Chapter 13
thirteen
PARKER
Rage filtered through me as I knocked on Dr Briggs’s door. I was livid he’d felt I needed to hand-hold a first-year so entitled as Latte Girl. A literal princess ? What was he thinking!? Sure it must be a mistake, I shook my head.
“Yes?”
I peered inside.
“Ah, Parker! Brilliant. Come in.”
“Hello, sir, I?—”
“How many times have we been over you calling me Miles?”
I shrugged. “A few.”
Calling a professor by their first name made me uncomfortable. I was big on hierarchy and respect. It was beaten into me since childhood. People had titles, and you used them. And in the case of a professor, they got all my respect. The title and credentials were earned . My title was a given. I did nothing to deserve anything I got. Since I’d been a doctoral candidate or ABD—someone who only needed to finish their thesis—he’d insisted I call him Miles . Other people did, but it pained me still.
“Have you met Miss Deschamps yet?”
“Yes, s—Miles, about that?—”
“She’s very clever. Smart as a whip. She did a secondary minor in calculus. I knew you all would hit it off.”
Hit it off!? The man was mad!
“I… I don’t know anything about credentials. Are you certain she will be able to assist the students?”
“Her undergraduate thesis was quite impressive. She did a complicated analysis—no findings, of course—but she impressed me when she took questions on it. Very clever sort. I figured you two would get on like a house on fire.”
“Oh.”
What did I say? Did I tell him I disagreed with him because she was an entitled princess? Or explain I’d called her insufferable over something silly earlier. Did I mention our run-in in the coffee shop?
“Now, she’s going to be the same as you—half-time working on the seminar and putting in some hours on my UBI project.”
Briggs was writing the book—quite literally—on selling social policy in liberal democracies. As a young PhD, he was on a mission to make social change through universal basic income (UBI). Briggs drew me to Shalebrook. Back when he was a new PhD supervisor, and I was fresh off my master’s, I began to work with him. Now, I am his co-author and a contributor to a book he edited.
“Sir, do you think it is… appropriate to offer her aid when so many students need aid?”
“We were able to offer aid to all our incoming students requesting teaching or research assignments. Miss Deschamps is very qualified and keen to learn to teach and conduct research. I suspect she will want to transition to our doctoral program eventually.”
“So… you put her with me… because we grew up in a… similar world?”
I hated pointing that out. I hated admitting things others saw after they uncovered my background. People were fascinated with my life.
“I never think about that. You are Parker Westfall and she is Astrid Deschamps. You know the UBI bloke doesn’t give a shit about titles, right? ”
I chuckled.
“Parker, I put her in with you because you are the best instructor we have and the only one who cares much for maths for the sake of maths. I think you have much more in common in your interests.”
“But… UBI… she’s a princess?”
“And you’re a duke!”
He had a good point.
“Parker, is something the matter?” Briggs looked disappointed.
“No, sir.”
“Great. Because I’d like you two to be friends and work closely. The chapter with a mixed-methods approach needs someone who can manage data well. You put the model together, and she can merge the data.”
That was one of my chapters. I tried not to show my disappointment lest I look difficult.
“You think she’s capable of merging data better than me?”
Briggs laughed. “If you had any knowledge of her programming abilities, you wouldn’t ask.”
My face remained neutral. Arguing with my boss got me nowhere. I must put up with this little princess as we shared an advisor. No argument would end it. I knew when I was out-horsed. Here I was, fighting, but there was nothing more I could do.
“Are you still interested in assisting with the Model UN competition next weekend?” Briggs asked.
“I could.”
“Brilliant. My wife is scheduled for an induction on Thursday,” Briggs said.
“An induction… like the burners… on the hob?”
“She’s finally having the baby. We’re evicting the little guy,” Briggs said.
“Oh. Well, congrats!”
Briggs wasn’t teaching for the semester but maintained his supervisory and research responsibilities by choice. He and his wife were both PhDs. She taught in the African Studies program down the hall. It was their first child, and you could tell they were excited .
“I will help in any way I can,” I said.
“Good, because I’d added your name to the list of people eligible for hazard pay to chaperone that event in Glasgow.”
“Really?”
“Yes. My wife will murder me if I go.”
As she should!
“Sure. I’d be glad to.”
I had no idea what I signed up for.