Page 27 of Call the Shots
The door opened again, the oldest guy I’d ever seen shuffling through. This had to be the last class he’d teach because it was the end of the road for him. Liver spots coated his bald head, dotted with a few Charlie Brown hairs. At his desk, he cracked open his briefcase and scanned the room, landing on June.
She shrank back.
“Ms. Basil.” His voice was so wispy, the words flowed together. “I thought about framing your final essay. Two words, ‘who cares.’ Aptly put. I’m sure I’ll be riveted by your follow-up.”
I snorted, and June discretely flipped me off.
“I’m Dr. Schulman. This will be, undoubtedly, the easiest class you have ever taken. I am exhausted from papers shat out by AI, students cheating, and I feel more of a prison guard than an educator. Therefore, I will be rearranging my curriculum.”
Everyone audibly shifted. Chairs scraped against the floor.
“You’ll arrive on time. You’ll take out a piece of paper. I’ll lecture for fifty minutes, you’ll take notes. At the end of everyFriday, we’ll have a handwritten quiz—ten questions—where you’ll have access to your notes.”
I thought he’d continue but instead, he typed on his laptop.
That’s it?
It was like June could read my thoughts. She passed a note to me while Dr. Schulman began his PowerPoint.
dont even think about it.
I jotted down my answer and handed it back to her.
thinking about it
thought about it
figured it out
definitely staying
She balled up the paper and threw it over her shoulder, hitting me in the face.
Class was ridiculously easy, just writing down rules and expectations. At the end, I collected my stuff, satisfied I had one guaranteed passing grade.
June lingered.
“Dr. Schulman?” She approached with her hands behind her back. “I want to apologize?—”
“This is the fourth time I’ve seen you in my life, Ms. Basil,” he said simply, clasping his briefcase. “Your last-minute email felt disrespectful. Would you like to finish the essay? Why is astronomy important to study?”
“I—um?—”
June’s faltering was comical. There were so many bullshit answers. I chuckled, only stopping when Dr. Schulman glanced at me.
“Is this amusing to you, Mr…?”
“Uh, Moreau.”
“Is this amusing to you, Mr. Moreau?”
I cleared my throat. “No, sir.”
“He loves to laugh,” June interjected. “Earlier Mr. Moreau said—how did you say it? Astronomy is the biggest waste of time? Easy to sleep through?”
“Waste oftime?” Dr. Schulman repeated.
A flush crept up my neck. “I don’t—uh—remember saying that.”
