“Studying?” I ask.
She nods. “I have to ace these upcoming finals.”
“You will,” I say with confidence. “You’re always finishing assignments early and getting great grades back.”
She bites the inside of her cheek. “I just have to make sure to keep my grades up so that I can get into a good clinic for my practicum placement. I want the practice I’m assigned to provide me with good real-life experience.” She scoops some additional rice onto her plate. “I just want to help kids,” she finishes quietly.
“You’re going to help so many kids,” I say earnestly, reaching across the table to cover her hand with mine. “You’ve dedicated so much to this program and to becoming a child therapist; there’s no way you’re going to fail now. It’s not possible.”
Her eyes brighten at my words, and she clears her throat, obviously wanting to change the topic to something more light-hearted. “Okay,” she says between bites of rice. “But I cannot come over during finals week.”
“What if I promise to help you study?” I offer with a smirk.
She huffs out a laugh but shakes her head. “No way. I have three different exams to study for and an essay to finish. I do not have time for any sort of distractions.”
“I can be… not distracting,” I say while trying to bite back a smug grin.
She playfully swats at me. “Believe it or not, your exam is the one that I’m dreading the most.”
My brows furrow at her statement. Although I know we shouldn’t be talking about her work in my class, it doesn’t stop me from asking, “Why?”
“Because it’ll be the hardest final I have all week,” she says as if it’s obvious.
I scoff. “I doubt that. What other classes are you currently taking?”
Her eyebrows raise in a you-have-got-to-be-kidding-me sort of look. “Are you completely unaware of your reputation at this university?”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
She shrugs. “All I’m saying is that you’re known as kind of a hard-ass.”
“I am not,” I say indignantly.
“It’s not a bad thing. You’re probably one of the best teachers I’ve ever had, but you don’t make it easy. Would it kill you to provide a study guide for your exams or something?” she asks, giggling.
“I’ve never provided study guides for my tests,” I growl.
“Why not?” she questions.
“It feels like cheating.”
“Not being able to memorize everything from a textbook feels like cheating?” she counters with a raised eyebrow.
I narrow my eyes at her. “How many of your other professors provide study guides for their tests?”
She tilts her head back and forth, considering. “I’d say about fifty percent.”
I snort. “I doubt that.”
She glares at me. “You do know that out in the real world, when practicing psychology, we’ll be allowed to refer back to certain texts and look things up on the internet when we have questions.”
“You should be able to remember what you’re practicing.”
“Can you remember everything you learned back in grad school?” she challenges. And she’s got me there. “If students tend to get lower grades in certain classes… or from certain professors, does that not say more about how the course is being taught instead of the students themselves?” She holds up her hand, stopping me from saying something. “I’m not saying you’re bad at your job. I think you’re an amazing professor. I justthink that the educational system might be a little broken in the way that we expect students to perform.”
She bites her lower lip as I mull over what she’s said. I quickly lean across the table to give her a chaste peck so that she knows I’m not upset with her. “You make some excellent points,” I admit.
A relieved smile breaks out across her face before she takes another bite of food, grateful that whatever small disagreement we just had has passed. I scoop some chicken into my mouth. I’m also happy that Summer and I were able to talk about something we don’t see eye-to-eye on, but I can’t help but wonder if she’s right.
