No two days are the same
Tue May 15, 2018 14:50

The girl Jesse had spoken to was not a first year. He didn’t know her name, or anything much about her, except that she was in one of the yeargroups currently taking this class, and probably he could narrow that down a little further to one of the second- or third-years because Jesse thought this girl was in his other classes, too, and although there were some older students in this particular class, which was quite confusing, Jesse was apparently in the right place at the right time because all the other first years were here, too, and Professor Boot had not sent them away. The girl also said it was cool that Jesse had different color inks, so that was a clear advantage to them working together: their project could be colorful and both of them would appreciate that, even if nobody else did. The professor had specified the project needed to be creative, and Jesse thought that having different colors counted as being creative (there were obviously many other ways in which a person could be creative with a project, and Jesse was by no means restricting them to just this one point of creativity, but a point in their favor was a step towards a passing grade, however one looked at it. Jesse preferred to look at things from multiple angles to gain a better understanding through multiple perspectives. He digressed). He transferred six ink pots, each of a different hue, from his bag, and arranged them neatly out on the desk between them.

The girl claimed that she was also pretty good at history - another auspicious indicator for their groupwork partnership - but that she didn’t listen much to Professor Boot. This seemed counter-intuitive: how could a person claim to be good at the subject but also to not listen to the professor? Unless the girl did a considerable amount of her own research, which might be beneficial to her personal understanding of the historical events she had selected to study, but it did not necessarily mean that she would be competent in whatever curriculum Professor Boot had elected to follow. So when she suggested just picking a topic (apparently Jesse hadn’t become too distracted to hear the topic after all: there really wasn’t one! That was an unusual method of teaching, even for Professor Boot, but perhaps it was designed for them to revise a topic they had previously covered, perhaps something that hadn’t made much sense the first time so they could understand the content better in preparation for their examinations? Or maybe the opposite was the intention: that they should pick a currently un-studied topic to investigate it by themselves? But no, that couldn’t be accurate, because then everyone would have different gaps in their knowledge and that would be bedlam to rectify. Without further instruction or direction, Jesse continued to be at a loss concerning the point of this class) he was hesitant that she might choose something not even on the beginner level syllabus.

He didn’t know how to tell her that without sounding as though he didn’t trust her, however, so Jesse was pleased when the girl said, “Since you’re not terrible at history, is there a topic you’d like to do?” He felt relieved for just one short moment. She had prevented him from expressing concern that she would choose something inappropriate for their project, but then that left him with the full responsibility of choosing the topic, and that wasn’t necessarily a position of power in which Jesse was entirely comfortable. Her suggestion of finding something in which they were both interested, however, helped to alleviate some of the load. Yes, they could do that.

“Okay,” he agreed readily. “What sort of things are you interested in?” She had said she was good at history, so she must have some interest in something. It stood to reason that a person who was good at a class didn’t get that way by being uniformly uninterested. “I’m Jesse,” he decided to introduce himself before they had gone too far into the lesson and they reached that awkward moment where they had been talking too long for it to be acceptable to admit that he did not know her name. “I’m in first year,” he added, just in case that prompted the older girl to offer the same information as applicable to herself. The more he knew about her, the better, considering they were to work on this project together for the full duration of the class.

  • Same stuff, different day? - Petra Stiglitz, Tue May 15 13:48
    If there was a class that Petra was willing to skip altogether, it was one-hundred-percent History of Magic. It was one of those classes that the Aquila couldn’t wait to stop going to altogether. She ... more
    • No two days are the same - Jesse, Tue May 15 14:50
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