Chapter 7 #2
For her, it means she has to work twice as hard now to prove that she’s deserving of her job with whatever company she applies to when she graduates.
Because some will look at her gender and think that she isn’t the right fit.
And others will look at her Blackness and say that she isn’t capable.
And most will look at just those two, and nothing else will matter.
She won’t even make it to the interview.
Jahlani nods, exhaling. “I see.”
“I hope this doesn’t deter you from the program in any way.”
Jahlani lets out a mirthless laugh. “Honestly, Dr. Hunt, nothing has been going my way the past few weeks. My focus now is to finish my degree, however possible.”
Dr. Hunt claps her hands together. “Good. I’m glad you say that, because I have an alternative for you.
” She leans forward, pressing her palms against the desk.
“Our program allows you to collect your internship hours internally as well. Most students choose not to take that route because they’re a shoo-in for a job with the companies that they intern with, which I’m sure you’re familiar with, right?
It’s higher pay, better experience. All of this to say, you can still get your hours and complete your degree, but—”
Jahlani inches forward, her skin itching in anticipation.
“You would be teaching rather than applying it as you would in an external internship, with one of our professors here. You would be a graduate teaching assistant.”
Oh.
Jahlani nods as she reaches for her water, finishing the entire glass. The room feels small, as if the walls are closing in on her.
“Oh, okay. Yeah, that sounds …” Jahlani trails off, trying to keep the disdain from her voice. After all, she’s not in a position to be picky. Beggars can’t be choosers. And right now, she’s on her knees.
“That sounds good. Great,” she says, giving a forced upturn of her mouth.
Dr. Hunt chews on her lip before she sighs, her shoulders deflating. “Look, I know it’s not an ideal situation, but it has its perks. You would receive a biweekly stipend, and your tuition would be paid in full.”
At this, the throbbing in her head seems to subside. Her spine straightens as she grips the cool glass between her fingertips. If it were plastic, she’s sure she would have crushed it at this point.
“My tuition would be completely covered?”
Dr. Hunt gives a bright smile, showing straight teeth. “Yes, every single credit.”
The email about her late loan payment burns a hole in her back pocket. The echo of her dad’s refusal to give her what he said he would.
Her eyes move back to Dr. Hunt’s.
“I’ll do it.”
Dr. Hunt smiles before typing something on her computer.
“Great. Why don’t you head over there now, introduce yourself, see what he needs, and I’ll sort out all of the paperwork.
You’ll be with Professor John Jackson. I’m going to email you and him the details.
He’s located in the Mathematics Building on the west side of campus. ”
Jahlani nods, rising from the chair, and turns toward the door.
“Oh, Jahlani,” Dr. Hunt calls out before Jahlani rounds the corner. She twists back to see her standing, arms braced on the table. “Thank you for taking on this role. I know it’s not what you anticipated, but I appreciate your flexibility and willingness. Don’t hesitate to reach out for anything.”
Jahlani smiles, unsure of what to say before leaving the room.
She steps into the humid air, adjusting her braids behind her back as she maneuvers through the campus to Professor Jackson’s office.
Some people lounge around the quad with blankets, chatting with one another.
The sun is generous today, offering a soothing warmth.
The kind that makes her wish she were capable of taking a break to be able to enjoy it.
Taking a steadying breath, she climbs the concrete stairs into the building.
The main entrance is carpeted in gray and offers windows that have a nook for students to sit on and work at.
There are two hallways that sit on the sides of the elevator, paving a path to the lecture halls or the offices that house the professors.
Jahlani walks to the directory, trailing a finger as she scans for his office.
Adjusting her bag, she turns the corner, making her way to room 205.
The cream walls are covered in flyers offering tutoring services, upcoming university events, and programs offering financial assistance.
As she gets closer, her stomach starts to tighten.
Her mouth runs dry as she comes upon his open door.
From her angle, she can see a tall, dark-skinned man in a simple navy-blue shirt and black slacks.
Silver glasses sit perched on his nose that slide down as he cranes his neck, shuffling papers around on his desk.
Streaks of gray intertwine with the dark hair of his beard and coils on his head.
His expression is stony as he mutters something to himself.
Clearing her throat, she raps on the door twice before stepping inside. He doesn’t look up, and she wonders if she knocked hard enough. Flexing her fingers, she clears her throat again before speaking.
“Professor Jackson?” she asks, watching as he continues to move around the desk.
Maybe she’s in the wrong room.
But the degrees that sit on his shelf say otherwise. He still doesn’t look in her direction, and she feels her skin flush. Licking her lips, she leans her weight on the opposite leg.
“I’m Jahlani Jones. I’ll be your graduate teaching assist—”
“No.”
Her mouth snaps shut as the timbre of his voice transmits throughout the office. He still isn’t looking at her. She blinks three times before finding her voice again.
“I’m sorry. I think there’s been a misunderstanding. I’m completing my internship hours with you this semester?” She hates that it sounds like a question.
This time, he does glance her way. Dark, beady eyes drill into hers as they roam over her.
The skin on his forehead is creased permanently, and several moles run down the side of his neck.
Jahlani sees that his body is lean as he stands to his full height, removing his glasses to rub circles into his eyes.
Clearing his throat, he places his glasses back onto his face before crossing his arms over his chest.
“You have the wrong professor. I don’t require a GTA.”
“Yes, but—”
His gaze slides back down to his desk, and he carries on moving around the room as if she’s not there.
Jahlani turns, leaving the room, heat creeping up her cheeks.
She idles in the hallway, thinking back to her conversation with Dr. Hunt.
She chews her bottom lip, thinking about how she needs this internship to complete her program.
Without it, she’s extending her stay, she’s without any kind of income.
She’s shit out of luck.
And she can’t have that.
Exhaling a sharp, short breath, Jahlani rolls her shoulders before striding back in.
She walks until she’s in front of his desk and this time he does stop. He stands tall again, his eyebrows pinching. She starts before he can, raising her chin up.
“I assure you that I’ve been assigned to you, there should be an email from Dr. Hunt.”
At the mention of Dr. Hunt’s name, his entire body stiffens. He shifts to his monitor, clicking and typing and reading as Jahlani just stands there. Unease and irritation prick her skin because of course the professor would give her a hard time.
Just when she thought things were looking up.
“Take a seat,” he says under his breath.
Jahlani’s shoulders slump, and she folds her body into one of the chairs opposite his desk.
His office looks lived in. Shelves of books tower across both walls, and a brown coat rack stands in the corner where one single corduroy blazer hangs along with a leather messenger bag.
She scans the rest of the room, landing on a painting featuring a Black man in a white long-sleeve shirt and dark wash jeans in front of a chalkboard.
Four students, painted with elongated limbs and fluid motions, are raising their hands.
She sits up, watching him type on his computer, waiting. His focus never leaves the screen, and when he finds what he’s looking for, his gaze flicks to hers and studies her for several seconds before opening his mouth.
“Your academic record is impressive,” he says, not sounding impressed at all.
“Thank you?” she replies, but it sounds more like a question, so she clears her throat in an attempt to sound more confident. “Thank you.”
He blinks, standing from his chair, and starts pacing back and forth behind the desk.
“In the Monty Hall problem, should you switch doors or keep yours?” He poses the question fast.
But of course, a test. Because her transcript somehow isn’t enough.
Jahlani inhales deeply, not wanting to grant him the satisfaction of thinking that her transcripts and her ability don’t correlate.
“You always switch. Two-thirds is better than one-third.”
He runs a hand over his beard, moving from behind the desk to the other corner of the room.
“Are you more likely to roll one six from six dice, two sixes from twelve dice, or three sixes from eighteen dice?”
Her response is instant. “One six from six dice.”
He mutters, and Jahlani takes this as a good sign. He moves swiftly back to his desk before lowering into the chair.
“What is the probability that the sun will rise tomorrow?” he asks, interlocking his fingers together on the table.
“99.99 percent, according to Laplace. Although, you’re misapplying the Rule of Succession.”
There’s a slight twitch of his mouth that Jahlani doesn’t miss as she exhales. “Look, Professor Jackson, I—”
“I have over 100 students enrolled this semester. With that being said, I’m not here to babysit you, Ms. Jones. You seem capable, but make no mistake, I will go above Dr. Hunt if I feel that you are unable to keep up. Understood?”
Jahlani swallows. “Yes.”
His fingers dance against the mahogany as he looks across at her, his eyebrows less pinched than before. Jahlani’s eyes bounce from him to the painting behind him, unsure of how to fill the silence.
“I like your painting,” she says in a rush. “Who is it by?”
“Ernie Barnes,” he says, his countenance remaining impassive. Jahlani blinks, hoping for him to divulge more, but when the silence expands, she sighs, shouldering her bag because she knows when she’s not wanted.
“I’ll be sure to email you once everything is solidified with Dr. Hunt.”
Before he can say anything, Jahlani walks out, feeling more defeated than ever and wanting nothing more than for the semester to be over.