Hersh scowled at his wristwatch. “We appreciate your punctuality.”
“So do I.” Lowering her backpack to the floor, Cheyenne pulled out the closest chair—which happened to be at the head of the table—and sat. “I’m ready when you are.”
“Great.” LePlant clapped her hands and interlaced her fingers before leaning forward. “As you read in that email you received on Thursday, Cheyenne, we’ve all noticed that you’ve been having a little difficulty making it to your classes on time.”
“Or at all.” Hersh snorted.
Mattie shot the man a warning glance, but he sat back in his chair and folded his arms.
“Whatever is going on in your personal life is clearly drawing your focus away from your graduate studies.”
No shit.
LePlant adjusted the thin silver frames of her glasses and cleared her throat. “Now, this is grad school. You made the decision to apply, you were accepted, and you’re obviously an adult who makes her own decisions, just like the rest of us. We don’t normally sit down like this with graduate students who find themselves farther over their heads than they expected.”
Cheyenne sat back in her chair. “I’m not in over my head.”
“Oh, we’re well aware. Your startling ability to predict assignments, not to mention the advanced quality of your work, is the reason we even considered having this meeting.”
“We want you here,” Dawley added. “At this school. In this program. We want you to receive your master’s degree, and we’re hoping that’s what you still want too.”
“Of course it is.” The halfling gazed around the table at her insanely boring professors before settling her gaze on Mattie. The woman flashed her a brilliant smile, her blazing green eyes widening just a little.
“So, Cheyenne,” LePlant continued, “we’ve put our heads together and come up with a solution we think works well. You’ll have a different schedule. Which, I might add, is imperative for you to keep if you want to continue with this program. No emails apologizing for not making it. And the five of us can rest easy knowing one of the most talented students to enter the Computer Sciences program at this school is still pursuing a degree she very much deserves.”
“What’s the schedule?” I’m not agreeing to anything until I know what it is.
“You’ll be moved to three days a week instead of five. One class a day, Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.” LePlant’s gaze darted around the table before she took a deep breath and nodded. “And you’ll be teaching it.”
“I’ll be…” Cheyenne snorted and choked on a laugh. “I’ll be what now?”
“Teaching undergraduate classes.”
“Yeah, I don’t know if you really want me teaching a bunch of freshmen how to do anything.”
“We do, actually.” Beckwith drummed his fingers on the armrests of his chair. “It’s not a one-hundred-level class, either. Undergraduate Advanced Programming. There’s a syllabus, of course, but we’re willing to move things around if you feel you can improve the teaching material.”
“Oh, I can.” The words spilled out of her, and Mattie chuckled before covering her mouth with the tips of her fingers. “But that’s not the point.”
“Feel free to make your point at any time, then,” Hersh grumbled.
“Yeah, thanks. I’m not a teacher. I don’t have any qualifications for that. Or experience. You put me up there in front of a room of advanced whatever, and I don’t know if anyone else is gonna understand what I’m saying.”
“That’s part of the reason we came to this decision, Cheyenne.” LePlant nodded. “The best way to learn is to have to teach. There might not be much left for you to learn at this school, and we’ve all come to that realization. If you want to keep pursuing your master’s here, this is the way you have to do it. There aren’t any other options.”
The halfling dropped her forearms onto the armrests and swiveled back and forth in the chair. “And you all think it’s the best decision to have me”—she gestured at herself from head to toe with both hands—“stand up in front of young, impressionable minds hanging on every word I say?”
Mattie took a sharp breath through her nose—not quite a laugh, but close. “If you think you can handle being the center of attention for four and a half hours a week, so do we.”
Cheyenne slowly licked her lips. They’re handing me my degree on a silver platter, and I’m hesitant. “And that’s it? Just teach this one class? I’ll sail through the rest of my graduate career as a glorified sub?”
“No, it would be your class. Completely autonomous. You decide what to teach and how, as long as it follows curriculum guidelines and adheres to the specified subject matter. Which is quite vague at this point.” LePlant shot Mattie an exasperated glance. “But it has to be those days and that ten o’clock class. And you’ll write a miniature dissertation at the end of every semester summarizing the course material and certain learning points along the way. For yourself. So, what do you think?”
Plenty of time for breakfast in the morning. “Looks like I don’t have a choice.”
“You always have a choice, Cheyenne.” Mattie raised an eyebrow. “This is just the only good one.”
“Yeah, okay. I’ll do it.”
Hersh slapped his hands on the table and pushed out of the chair. “Thank God that went quickly.”
Cheyenne and most of her teachers frowned at the man as he sped past the conference table and headed through the door without another word.
“We’re very glad to hear it,” Beckwith added. “And I, for one, am confident in your ability to switch gears like this. Good luck.” He stood too, and Beckwith followed him out with a small nod at the grad student-turned-student teacher.
“Professor Bergmann will fill you in on all the details and help you get set up. You start Monday.” LePlant held out her hand, and Cheyenne slowly reached up to take it. “I’m looking forward to seeing what you can do.”
“You and me both.” Sighing, the halfling turned her chair to watch the woman step out of
