Chapter 18
Magnus
Sleep isn’t for the weak. It’s for humans, and I should be getting more of it.
“Ugh, my inner voice is whiny and annoying,” I grumble, putting my head down on my desk.
Professor Ying’s laughter startles me. I glance up to find her standing in the doorway of the office I share with the adjuncts in the linguistics building.
She has a wry grin on an ageless face surrounded by a sharp bob with straight French bangs and eyebrows groomed into a wicked arch.
She’s by far the most stylish adult I know, and I consider myself lucky to have made her a friend.
“Why is your inner voice being whiny?” she asks, slipping off her heels as she sits across from me.
“I’ve had three hours of sleep since the conference last weekend, and I just received a text message from my mother informing me that we are eating at Seifutei, and our reservations are for eight pm.
Eight! Who waits to eat dinner until eight?
” I sigh and bang my head on my desk. “And now my outside voice is whiny, too.”
“Why haven’t you slept since Sunday? I assume you slept Sunday night,” she demands sharply.
I really do wish I could just close my eyes and let myself drift like Trent allowed me to do while he made dinner last night.
“I was catching up on grading, and I need to prepare and send Chancellor Mustafa two different updates on two projects that will both affect the university in different ways. He wants me to send him regular reports on my research project, and I’m sending those with progress reports on the next building project I’m readying so that he associates one with the other and doesn’t pull the rug out from under me with the independent research project. ”
“Sneaky,” she comments with a soft laugh. “When is your next class?”
I glance up at the clock and clench my jaw. “I need to start walking over there now. It’s in the math building.”
I stand, gathering up my materials and packing them into my backpack. I won’t be back to this desk until Thursday, so I take everything I’ll need with me.
“Try to nap before you go to dinner. You’ll get to the point of exhaustion where it’s difficult to turn off if you wait too long,” she warns me, pulling me into a tight hug. “And I’ll walk you over there.”
I take a few extra moments to soak in her support and what comfort she’s offering before stepping back. “I probably won’t have time to nap, but thank you. I still have to download the latest data.”
She and I start the walk together after she slips into her shoes. “Have you defined the parameters for your analysis yet?”
“Yes. I finalized the scope of my project before the conference. I’ve assigned each username a data number, I’m noting vital statistics, and I’m tracking interactions with our posts.
I’m tracking positive versus negative language in comments, frequency of interactions, and the duration of the subscription.
I plan to invite my subscribers to sign up for voluntary surveys, but I haven’t yet planned out a survey schedule or exactly what to track with them. ”
Since the independent research of the project was only a means of keeping the university invested in the success of this project, I haven’t fully planned it out yet. I’ll get there. Eventually.
“Have you considered recruiting from the grad students to help with your project? You could get volunteers to analyze the data and fill out the reports for you,” Professor Ying suggests.
“I do have a few volunteers helping me with comment moderation. I could offer stipends to anyone willing to put in extra hours.” I can afford the labor now, though I will have to talk to Trent about including others in my project.
“Grad students will do anything for a buck,” she teases, elbowing me.
I roll my eyes and elbow her back. “I am not a grad student anymore.”
“Grad students and under paid professors will do anything for a buck,” she revises, laughing.
“Even start a porn channel,” I snicker as we hit the promenade that we have to cross to get to the Whitehall building where I have class.
She laughs with me, and silence falls between us as we take in the rare sunny March day. We’ve had storms off and on since the first, and if weather patterns hold, we’ll have plenty more until mid-April when things will start drying out again.
“Magnus…” Dr. Ying says, pulling me out of my wandering thoughts.
I glance over at her, but she’s looking all around us, scanning the promenade with her eyes.
I follow her gaze to the clusters of students enjoying the nice day and individuals out here. It appears every person out here is looking at us, which is more attention than I usually get. I spot a familiar face and wave him over. His name is…
Darn it. I should know this. We’ve had at least four classes together. We’ve worked on two major projects together, and we volunteered for Habitat for Humanity together last year.
“Hey, Magnus. Dr. Ying.” He greets me by name as he falls in step with us, and my cheeks burn for having forgotten his name.
“Mr. Zapato,” Dr. Ying greets him, and they both look at me.
“Hey, man,” I say, taking a page out of Trent’s book for ways to address familiar people. “Any idea why everyone’s staring at me?” I ask.
Mr. Zapato looks around. “It’s because of the livestream Trent did last night.
I was online when he started streaming, so I joined.
It was basically an online study session, but he forgot to stop the live stream when you got back to the dorm, and everyone saw him carry you to bed.
” He shrugs as if that explains everything, and I guess I can extrapolate the reason for the stares from that.
“Ah, they think because he takes care of me in vulnerable moments that we’re romantically involved.” My heart flutters happily, and I can’t help smiling at that. I guess I’m a little excited that our schtick is working so well. “We’re not, you know. You can tell everyone we’re not dating.”
He shoots me a surprised look but nods. “Sure. You get dinner with your parents sorted?” he asks out of nowhere.
“You heard about that?”
He snorts a laugh. “Oh yeah. We all heard about that.”
Weird that they’re invested in that. I’ll have to make a note about it. Maybe Trent has some insight into why our audience would be interested in dinner with my parents. “We have reservations at Seifutei at eight with my parents.”
“Fancy,” he comments as we reach the steps to the Whitehall building. “Anyway, I gotta get to class, too.” He jerks his thumb behind us to a different building.
“Oh, thank you for walking with me and answering my questions.”
He pushes his dark bangs out of his eyes and adjusts the straps on his ragged backpack. “No problem. Tell Trent hi from me.”
“Of course,” I promise.
He tells Connie goodbye and leaves us, and Connie also takes her leave, so I make my way to the statistics class by myself.
When I arrive, the class is full, and it looks like we have auditors, Chancellor Mustafa and Dr. Filmore.
Why the hell would the Director of Chinese Studies audit my statistics class?
Instead of shooting him a nasty look, I school my features into something neutral and start prepping for class.
I pull out the homework my TA graded, my laptop, and the set of notecards I use for reference if I need them.
“Come get your papers before we start,” I tell the class as my eyes catch on Trent for a moment, but I force my gaze to move on.
Nervousness makes my heart pound like I’m new to teaching, and I chalk it up to having the Chancellor in class even though I know him well. Breathing through it, I get my laptop set up for the projector, and by the time I’m ready, the students have finished getting their papers back.
I look up to the Chancellor, ignoring Dr. Filmore. “Good morning, everyone. We have Chancellor Mustafa in class today, so please welcome him,” I say, starting a short round of applause.
After, I get down to business, talking first about their homework and reminding them of when my office hours are if they have any questions or want to go over them individually.
I usually have two or three students that need me to go over their grades because they didn’t put enough effort in and at least one student who thinks the grade they got is unfair.
I launch straight into my lesson from there, talking through the subject of today’s lesson for forty minutes.
After that I give them worksheets to work on in groups.
I read a study several years ago that suggested group work affects student success in positive ways, so I give all of my classes in-class time to work as groups, but I also start each semester by passing out study group signup sheets.
So far, I’ve noticed that the students that take advantage of the study groups have higher grades than the ones who don’t.
While the class works together, I wander over to the Chancellor, greeting him with a handshake. “Hello, Dr. Mustafa. To what do I owe the pleasure?” I ask curiously.
Mehcad Mustafa and I have a good working relationship. During my undergraduate years, I ate dinner at his house with his family every Tuesday and Friday. I wouldn’t say we’re friends, he’s more of a role model than a friend, but we have always been solidly amicable.
“Hello, Magnus,” Chancellor Mustafa greets me, smiling through his shiny black beard. His dark walnut brown eyes study for a moment. “I was curious how your adjusted schedule was working. You appear in need of a good night’s sleep.”
I swallow a yawn, chuckling at myself. “Yes, I had a busy schedule at the conference, and I’ve been playing catch up since then.
I’ll catch up this weekend, and Dr. Ying reminded me that grad students are always willing to do the tedious work of the research.
Now that I’ve narrowed the parameters of my current research, I’m going to hire a few grad students to help catalog the data I’ve gathered.
That will free up more time so I can keep my life balanced. ”
Chancellor Mustafa was the person who taught me the importance of balance from the time I came to the university, so I know he understands what I’m saying.
“Ah, that’s good. I’m glad to hear it.” He stands, taking my hand and leaning in to press a kiss to my cheek. “Text Amani to arrange dinner together. She’s been poking me to remind you that she requires your presence at dinner occasionally.”
A wide smile splits my lips. Dr. Amani Mustafa is the most interesting woman I know.
She’s an archaeologist and spends her summers on digs all around the world, but she prefers working in South America.
She’s made headlines for archaeology multiple times in her life, but if anyone asks her what her greatest accomplishment is, she would say it's getting her husband to work on time every morning for the last thirty years. Keeping his wife happy is Mehcad’s main goal in life, and if that means I have to text her to have dinner with her once a month, then that’s the burden I bear for his happiness.
Fortunately, I love the woman and look forward to every dinner I get to have with her. “I’ll do that. It will probably be after spring break, but I’ll make sure she sees my face soon.”
He nods, gives me his greetings again, and takes his leave.
Dr. Filmore watches the chancellor leave before sneering at me. “Does he even know what you and your little boyfriend are doing to the university’s reputation?” His eyes land on Trent, and there’s something in them that makes me clench my fists.
I hit him with a wide smile, covering the rage burning in my chest at the disrespect in his voice and face as he glares at Trent. “The chancellor was the first person to subscribe to my fan site.”
With that, I turn away, heading back to the front of my classroom to check in with my students in case any of the groups need help.
Maybe I need to start plotting how to get rid of Dr. Filmore in earnest. I’ve been tolerant of him, but I won’t stand for whatever is going on in his head when he looks at Trent.
Taking a deep breath, I set the idea in the back of my mind where my brain can work on it while I finish today’s session.
When I turn to pull everyone’s attention forward so we can go over the worksheet together, Dr. Filmore is gone.
Good riddance.