by Frankie Rose
“NOAH’S ON exchange. This isn’t high school; I can hardly punish you for your actions at college, Ms. Patterson, everything’s down to you. But I can suggest that you could make up for your pyjama day by helping our visitor adjust to life at Columbia. It isn’t easy joining a subject mid semester. He’s going to need all the help he can get.” Professor Lang is sterner than I’ve ever seen him before. Actually, I’ve only ever seen him at ease and happy as we talk about class topics, but obviously he is a different person when you get on his bad side. Now I understand what everyone is complaining about all the time. “Aren’t you going to spin me some yarn about unexpected kidnappings or retrograde amnesia, Miss Patterson?”
I kick at the table leg of his desk and curve my shoulders, trying to shrink away from the fact that I can’t even be bothered to make up an excuse for my non-attendance.
“I was hung over.”
Silence.
I slowly raise my eyes up from the floor and face him, holding my breath. I don’t know what I was expecting—that maybe he’d find my honesty charming and send me on my merry way with a neatly typed up sheet of notes. Not so much. He looks disappointed, which is about the very worst thing he could be right now. I hug my file tighter to my chest and go back to looking at the floor.
“Are you serious about this course, Miss Patterson?”
“Yes. I know I’ve dropped the ball this week but I swear it was a one off.”
“You have dropped the ball, and at the very point when you should be concentrating the most. You know these midterms are pivotal if you want to gain entry into our journalism program, yes?”
“I do.”
“And I know that’s the career you’ve chosen for yourself. I really thought you were committed to building something for yourself here, Avery. Was I wrong?”
I feel like utter crap. I’m twelve years old again and Dad has just caught me lifting a twenty from his wallet. “You weren’t wrong, Professor Lang. I will catch up on the information I missed and I will do well on my exams. I have to.” I have nothing else left.
Professor Lang pushes off from leaning against his desk and paces over to the window. He folds his arms across his chest and sighs. “Why do you want to be a journalist? What is it that appeals to you so greatly about this particular career path?”
I really don’t feel like getting into this with him, but like with the hangover confession, I’m still too delicate to summon up the energy to lie. It appears two-day hangovers are going to be in full effect from here on in.
“It’s hard to explain. Something happened to a friend of mine when I was younger and the press…they were like vultures. They printed all these lies and made her family’s life hell. I want to become a journalist so there will be at least one person out there telling the truth. To set the record straight.”
Professor Lang’s shoulders stiffen. “And that’s why you enjoy my class so much. I tell you, there aren’t many people too concerned in the law or the ethics behind news reporting these days. Everyone’s too preoccupied with finding the next big story to worry about whether it might be true or not.” He turns away from the window and walks to his office door. “I commend your drive, Miss Patterson, I really do. But you should know…there’s a big difference between a determination to be successful at something, even if it is for the right reasons, and wanting to change something that happened in the past. You won’t get any justice for your friend or her family by pursuing this goal. You’re a smart girl. You realize that, don’t you?”
I swallow the tight lump in my throat and walk out of the door he holds open for me, ignoring his comment. “I’m sorry, Professor Lang. I won’t let it happen again.”
He peers over his glasses at me, the lenses scuffed from where he habitually puts them down the wrong way. “I know you won’t. You’re too stubborn for that.”
