30. Fern

Chapter 30

Fern

I don't expect anyone to be around during spring break, but after I spent the night crying in my room, obsessively refreshing websites and my email, I can't handle being alone anymore. I travel to the math department, hoping Professor Yoon has decided to work from their office while things are quiet, and the students are away.

They don't seem like the kind of person who goes on a big bender for spring break, and I'm grateful when I see the light shining under their office door. I tap lightly on the wood, knowing I have to face this. Have to come clean about emotional baggage to a mentor who has always been dreadfully matter-of-fact and pragmatic. "Yes?" Their voice sounds muffled and sure enough, I open the door to see them behind a trio of giant monitors. They must be running a complex series of programs.

I step into the room and close the door behind me. "I was hoping I could speak with you." I sink into the chair opposite their desk.

Professor Yoon peeks over the lowest monitor, adjusting their glasses. "Ah, yes. Ms. Montgomery." They stand and walk around to the other side of the desk, leaning against it, hands at their sides, fingers tapping the surface. "I received a strange email yesterday afternoon with a link to an online article that no longer exists."

I nod. I hadn't realized the story had been taken down already. Maybe that means it's okay? That the story lacked veracity?

Professor Yoon seems to be waiting for me to speak next, so I add, "I went to the stadium to support Wyatt. He's one of my students in the recitation."

Professor Yoon nods. "Yes, I took note of that, as well as some official registration updates. Strange. It all showed up in my email at once. You know how I feel about email."

"You hate it?"

They laugh. "I hate most disruptions. This week is for long periods of uninterrupted analysis! Can you just feel the data forming patterns?" They clap their hands.

I tuck my hair behind my ears. "I'm not sure how the reporter was able to get information about me…or even if what they wrote was true …"

Professor Yoon nods. "Yes, there did seem to be a FERPA violation."

"FERPA?" I frown, unfamiliar with that term.

Professor Yoon holds up their hands in a "mea culpa" gesture. "I have been so remiss in your training for this assistantship. The graduate students will have learned that it's a federal offense to release student registration information. But I'm also making a hypothesis that it was not you who told the reporter about Wyatt's enrollment in your class and subsequent withdrawal from school?"

"No, it was definitely not me, but—wait. Withdrawal?"

They frown at me. "Is that not why you're here today? To update your roster? Wyatt Moyer and his legal team wrote to update his transcripts with his legal name and then withdrew from the university. Something about professional obligations abroad?" They shrug. "Usually, in these cases, the students simply take an incomplete and finish their degree later. I have no idea why he would totally withdraw from the entire school over a gossip article … Ms. Montgomery, are you all right?"

I dab at my face, where tears have started to fall down my cheeks. If Wyatt withdrew from school, that means he was trying to keep his word. He made it so he isn't my student, hoping to help me keep my funding. Nobody but my mom has ever made that kind of sacrifice for me. I'm not sure how to handle this. I close my eyes and say, "He did it for me, Professor. Because the truth is that he wasn't just my student. I've been … involved."

I open my eyes to see Professor Yoon unmoved, blinking, waiting for me to continue. "I met him before the semester began … and he had that whole name change situation, so I didn't realize it was him on the roster and —"

"And you didn't mention it or switch sections when you had the opportunity?" I shake my head. They tap their fingers on the desk again. "Well, this is a bit of a pickle … but truthfully, I don't have time to map out all the prongs of this fork." They shrug. "The student has withdrawn and is, in fact, leaving the country. They were in a pass-fail recitation where the grade is based solely on attendance … I assume you took accurate and unbiased attendance records?" I nod. They nod. "It would be very hard indeed to botch attendance records." They emit a deep sigh and peek over one of the monitors at the program running on the screen. I can see pink lines intersecting with green ones on the monitor as a graph forms, fractal patterns blooming across the three monitors.

"I … don't want special treatment. I broke the rules."

"Did you, though?" Professor Yoon gives their chin another scratch. "The handbook specifies rules for interpersonal relationships between graduate students and undergraduate students, but you are both undergraduates. And like I said, he has left the university. Nobody has filed a complaint. Nobody has reported misconduct."

We are both silent for a few beats. Or maybe a few hours. It all feels agonizingly slow as I sweat in the plastic chair, curling and uncurling my toes inside my shoes while I wait to see what's going to happen with my assistantship. I finally dare to ask, "So, what happens now?"

Professor Yoon takes a deep breath through their nose and holds up their hands again. "Now, you continue your excellent work leading up to the final exam. You seemed to enjoy preparing the students for mid- terms. Would you be interested in leading another large study session the week before finals?"

I blink. "I meant what happens with …" I gesture my hand in a circle.

Professor Yoon glances at their computer again. "Ms. Montgomery, do you think you can figure out how to update the class roster inside the university grading portal? If yes, I would say, please do so and carry on. I'd be most appreciative if you could leave me alone with my prediction model for the rest of the week."

As if that settled the matter, they walk back around to their side of the desk, sitting down with a creak of the chair springs and leaning forward to gawk at the monitors once more. Stunned, and confused, I leave their office and sink into a seat in one of the cubicles. There are no graduate students around. No undergrads looking for test grades. Just me and my tattered laptop I pull from my bag. I wait for it to groan into life and log into the grading software. My screen shows a flashing alert that one of my students has had a status change. In a few clicks, I update Wyatt's name in the system and remove him from my grade roster.

It really happened, then. He's leaving school and moving to Mexico. And I'm carrying on like none of it ever happened.

Except it did happen. I was with him, and it changed me, opening me up to an adoration I never expected and care and comfort I never imagined. And it's all gone again, a reminder that I can either have turmoil and affection or hard work and professional success.

With a sigh, I shut down my computer and make my way to the library. There is still work I can do to prepare for my studies at Imperial College.