Page 7 of Chess Not Checkers
“While we’re on the subject of me being irresistible,” I start. She snorts. “I’d like to point out that there are several other seats open, and yet you chose to sit next to me. I wonder what that could mean?”
“That I fell out of a stunt last night at practice and got a concussion?” she suggests sweetly. I raise a brow. “If you must know, I like to sit in the second row of all my classes. I wasn’t going to give up the spot I wanted just because you happen to be next to it.”
“Why the second row?” I ask right as Dr. Poulter announces, “We will begin in a few minutes, as it seems we are missing a few students.”
Jasmine opens up a notes document on her laptop and types the class and date at the top. I reach into my backpack and pull out my laptop as well, wondering if she’ll answer or choose to ignore me.
“It’s just a preference. That’s all,” she says after she finishes typing.
“You don’t want to ask why I chose the second row? I know you’re curious,” I goad her.
She cuts her eyes at me. “I don’t care why you chose to sit here, but I would like to know why you thought you were so important as to need a seat for your backpack. You never said why earlier.”
Because if I told you, you’d think I was even more pompous than you do now.I lift my Thrashers hat and rake a hand through my hair, then put it back on. While plenty of people I meet want to climb their way up onto the pedestal my position has placed me on, Jasmine would rather knock me down. It would be nice if a balance existed between those two sides of the spectrum. If I could be normal. But that’s out of reach for me, it seems.
“I’m 6’2”.” I gesture over the length of my torso. “It gets cramped in lecture halls.”
She scrunches up her nose. “It’s not that cramped in here.”
“You don’t think so?” I let my legs relax instead of pressing them together. As soon as I do, our knees touch. Jasmine jumps at the contact, immediately scooting her chair closer to the aisle.
“What are you doing?” she hisses.
“Proving a point. There was maybe an inch or two of room between us.”
“You shouldn’t have touched me,” she says, scooting so far she’s almost in the aisle.
“Why? Afraid you’ll want more?”
The two little lines make their appearance between her brows. She opens her mouth to say something, but the professor cuts her off.
“I believe I’ve given everyone more than enough time to arrive. Those who are still missing will have to endure the embarrassment of entering during the lecture if they come at all.” Dr. Poulter claps his hands together. “Now, let us begin with our syllabus. I have sent a digital copy into the student portal for all of you, but if any of you are old souls who demand a print copy, you may come to the front to retrieve it.”
A handful of students rise and hurry down to grab the syllabus. He gives them each a warm smile. His entire demeanor is reminiscent of a kindly old grandfather with his suspenders, clean-pressed clothes, and well-groomed white mustache. He doesn’t look like someone who would be teaching about marketing in the modern age, but looks can be deceiving, I suppose.
“All right, does everyone have their syllabus, digital or otherwise?”
A murmur of ascent ripples through the room. I bob my head and pull up the syllabus.
“Good! I will go through each line, and please feel free to raise your hand with any questions you might have.”
I scroll through the relatively short document. Thankfully, the class is on the simple side, with no group projects. The last thing I need is to have to figure out how to fit yet another thing into my already packed schedule. I’m barely going to make it to chess club meetings now that the season is starting.
“That’s all for the syllabus, if no one has any questions?” Dr. Poulter pauses. When no hands raise, he continues. “Perfect. We have plenty of time to begin our first unit: networking.” He taps on his laptop, and the smartboard screen changes to a series of questions. “We will start with a hands-on exercise. You will engage in conversation with a person near to you, whoever you choose. There is an even number of students, so there should be no issues in pairing up. Please reference the questions on the board, and take notes. These notes should be placed on my desk or sent to my email by the end of class. Begin!”
I glance at Jasmine, who is staring at her laptop like it’s magically going to turn into a human she can interview. Then I glance to my left at Barrett, who’s already engaged in conversation with the girl next to him.
“Looks like it’s you and me, Chamberlain,” I say to her. “Do you want to go first, or should I?”
I glance up at the questions on the board. Most are fairly basic ones, so it shouldn’t be hard to get through. That is, if the woman next to me doesn’t give me a hard time. She heaves a sigh. Outlook: not good.
“What’s your major?” She grumbles the first question. “Actually, let me guess, it’s underwater basketweaving.”
I let out a short laugh. “Is stereotyping a common practice for you? Just because I play football, doesn’t mean I don’t care about school.”
To be fair, Jasmine’s guess would apply to several guys on the team. Most of which are guaranteed multimillion dollar contracts when they get drafted, not to mention their existingNIL deals. They came to school to play ball, and that’s it. I don’t blame them, but that isn’t my story. My brother, though, is currently a successful NFL player and always encouraged me to think about life beyond the game.
“I’m a business major,” I answer, then go ahead and answer the follow-up question. “I chose this major because I figured it would be helpful to know how the industry works when I have to make decisions about my career down the line. I considered pre-law, but I didn’t think my schedule would allow me to do well in that.”
