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“Except Diego, apparently,” I counter.
“Except Diego, of course,” she smiles. “And how many art courses have you taken?”
I shake my head.
“None?” she continues. “Have you taken zero art courses?”
“I think we are getting off on the wrong foot,” I begin again, smiling. “Coach Hillby told me to talk to you. Do you know him? He says I need to finish my elective requirement this semester in order to stay on the team. That’s all I’m trying to do.”
“Is it, though?” she smiles, in an unfriendly sort of way.
As in, there is a distinct lack of smile within that smile.
Still, I really do like the bright red lips. She is quite attractive, especially for an older lady. And normally, these kinds of women love me. They can see what I am. They know that I’m going places. They can feel it. They have told me.
“Well, yes, isn’t that why I am here?” I answer helplessly.
“And you think that without even a bit of art training, you should be entitled to an elective worth four hours?”
“Four hours is what I need, yes,” I admit.
She shifts to the other side of her chair. I can’t really tell if she’s playing with me or if she really hates me.
“So, just to reiterate…” she begins again slowly. “I should allow you to register late, allow you to skip the prerequisites, and allow you to enter my college with no training or art background… Because why? You’re on the football team?”
When she puts it like that, it sounds a little hostile. For everybody else, it’s just business as usual.
“Coach Hillby told me to—”
She closes her eyes and nods. There are deep purple swoosh lines of makeup on her eyelids. I can see it now. Kind of a dramatic look.
“Right, right, you told me,” she mutters.
“Well, look at it this way, it’s a team exercise for us. We are a team.”
“Why should I care about that?” she squints. “Seriously, have you asked yourself the question? Why should I care about your teamwork and escalate it over the needs of my other students, Spencer?”
“Everybody likes football,” I chuckle.
Her mouth finally opens in a smile. “I bet you really believe that.”
“Well… I mean, it’s college. Everybody likes college football?”
She shakes her head in disbelief. Her hair kind of rustles, like leaves on a tree.
“You understand that by taking a three hundred- or four hundred-level course and failing, you would be sabotaging yourselves? Setting yourselves back?”
“We won’t fail,” I answer confidently.
“Hmmmmmmm,” is all she says.
I don’t get this kind of attitude in business school. Why am I taking such static from an art teacher?
Finally she opens the folder again and picks a pen out of one of the cups of pens and pencils. She slides her glasses back onto the bridge of her nose.
“Did you know Trevor is already enrolled in one of my classes?”
“Do you have all of my teammates in that folder?”
