Page 51 of Rani Deshpande Takes the Wheel
“Good,” I say.
“Good,” he says. We sit in silence for a second, looking at the water. I feel a rising awareness of our proximity and shift even closer to the jhoola handles.
“I like the outfit,” he says now. “The chunni is really nice.”
I meet his eyes, bemused by the call back to our earlier moment. But the words are mirthful, and I recognize the attempt to cut the tension.
“A new favorite,” I agree. “Faulty mechanisms and all.”
He laughs. We rock gently on the swing until the twins come out to join us with their snacks.
Chapter Twenty-Two
In the cold silence of Professor Valdivia’s office, each clock tick feels as loud as a metronome. I cross and uncross my legs, discomfort rising. From his climbing tree near the window, Aristotle, Professor Valdivia’s black cat, blinks at me in judgment, disdain clear. I sink lower in my seat.
“Hm,” Valdivia says. She thumbs through the papers before her, red reading glasses low on her nose. “Right,” she muses, twisting at a stray lock of hair. She releases a breath, speaking mostly to herself. “Let’s have a think.”
She’s reading the latest pages of my research paper for the very first time right in front of me, and it feels akin to a humiliation ritual. I’m rarely proud of my first draft work, and these sections are particularly shoddy. In the aftermath of Noelle’s housewarming and the Mehra reception, I missed Valdivia’s early deadline of yesterday morning. I was forced to pull an all-nighter to scrapesome pages together for today. Several cups of coffee later, I managed to make it to campus just in time to print.
I glance at the clock; we’re somehow still only eight minutes into the hour. I will the time to speed faster.
“Okay,” Professor Valdivia says, finally meeting my gaze. She rests her hands on the desk, her sunny yellow manicure on display. “My main feedback is that this all feels rather… sparse.”
It’s a stand-in for “underdeveloped,” and she confirms as much with her next words. “There’s not enough engagement with existing scholarship, except in passing.”
That’s likely because I’ve barely read the existing scholarship—Valdivia’s recommended list of texts from earlier in the summer has remained mostly untouched. I didn’t realize just how much I’d added to my plate in June, but between work, driving, and unrelenting chaos in my personal life, I’ve dropped the ball on the research for half of my summer project.
“Understood,” I say, trying to sound receptive and assured instead of as weary as I feel. “I can make that a priority during revisions.”
She nods and purses her lips. “There’s a bit of an overreliance on anecdotes, at the moment,” she says. “Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate all the details about your ongoing work with the ESL book club. But I want to see that connected to broader ideas on education policy. For instance, what’s the relevance of Walter’s fascination with the extraterrestrial to the failures of high-stakes testing?”
My cheeks warm. I’d been trying to make a point about encouraging imaginative thinking to promote student enthusiasm in the classroom, but it’s clear I veered too far off on a tangent.
“Got it,” I say. “I can make sure the narrative portion of my paper is all a supplement to the critical end.”
“Yes,” Professor Valdivia agrees. She tilts her head at me. “Is there anything else?”
I hesitate. “Sorry?”
She nods at the papers before her. “As in, is this all we have to work with right now?” My face flushes darker, and Valdivia takes my flustered silence as a yes, because she continues. “I would have wanted to see a bit more by now. Your final product is meant to be twenty-five pages, and we’re at ten.”
She’s kind enough not to spell it out further, but I read the concern between the lines: We’re more than halfway through the summer, but I’ve drafted less than half the amount of required work.Andit’s bad. I try to strike the balance between apologetic and affirming when I speak.
“I’m sorry about that,” I say. “It’s been a hectic couple of weeks, but I’m planning to focus a lot more on writing going forward.”
She considers this. “If you don’t have the bandwidth—” she starts.
“No,” I blurt. The last thing I want is to sink an opportunity I worked so hard to get before class even starts. “I definitely do, and I’ll be able to accomplish a lot more in the coming weeks.”
“All right,” Professor Valdivia says after a beat. “Keep me apprised as you write. I’ll want to see a full draft by our next meeting.”
I nod, doing the math in my head. We have one final meeting on the books before my due date, which unfortunately is the same weekend as my driving test. But with proper planning, I know I can make it work.
“Talk me through your outline,” she says next. Aristotle coos in the corner as I talk.
I never wanted to transfer universities. Few freshmen do, of course, but I really tried my best to avoid this outcome. Even after my lonely, challenging fall semester, I returned to campus after winter break determined to make things better for myself. Or at least try. Moving to UW was my last resort.
Transfer applications weren’t due until mid-February, so I told myself I’d take a full month to work on falling in love with my school. Seeing Ajoba during the holidays had settled my anxieties—he appeared poised to make a full recovery, so I finally felt able to put down roots in my new home, instead of living with half my mind always in Gilmore. I broke things off with Kamran, who for better or worse, had been my one tangled lifeline throughout the fall. And I did my best to immerse myself in positive, value-adding relationships and circles, which I’d struggled to find at the jump.
