Tilting his head toward me, he lowers his voice almost to a whisper. “Who’s the dude?”
I will my face not to flush. As Jack’s player, the last person I want to fess up to is Brian. Isaac probably needs to know about this first. “What dude?”
“The dude you’re texting?” He gestures toward my phone.
“How do you know I’m texting a dude?”
“The look on your face.”
I lean in more, whispering, “What does my face look like?”
He straightens in his chair and holds his finger up so I’ll wait for a minute. Then he turns to Stephanie, who is sitting next to him. She’s a tall, pretty girl. About twenty. I’ve seen her look at Brian with stars in her eyes before. Apparently, he’s noticed.
Moving in close to her, he flashes her a flirty grin. “Hey.”
She looks momentarily bewildered but responds with a quiet “Hey.”
“You look really pretty today.”
I roll my eyes at how thick he’s laying on the charm. Beyond a few questions and answers in this group, I don’t think Brian has ever spoken to her before.
“Thanks.” Stephanie bites back a giggle, a blush creeping up her cheeks.
Brian turns back to me and points over his shoulder at her. “That look.”
My jaw drops and I smack him playfully on the arm. “I do not! And that was so rude!” I situate my body so I can see around him to address Stephanie directly. “Ignore him and his fake charms. He’s trying to prove a point.”
She shrugs. “He called me pretty, so whatever.”
I just shake my head. I don’t understand this age group. They’re funny and energetic and idealistic . . . and I’ll never understand the relationship dynamics they have. Welcome to the generation raised on electronics, I suppose. Always with their faces in a screen. Never having to learn people skills.
Or I’m just old and out of touch.
“So anyway . . .” he continues. Crap. I was hoping Brian would be distracted. No such luck. “Who’s the dude?”
I blow my bangs out of my face as I prepare to do something I normally have a strict moral code against. I lie. “There’s no dude. And even if there was, it wouldn’t be your business anyway.”
“Uh huh.” He turns his body toward me and puts his hand on my chair, a smirk on his face. “I don’t believe you, but I’ll let it go for now. As long as you tell me one thing.” I quirk my eyebrow at him, giving him my best mom glare. It doesn’t work. “Does he treat you right?”
My heart softens at his true concern, and I smile at him. He may be ornery, but he’s a good kid. I saw it in him the day he introduced himself to me and thanked me for the brownies I brought. And he continues to impress me with small things like making sure the man I refuse to admit I’m dating is good to me.
“I’m guessing Stevens doesn’t know yet, does he?” I crinkle my nose and shake my head, finally admitting what he already knew. “I won’t tell him, because that’s not my place. But make sure whoever the dude is, he knows you have the entire Viking defense backing you up if he so much as looks at you sideways.”
I pat him on his forearm. “Thank you, Brian. But I promise, that won’t be necessary.”
He nods at me once then turns back to Stephanie. “You really do look pretty today. That wasn’t just a line.”
She blushes again, and I shake my head at his audacity. What a little player. I hope Stephanie keeps her eyes wide open with him. He’s sweet to me, but probably because there’s a certain amount of respect that goes with being his mom’s age. And because I bring snacks.
Suddenly, the door flies open and a disheveled-looking Nick comes racing in, hurriedly throwing his backpack on the table. “Sorry I’m late, guys. I got caught up in band practice.”
“You play in a band?” Brian asks. He looks impressed by this latest news.
Nick keeps yanking his notebooks and laptop out of his bag. “Yeah. I play trombone in the Viking Marching Band.”
Suddenly, Brian doesn’t look as impressed. Somehow his reaction doesn’t surprise me.
“Anyway, did I miss anything?” Nick sort of fell into the role of leader of the study group. Every time we meet, he’s prepared with a plan on how to get things done and helps the group stay on track. I don’t usually mind. It just means the rest of us don’t have to take on that responsibility and keeps us from just wasting our time being here.
While waiting for him to settle in, I grab my phone off the table and shoot off another quick text to Jack.
Me: We’ve been caught. Brian Anderson says to tell you that if you hurt me, you’ll have him and the rest of the team to answer to.
I look around the room as I wait for his answer. Everyone is finally getting ready for what is sure to be a long night.
Jack: You tell that little shithead he better watch himself, or he’ll be doing extra frog squats until his legs give out.
Before I can respond, another text comes through.
Jack: And then tell him I appreciate him looking after you. But he’s got nothing to worry about. That is, if we really have been outed.
Busted.
Me: I’ll pass along the info from my anonymous “dude” if it comes up again. Gotta run. We’re starting.
I throw my phone in my black satchel and take another sip of my coffee, ready to begin a long night of discussing the development of behavior patterns.