Chapter 19
19
Sonny
I received an email to my student inbox as I was walking out of my last Monday class from Miss Gracer, my guidance counselor. She’s set up a meeting with the head of the Valeria Bloodline department first thing this morning to discuss my schedule going forward, and I apparently have no choice but to attend.
Catie Calyrose’s office is in one of the auxiliary buildings set on a part of the campus I have not explored yet. She greets me as soon as I walk through the doorway, then leads me through a maze of filing cabinets toward a corner where her desk has been shoved like an afterthought. The filing cabinets cast shadows from the singular fluorescent light overhead, but there’s a small lamp sitting beside her working overtime to help us see.
“Excuse the mess,” she says remorsefully. “I don’t spend a ton of time here anymore. I really don’t stay in one spot for too long, now that they’ve made me head of the department.” A large, beaming smile breaks across her face, begging for recognition.
“It’s no problem at all.”
She bends over to rifle through a leather suitcase sitting on the floor and silence falls over us for a few long moments before she pulls out a small handful of papers. Holding the messy stack up, she bangs the bottom edges against the desk to straighten them, and the sound echoes off all the metal surrounding us.
“By the way, thank you for meeting with me this morning on short notice. We felt it was imperative to get this mess sorted out as soon as possible.”
“I’d like to get it sorted, too.”
“Miss Gracer has updated me on your situation. There’s always a first for something, isn’t there?” With a tight-lipped smile, she fingers through the stack, and pulls one out from the bottom. “We’ve talked it out with the head of admissions, and this is what we’ve come up with for you.”
She points a long, crooked finger to my new course schedule. It appears they’ve allowed me to keep my psychology classes and replaced my sociology ones with Emotional Sensitivity and Boundaries and Essentials of Empathic Communication.
“These will equip you with the basic information you’ll need to continue forward into more advanced classes.”
“And my sociology classes?” I know it’s not that big of a deal to drop a minor, but for some reason it feels so violating that they took the liberties of doing it without bothering to ask my opinion.
“Unfortunately, we don’t believe there’s room for the sociology minor without overloading you with courses.” Whatever expression passes across my face has her quickly rushing to add, “We could speak with Dean Hatchcroft and see if he’ll grant you special privileges, but?—”
I’m already shaking my head, my nose scrunched in disapproval. The last thing I want is more attention from the faculty here than I’ve already got, especially the dean.
“That’s okay, this schedule is fine.”
“You could always come back for the graduate program,” she offers.
I smile and nod, taking the schedule when she lifts it off the desk and hands it over. By the time I’m ready for a graduate program, this may have already blown up in mine and Poppy’s faces.
She needs to know about this in case it gets back to Divina and she confronts Poppy. What if she already briefed Poppy about these gifts? That would definitely give us away if the school suddenly confronted her for failing to prepare her daughter for schooling.
It would also make Poppy Asshole of the Year for not telling me before she roped me into all of this, but I’m choosing to see the best in her.
“Since we’ve decided on allowing you to advance forward into regular empathic courses, I’ve copied some of the empathic sections from our first-year introduction courses. You can study them in your free time. I think they’ll do a good job in giving you context about principles and themes you’ll find in your future coursework.” Pushing the rest of the stack out at me, she shrugs, her eyes tightening in another kind smile. “Plus, it’s nice to know a little more about yourself,” she adds.
“Thank you. I appreciate all the time you’ve put into helping me.”
Swatting the air between us, she scoffs. “It’s not a problem at all. If you have any more issues, or questions about the empathic coursework, please don’t hesitate to reach out. I’ve stapled my card to the top of your schedule.”
I walk out of her office more deflated than when I entered. Unfortunately, I don’t have any time to dwell on it, because my first Essentials of Empathic Communication class starts in twenty minutes.