PIPER
Who wants to take—letalone teach—a three-hour pre-student teaching seminar on Friday afternoons? It’s torture.
Which is pretty on brand for Dr. Barnes.
If I wasn’t desperate to score one of her famous recommendation letters, there’s no way I’d have signed up for this course.
It could be worse.
True. She could’ve scheduled it for 8 a.m.
I shudder at the thought and sip my iced coffee as I settle back in my chair. The cold brew goes down smoothly, the caffeine providing a much-needed boost to my system.
My classmates file in, Jenna bringing up the rear with her dark hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun.
She slides into the seat next to me and I pass her an iced coffee.
“You’re a lifesaver.” She grins as she raises the oversized cup to her lips. “I’m about to drop.”
“Late night?” I ask, pulling my laptop from my bag.
“Long day, and it’s only half over.” She turns to face me, eyes narrowed. “Barnes should give us credit just for showing up.”
“It’s a pass/fail class. All you have to do is turn in your notes and Barnes will pass you.”
Probably.
The woman is a hardass, but she’s fair.
“Easy for you to say. She’s your advisor,andshe loves you.”
Love is a gross exaggeration, but I keep that to myself since Jenna’s advisor blew off their last meeting. The guy is a massive douche—the kind who gives tenure a bad name—but Jenna refuses to request a new advisor. She hasn’t said it aloud, but I think she’s worried about retaliation. With our student teaching assignments pending, I can’t say I blame her.
The door opens and Dr. Barnes strides in, her no-nonsense heels tap-tap-tapping the linoleum floor as she crosses the auditorium. Her silver braids are pinned up in a sleek bun and though it’s eighty degrees outside, she’s wearing a blazer.
The woman is stone cold.
Facts. In the three years she’s been advising me, I haven’t seen her so much as break a sweat. She never gets flustered, never loses her temper, and she for damn sure doesn’t accept excuses, which is probably why her recommendation letters carry so much weight.
I admire and fear her in equal measure.
Dr. Barnes places her bag on the podium and pulls out a laptop before acknowledging the class. “Today we’ll be discussing performance expectations for student teaching.”
The quiet hum of shifting bags and shuffling papers fills the room as Dr. Barnes gestures for the teaching assistant to connect her laptop to the overhead projector.
“You’d think someone who’s been teaching for forty years would be a bit more tech savvy,” Jenna muses. “Then again,” she adds, wiggling her brows, “if Mike McConnell was my TA, I’d probably let him play with my device, too.”
Eww. “Don’t be gross.”
“What?” She bats her lashes, feigning innocence. “I’m just saying he’s cute. Plus, he’s got a great ass.”
I study the TA as he searches for the correct adapter.
He’s tall and slim with dark curls, midnight eyes, and an air of confidence that occasionally crosses the line to arrogance.
I shrug. “He’snot my type.”
“And what exactly is your type? Thicc and awkward with eyes like Jack Daniels?”
