CHAPTER FIVE
"How's the research going?"
My tongue pushes against my teeth as I fight back a laugh. "I haven't had my ass grabbed in a hot minute so good, I guess."
Professor Berkley doesn't reciprocate my amusement, but she does crack a smile. "Have you settled on a thesis? I think all the one's you've been sending me are great. You could do a lot with any of them."
"I"—I start but then quietly breathe out — "have not." I even go as far as to stretch my lips out to reveal a nervous rectangle of teeth.
If it seems like I'm being too informal with one of my Professor's it's because she's my favorite. I had her for Intro to Sociology my freshman year, and from there I was hooked. Even though I didn't officially change my major until the second half of my sophomore year. I've made it my mission to have her every semester since. This time it's Research and Methodologies. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't starting to regret it, but that has nothing to do with her. It is more due to the "research and methodologies" part. And this class is required for sociology majors, which is another thing I'm starting to regret, jokingly of course.
Professor Berkley raises a thin eyebrow above her rimless glasses. It's that all too habitual eyebrow raise that seems like a token from her twenty-something-year-old self. Take those light brown eyes, add some blush to her already glowing brownish orange skin, and dial back those baby mama hips only a teeny tiny bit, and I can almost see it. And that always makes me take her more seriously as opposed to the opposite.
"The first draft is due in less than two weeks," she says it so casually, as if I don't already know, but every time I open up my laptop to try and start compiling all my observations, my page remains just as white and blank as the walls in her office.
"If you want to focus on gender, focus on gender. If you want to focus on race, focus on race . . ." She trails off as she picks up her purple travel mug and pops open the part you sip out of. The flat yellow ceiling lights provide me with a flickering, metallic reflection when she momentarily lifts it up to her lips. "Just pick whatever catches your eye, or any patterns you recognize." She shrugs after she swallows.
"I know." I nod. "I will." Her eyebrow arches again, so I throw in a smile. "Soon, I promise."
"Okay," she says but the way she drags out the word and picks up some papers to straighten makes it seem like she doesn't believe me. "Email me if you have any questions."
"Will do." I sling my backpack over my shoulder. "Thank you," I sing, and we trade smiles before I thump my way out.
****
"I don't know how you put up with that half-assed crap," the girl clicks her tongue.
The girl across from her chuckles. "I don't either. I wish I had a sugar daddy."
I try not to outwardly shake my head, but an amused breath escapes my nose before I can help it. This is what I get for sitting on the first floor of library instead of hauling up in the stacks. I peel off a small post-it and stick it on top of one of the paragraphs in my textbook and try to focus back on reading. It helps that the girls at the opposite end of the table drop their voices down to whispers.
"He just gets so mad sometimes when I don't want to—you know?" The first girl leans her forearms on the table as she whispers. "'Cause we only see each other on weekends."
"Can't he like—you know"—the second girl in need of a sugar daddy waves her arm around— "do it himself."
The first girl, who's sitting at the other end of the long rectangular table, parallel to my seat, sighs. "I wish he would."
My own shoulders sag along with hers as the wooden chair gets pulled out across from me.
"Hey." Jack smiles.
My jaw is clenched so hard I almost forget to smile back. I still can't even bring myself to give him a full smile, but rather just give him a quick curve of my lips.
"That looks like fun." He nods towards my book as he pulls his laptop out of his backpack.
"Yeah," I breathe as I gather some of the lined sheets of paper with my messy handwriting scattered all over it.
"Don't worry, I promise not to bother you too much." Jack throws me a little wink before his eyes focus on his laptop screen, but little does he know that my focus is long gone.
"Nope, you're just a b*tch."
But why is it my responsibility to please you?