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“Hey, Gavin.” My boss, Carl Richardson, steps into my office. “How’s your first day going?”
“It’s going great.” I lay my phone face-down on the desk. “Had two classes this morning. Both went smoothly.”
“That is excellent to hear.” He takes a seat in the chair beside my desk and crosses his reedy legs. “Listen, I’m sorry to spring this on you, but I was hoping you had room for one more course.”
In addition to my own research, I’m already teaching four classes this semester. “What course is that?”
“Natural History,” he says. “Introductory level, mostly freshman and sophomores. I emailed the syllabus to you a few minutes ago.”
I pull up the email on my laptop and download the attached syllabus. Spring it on me is right; the class starts in less than an hour. I skim the description, barely making it halfway through before I’m already bored.
“It’s a history course?” I ask.
“Technically it’s a dual-credit course. History and environmental studies.”
From the syllabus, I can see that it’s structured like a humanities course. There’s nothing here that I’d need a scientific background to cover. Frankly, there’s no reason a TA couldn’t teach it.
“Where’s it being held?” I ask. “I don’t recognize the name of the building.”
“The location is a bit of a hike,” he says, pushing his glasses up his nose. “It’s over in the agriculture and life sciences building. On the upside, those classrooms are newer. You’ll have access to the environmental department’s van if you feel like taking the kids out to gather pinecones.”
He chuckles at his own joke. This is a bullshit class, and Carl knows it, which is why he waited until the last second to bring it up. He’s phrasing it as a question, but as the new guy, I’m expected to take whatever they throw at me.
“Sure, I can squeeze it in.”
“Wonderful.” He slaps my desk lightly. “I really appreciate it, Gavin.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Carl leaves my office. I pack up my things and grab coffee and a sandwich on my way across campus, which I scarf down in the empty classroom. I go over the syllabus again to familiarize myself with the content well enough so that I at least sound like I know what I’m talking about. I can already tell I’m going to take full advantage of that department van.
Students begin trickling in about ten minutes before the start of class. The attendance list Carl sent me isn’t long, but it’s possible a few more people could join between now and next week. With any luck, more than half of the students will drop and they’ll have to cancel the course.
I start class at the top of the hour, rising from the desk at the front of the room.
“All right. I guess we’ll get started. I’m Gavin Dunn and this is Natural History, or more specifically, the history of natural history.”
A few stragglers slip quietly into the classroom. I don’t sweat the late arrivals during the first week when people are still figuring out where they’re supposed to be.
“Does anyone want to take a shot at defining natural history?” I ask. A nervous-looking kid with glasses raises his hand. “Name?”
“Felix,” he says with a slight lisp. “Um, is it the history of nature?”
“Not quite, but good guess. Natural history is defined as the study of plants, animals, and minerals. But the wordhistoryis rooted in the Ancient Greek wordhistoria, which translates roughly todescription.So, natural history is really the science that studies and gives descriptions of plants, animals, and minerals.”
Movement at the classroom door splinters my attention. I glance at the latecomer and my train of thought chugs straight off a cliff.
Alexis regards me with evident surprise.
“Is this...natural history?” she asks. My darting gaze takes note of the backpack on her shoulder, the laptop in her arms, and the familiar bra strap peeking out of her tank top.
I have to clear my throat to loosen it before I can speak.
“It is,” I say. “Grab a seat.”
She claims the spot by the door in the horseshoe-shaped lineup of tables. I take a swig of coffee to buy myself a few seconds while I process what’s just occurred. What’sstilloccurring.
For a smart guy, I’ve been monumentally dense, and I know it’s because I wasn’t thinking with the head on my shoulders. Of course Alexis Kelley goes to Brookstone. Her father’s practically an institution at this school. I let my attraction to her and our history together cloud my judgment.
