6. Fern

Chapter 6

Fern

Thora

You ready to slay the day? [vampire emoji]

Me

Is that really the right image for that text?

Thora

I couldn't find a wooden stake emoji

Me

What, no Buffy GIF?

Thora

So, I take it you're not nervous. Now that you've propositioned a hottie, you're ready for anything!

I hadn't taken the time to consider my night with Wyatt last week as any sort of bravery benchmark. I guess my friend is right, though. I sort of proved to myself that it's okay to ask for what I want and trust myself in new situations. New Year's Eve worked out pretty damn well, after all.

But on the other hand, I'm not nervous about teaching because it's basic algebra, and I am pretty confident I'm good at explaining those concepts to other people.

I put on my "teaching outfit" that Thora helped me pick out: brand-new-used designer jeans from the thrift store south of the city, a bright yellow blazer from the same store, and a cute striped shirt I already had. Thora and I have been trying to build capsule wardrobes to mix and match professional pieces for when we start graduate school, and need to look less like bartenders.

I don't want my students to think of me as "that chick who always wears the yellow blazer." But some things are too good to pass by, even when funds are tight. Veronica Beard new with tags for seven dollars ? That's just good sense.

I take an early train downtown and smile as I blend in with the other commuters, transferring to a bus heading toward campus. Undergrads don't usually get the chance to be teaching assistants for recitations, but there are way more first-year math students than usual and fewer grad students to cover the classes this spring.

My mentor, Professor Yoon, suggested I submit an application. I'm pretty sure they just needed that as a formality, but I'm grateful for the experience … and the money. I thought there would maybe be some more training or that I could meet some of the grad students who are also leading recitation, but they are basically throwing me in with the wolves.

They lecture twice a week in a huge auditorium, and then the third class of the week is broken up into twenty-student groups where we TAs answer students' questions and reinforce the material. Dr. Yoon sent out the syllabus to all of us, their admin let us know where there were cubicles we could use for office hours, and someone from the math department made sure I had a copy of the textbook. And that was it. No fanfare, but I guess they wouldn't have picked me for this gig if they didn't know I'm responsible.

I'm really looking forward to this, rather than feeling nervous. I like explaining things to other people. I like it when they ask me questions because seeing what others are confused by is a really interesting way for me to rethink the concepts. And I'm not in charge of the curriculum—just making sure the students grasp the material Dr. Yoon lays out.

Recitation is graded pass/fail based entirely on attendance, so I don't even have to worry about anyone getting mad at me over grades. I have my roster printed in a folder full of notes and a ton of extra copies of the syllabus. I did look over the names and there are a handful of older students. I'm assuming they couldn't fit the required math class into their schedule until now. Or maybe they forgot they had to take it to graduate. Or maybe they're just bad at math. For now!

I have daydreams of convincing them all that the language of the universe can be applied everywhere. I know they won't all leave here in love with algebra, but I know I can help them understand how to approach these concepts and how to succeed in this class.

I arrive at the towering building, with students streaming in and out of the revolving doors. I hold my head high as I type 23 on the elevator call box, and soon, I'm zooming up to one of the newer classrooms, full of projectors, whiteboards, and everything I need to write out complex equations larger than life.

I write my name on the board with ALGEbrA 1 RECITATION.

I spread my things on the podium at the front of the room but then decide I'd rather we all sit in a circle, so I picked a desk for my stuff and arrange the other chairs in a ring so we're all facing each other—or we will be once the students start showing up.

I slide into my seat and run my finger along my printed roster. I come across a student named Wyatt DeLuca. My cheeks heat, remembering my night with a different Wyatt.

Thora was right. Sex is a huge stress reliever. I couldn't walk properly for a day and a half after my night with Wyatt Moyer, but I took a hot bath, touched myself thinking of how I got that sore and went into this first week of class of my final semester of college feeling more relaxed than ever.

I shake these thoughts away as the first groups of students trickle in. I smile at them. "Hey, I'm Fern. Sit anywhere you like!" They do, mostly ignoring me and one another as they check their phones or work on the crossword from the student paper. I check my watch, and it's exactly ten, so I get up and walk toward the door to close it just as the last straggling students slip in.

I stumble when I see Wyatt—my Wyatt—duck into the room with a muttered apology. I back up toward my desk, hitting it and knocking my folder to the ground in a flutter of papers. He crouches to pick up the pile of syllabi, and his eyes meet mine as he hands them to me. I freeze in horror as I realize he's a student in this class. Why the hell would he lie about his name?