coupeville university, junior year
“Cane, nigga come out with us Friday. All you do is study,” LaDrake fussed when I dropped into my seat. He extended his hand, and we dapped up. I did the same to Carlos and Carter before they sat.
“Nah, the prodigy can’t come out…” Carlos kept talking, but I’d already checked out.
A flash of white caught my eye. It ran through a head full of curls as she stormed past our row, a tote bag banging against her hip. She looked one inconvenience away from cussing somebody out.
I watched her take a seat near the front and decided, immediately and without reason, that I needed to know her name.
“The first day of class just got a whole lot better. Who is that?” Drake leaned over, whispering.
“Out of your league, that’s who.”
“Here this hoe ass nigga go. You can’t have them all.”
“Los, don’t tell me you’re still on that shit with Bianca. I told you I’m not on her. Go for that if you want.”
Taps on the whiteboard pulled the room’s attention. The entire class shifted toward Professor Luchinsky, but my focus stayed on her. Her hair was already my favorite thing about her. I adjusted in my seat and watched her check her red-tinted lip gloss in a compact mirror like she had nowhere more important to be.
“Welcome to Women’s History. I’m Dr. Luchinsky. I run a tight ship, so let’s establish a few things right away. Attendance is your responsibility. Participation is your responsibility. Learning is your responsibility.
I’m not here to hold anyone’s hand through the material. I expect you to learn what you need to learn, and only you can determine what that is. This course is not designed to be a support group, a debate club, or a place to air modern grievances. We will examine historical events, movements, and figures in their own contexts. I don’t care about the unfortunate plight of women. I care about the history.”
The room went silent. You could hear a pin drop.
Then, from the front, her soft voice cut through.
“And that’s why you shouldn’t be teaching a women’s history class. Is it too late to switch?”
Every head turned.
Nobody spoke.
Dr. Luchinsky blinked once before setting his marker down.
“You. Name?”
“Skye Campbell. Nice to meet you.”
“Ms. Campbell, perhaps you’d be more comfortable in a different course.”
“Probably. Is there one being taught by someone who actually likes women?”
A few snickers broke out around the room.
“Ms. Campbell.”
“What?” She looked around. “Y’all heard him. He said he doesn’t care about the plight of women. That’s a wild thing to say in a women’s history class.”
The snickers turned into outright laughter.
Dr. Luchinsky’s face darkened.
“If you’d like to teach the course, by all means.”
“If I wanted to teach the course, I’d at least start by caring about the subject.”
This time, the room erupted.
