Page 34 of Wrong For Me

“Have I ever told you that you’d make a fascinating research project?” she asks, and it’s my turn to laugh.

“Yes. Several times, actually. Not gonna happen.”

We chat easily as we head up to the third floor. We’ve kept in touch through email over the last two years but I still ask about her husband and pre-teen daughter, just to be polite. I give her the bare minimum when she asks about my summer working in Lake Tahoe, not wanting to think about Rose any more than I already have been.

As she’d warned, my office is tiny. Barely closet sized. It doesn’t help that there are two desks stuffed in here. I’ll have to talk to someone from maintenance about getting the extra furniture moved out. Still, I can’t wipe the grin off my face. My very own office. No one to disturb me. This is going to be great.

Claiming she’ll get claustrophobic if we hang out in my prized closet any longer, Dr. Hernandez leads me down the hall to her own office so we can talk. Gesturing me to an empty seat, she grabs a few files from the cabinet by the window. Her mood turns serious once she’s sitting behind her desk and appraising me. I bite back a smile—this is my mentor’s getting down to business expression. I know it well. It’s probably the reason a workaholic like me meshed so well with her during my undergrad years—she might have bitched about my annoying habit of hovering around during her office hours and asking for extra reading assignments, but I could tell she secretly enjoyed my nerdiness.

Dr. Hernandez isn’t the most popular professor in the department, and the stern expression she’s wearing right now is part of the reason. She has a reputation of being a hard-ass in the classroom, terrifying underclassmen with her no-bullshit demeanor and mile-high expectations. She’s a tough grader and she’s been known to make freshmen cry when they foolishly dare to bring her excuses instead of work. Her intro section traditionally holds the distinction of one of the university’s highest drop rates the first two weeks of classes.

Those that stick it out, though, get to know a different side of her. In addition to being a tough teacher, she’s also an incredibly dedicated one. She goes out of her way to make sure everyone is engaged and staying on track with the assignments. So long as students prove to her they’re willing to put in the work, she’ll move heaven and earth to make sure they get a passing grade.

She’s also funny as hell, with a dry, biting wit not everyone responds to but that always worked pretty perfectly with my own sarcastic sense of humor.

Dr. Hernandez was exactly what I needed when I started my undergrad studies six years ago—an adult that actually gave a shit. Up until that point, my life had been dictated almost entirely by the chaos and uncertainty that was the hallmark of living with my mother. I thrived under Dr. Hernandez’s high expectations. She was tough, yes, but she also pushed me like no one else had ever bothered to, and I will always owe her for that.

She’s appraising me in that familiar way now, her expression telling me she’s about to send some work my way. I feel a familiar thrum of excitement in my chest. Does that make me a giant nerd? Absolutely. Do I care? Not in the slightest. Classes, studying, working my ass off—that’s the shit I’ve always thrived on.

“My course load is higher than normal this semester,” she says. “Dr. Franks is out on sabbatical, studying fruit fly mating in Peru, or something, and Caroline Cooper had to take maternity leave early when she went on bed rest. I’m covering two additional lectures and another seminar.”

I do my best to keep the shock from my expression. That is a lot of extra work, even for someone like me. As Hernandez’s TA, I’ll be handling a lot of her grading, particularly in the lectures—which I’ll also be required to teach occasionally. I’ll hold my own weekly study sessions for her students and host my own office hours. Two additional lectures increases my workload significantly.

“So much for wanting me to have some work life balance,” I joke. “Guess I won’t have time for making friends after all.”

Her serious expression shifts. “Actually, the additional work means I’ll be forcing you into socializing.”

I narrow my eyes at her, not liking the mischief I see glinting in her eyes at all. “What does that mean?”

Her grin does nothing to set me at ease. “It means, the department is giving me a second TA.” Before my stomach can drop at her words she holds up a hand. “This has nothing to do with you or your abilities, Leo. I’m certain you’d be up to the task of handling all of the additional work—even if it killed you.”

Well, yeah. There’s no way I’m going to complain about some extra work. Not when I’m this close to reaching my goal.

“Dr. Cooper had a TA assigned to her this semester,” Hernandez explains. “Obviously, she didn’t expect her maternity leave to start this soon. The student would be, excuse my French, shit out of luck if the department didn’t find another professor to step in.”

“So I have to share my position?” I ask, unable to keep the bite out of my voice. All because Dr. Cooper decided to procreate. My stomach clenches at an unwelcome idea. Is my stipend going to be diminished because of this? Because there’s no way I can afford to lose even a fraction of the money I’ve been promised.

Of course, Dr. Hernandez understands my concern without me having to spell it out. “This won’t affect your financial situation in the slightest,” she assures me, and I try not to feel embarrassed that my money troubles are so obvious to her. “Nor will it diminish your responsibilities.” She taps a finger to her chin. “In fact, in some ways it mightincreaseyour responsibilities. Which we both know is basically your favorite thing in the entire world.”

I roll my eyes at her teasing, not in the mood after this bombshell. “What does that mean? How does having another TA to split the work increase my responsibilities?”

“It’s a somewhat unique case,” she explains, and from the way her mouth twists I know I’m not going to like her answer. “This student was invited to work on a master’s degree and doctorate concurrently.”

My mouth gapes open, shock and resentment radiating through me. “Seriously?”

“I know it’s a sore subject for you, Leo—”

I’m unable to stop myself from snorting with derision. A sore subject? Yeah, you could say that.

Two years ago, before I left this university to get my master’s elsewhere, I’d been told it was incredibly rare for the department head to allow concurrent degrees. Of course, I’d wanted to apply anyhow. Shaving two years off my education would save me thousands and thousands of dollars in tuition, not to mention allow me to get out working in the field that much sooner.

As Dr. Hernandez predicted, the department head denied my request and I’d had to make the choice to leave LA for the University of Michigan to get my master’s when they offered me a better financial aid package.

But apparently, this second TA, whoever the hell he is, is a lot luckier than me.

“I know this might not seem ideal to you,” Dr. Hernandez says, and I bristle at the sympathetic note in her voice. The last thing I want is for her to feel sorry for me.

I straighten my shoulders, pushing down all the emotions currently besieging me. “It’s fine,” I say firmly, refusing to let her see how upset I am. “So this TA is fresh out of undergrad?”