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Eric smiles. “Yeah, I’m sure you’ll be fine. Although I’m pretty sure the only people here who care about the rivalry with Lincoln are the jocks and their groupies, and I steer clear of that crowd. Are you a sports fan?”
“Um, no. Not really,” I respond. It’s the truth, but also feels disloyal Caleb.
“You’ll be fine, then,” Eric tells me.
“Great,” I reply, smiling.
“Welcome to Journalism 356: History of American Journalism,” the booming voice of our professor says.
He’s either speaking into a microphone, or the acoustics in this room are award worthy.
The few students still trickling in rush to open seats.
All conversation ceases.
“I’m Professor Glannon. Most of you have had me before. Please don’t take the fact I won’t remember your name personally. I’m old, and there’s quite a lot of you.”
Quiet laughter ripples around the room.
“I don’t have many ground rules. The main one is no eating. It’s distracting and frankly rude. Especially if you didn’t bring enough to share with all two hundred of your classmates. Second, no beverages besides coffee and water in this room. Some professors frown upon encouraging caffeine consumption. Just get enough sleep blah blah blah.”
More laughter.
“You all want to make it in the field of journalism, however. Let me tell you now, it’s a demanding career that pays terribly. You won’t ever make enough to afford a drug habit besides coffee.”
Eric chuckles beside me.
“But other than those two ground rules, anything goes. Scroll on your phones, spend half the class wandering the halls, pass notes to each other. As long as you do it subtly enough I don’t notice. I’m getting paid to teach you regardless of whether you learn anything or not. Everyone good? Any questions?”
Silence.
“All right. Jane, get those syllabi out, and we’ll get started.”
A petite, dark-haired woman stands with a thick stack of papers in hand, and my first class at Clarkson University begins.
* * *
Eric turns to me when class ends an hour later. We’re both packing up our bags, along with the rest of the class. I’m going to need to buy more notebooks. I took twelve pages worth of notes on the first lecture alone.
“What did you think?” Eric asks.
“I loved it,” I reply honestly. “A lot different from any other journalism class I’ve ever taken.”
“Yeah, Clarkson’s program is fantastic. It’s the main reason I transferred here.”
We both stand and start walking down the stairs.
“You know, I’m going to see a new documentary about social justice journalism with some friends on Saturday afternoon. Would you want to come? They’re all journalism majors too, so I can introduce you around a bit. Plus, the film’s supposed to be really good.”
“That sounds great,” I reply honestly. “But I can’t do Saturday afternoon, unfortunately.”
“No worries. I can switch it to Sunday, if that’s better for you?”
“Oh, no, it’s fine. I don’t want to mess everyone’s plans up.”
Eric waves his hand in a carefree motion. “It’s no problem at all. I’ll talk to them and give you all the details in class on Friday. Really nice to meet you, Lennon.”
He smiles, then turns to the right and disappears into the crowd of students.
