Page 1 of Collide
1 | SUMMER
SHE’S HOLDING A gun to my head.
Well, figuratively at least.
The gun in question: Hockey. The woman holding it: Dr. Laura Langston, Ph.D.
“Hockey?” I repeat. “You wantmeto do my grad school application on hockey?”
Langston has been my grad school advisor for the past year, but I’ve been working under her wing since I started at Dalton University.
She’s everything I want to be, and I’ve obsessed over every academic paper she’s written. She’s kind of my celebrity crush in the nerdiest way possible. With her Ph.D. in sports psychology, countless papers published, and experience with Olympians and athletes around the world, she’s inspirational.
Until you get to know her.
When they saidDon’t meet your heroes, they were talking about Laura Langston. She’s the human equivalent of an angry swarm of wasps. There are plenty of professors who treat their students like total garbage and think their fancy piece of paper means they can be tyrants, but Langston is a different species. Her brilliance is undeniable, but she is patronizing, dismissive, and purposely difficult when she knows you need her help.
So, why the hell did I choose her as my advisor? Because her success rate in getting students into Dalton’s prestigious master’s program is too enticing to ignore. It's the number one program in North America and students vetted by her are guaranteed acceptance. Not to mention she chooses who will be eligible for co-op—a competitive program that allows one student from our cohort to work with Team USA. It’s been my dream from the age of eight, so I’ll suffer through her monstrous dictatorship if it means I’ll soon have my own master’s degree in sports psychology.
“You need to start using your resources to your advantage, Summer.” She surveys me above the rim of her glasses. “I know you hate hockey, but this is your last chance to submit a solid application.”
The wordhateslips past her lips as if my aversion to the sport is completely fabricated. Considering she’s one of the few people who know why I stay far away from the icy rink and the similarly icy men skating on it, I barely keep my composure. Sticking me right in the center of that blue circle with an empirical research study that determines the fate of my future is pure evil. An evil only Dr. Langston and her molten heart can manage.
“But why hockey? I’ll choose football. Basketball. Even curling. I don’t care.” Does Dalton even have a curling team?
“Exactly. You don’t care. I need you to do something you care about. Something you feel strongly about. Hence hockey.”
I hate that she’s right. Sweeping aside her overall ominous nature, she is a smart woman. I mean she didn’t get her Ph.D. for nothing, but being her student is a double-edged sword.
“But—”
She lifts a hand. “I won’t approve anything else. Do this or lose your spot. The choice is yours.”
It’s like the universe sent me my very ownFuck Youin the form of my professor. Years of working my ass off in undergrad only to be told hockey is my saving grace. What a joke.
Clenching my fists, I swallow the urge to scream. “That isn’t much of a choice, Dr. Langston.”
“If you can’t do this then I overestimated your potential, Summer.” Her voice grows sharp. “I have four students who would kill to have your spot, but I took you under my wing. Don’t make me regret this.”
She didn’t exactly choose to take me under her wing. I had a 4.2 GPA and killer reference letters. Not to mention the extremely difficult advisor’s exam she implemented last year to pick out the best students. I got the flu and food poisoning from the campus cafeteria that week, but I still dragged myself to the Annex to take the exam. I beat every student, and I'll be damned if they take my spot now.
“I understand what you’re saying, but as you know I’m not very fond of hockey. For good reason, might I add, and I doubt my research will be an accurate representation, considering that.”
“Either you get over your apprehension or lose what you’ve worked for.”
Apprehension?
Ignoring the pointed jab feels like trying to ignore a bullet lodged in my sternum. “There’s no reason why I can’t choose basketball. Coach Walker would happily let me collaborate with one of his players.”
“Coach Kilner has already agreed to allow one of my students to work with his players.”
“Dr. Lang—”
“Get me your completed proposal by the end of the week or forfeit your spot, Ms. Preston.” Her dismissal is clear when she twists away from me in her chair.
If I could commit one crime and get away with it, I had a feeling it would include Dr. Langston.
“Okay. Thank you,” I say through clenched teeth. She’s typing aggressively on her computer, probably making another student's life a living hell. I imagine she goes home and crosses off the names of students she has successfully tormented. My name and the doll she sticks pins into are at the top of that list today.
